Chapter 62
Willow had kept her husband in the cage for over eight hours.
When she finally released Mark, the heel marks across his chest had bruised and there were blisters in the corners of his mouth from the gag.
He crawled to the shower in the corner of the basement and turned on the lower faucet, gulping water from the spout before slowly pushing himself to standing.
She stepped into the space and nodded to the handles. “Turn it on for me and get it hot.”
She undressed, and when she stepped in beside him, her touch was light and kind.
He sank into it. She squeezed a pineapple-scented body wash into the loofah and passed it to him, then turned, letting him wash her back, the curve of her spine, the generous roundness of her butt.
She rotated to face him and leaned back against the tile, exposing her body to him, and he took his time, half washing, half worshipping the front of her body.
“Good boy,” she murmured, lowering her hand to touch him. “You are such a good boy.”
And he was. While Mark was a ruthless alpha male in his line of work, in their household, he surrendered everything to her.
And the more she took advantage of that, the more he needed.
They had started with blindfolds, then handcuffs during sex.
Then the play got rougher. In year three of their marriage, she started making him sit on the floor next to her while she ate.
When he irritated her, she made him sit in the closet, facing the corner.
When that wasn’t enough, they ordered a cage.
She pretended that it annoyed her, that she was disgusted by it, but the more she scorned him, the more grateful and aroused he became.
The level of worship was addictive, and the power .
. . the knowledge that she could do anything to him and he would beg for more .
. . it was exactly what a bored housewife with narcissistic inclinations needed.
As her therapists later said, it was kerosene to her fire.
And every time the flame burned low, she poured more kerosene on it.
He leaned in to her touch, his breath growing ragged as she stroked him, slowly at first, then faster.
“I want you to do something for me,” she said into his ear. “Tonight, I want you to bring me a pet. Just for the night. Can you do that for me?” Her hand tightened around him and he nodded, gasping as his pleasure mounted.
“I’ll go with you and we’ll pick him out. And you can watch him please me. Would you like that?” She bit his earlobe and he twitched in her hand. “Tell me,” she ordered.
“I want that,” he said, his voice straining with need.
She smiled wider, then released him in the moment before he came, and he whimpered in disappointment. Turning off the shower, she stepped out and pointed to the stack of towels. “Not yet. Tonight.”
He hurried to get a towel, and from down the basement hall, his phone rang, the device announcing the caller’s name. It was his newest client, an MLB rookie who had a $100 million deal on the table. His gaze flicked to the sound, then returned back to her.
“You want to answer that?” she asked, lifting one foot onto the toilet lid so that he could dry the leg off.
“No,” he said hoarsely, and the flame in her burned brighter.
They ended up at the Onyx, and there was no sign of subservience in her husband, who held open the door for her. His sharp gaze swept the bar and he took a seat with his back to the wall. She swept her high ponytail over one shoulder and took the chair across from him.
The band was playing a catchy song from the ’80s, and she sang along with the chorus, enjoying the vibe of the crowd as he flagged down a waiter and ordered them drinks.
She sipped hers and laughed at a story he was recounting from the firm when her gaze caught a man at the bar.
Leaning forward, she set her vodka on the table and lowered her voice.
“Look who’s at the bar, by the blonde in the blue dress. ”
He turned his head, disguising the peek behind a move to rest his arm on the back of the booth. After giving the man a long look, he turned back to her. “A little close to home.”
“What, don’t think you could get him to do it?” She picked up her drink and took a sip.
“He’s been wanting to fuck my wife since he first met her, so yeah, I could get him to do it.” He reached under the table and brushed his fingers over her knee.
“I’m not sure you could,” she challenged, enjoying the way his gaze darkened at the words. His fingers closed over her bare knee.
“Is my wife attracted to him?” he asked huskily.
“Your wife wants to punish him for every time he’s flirted with me when Sara was on the other side of the room.” Willow licked the liquor off her lips, enjoying the game.
He glanced over at the pharmaceutical sales executive. “Looks like he’s out without her now.”
She sat back and moved her knee away from his hand. “Go talk to him. See where she is and if he wants to come to the house for a nightcap.”
He tilted his head to one side. “If his wife finds out, it could be messy.”
“Are you questioning me?” she asked, her voice sharpening.
“Maybe,” he dared. He was always brave in public.
She grinned at the challenge. “Don’t worry.” She leaned forward and gave him a long kiss on the mouth before pulling off. “He won’t talk. They never do, do they?”
And they didn’t. Mostly because they didn’t remember it.
They agreed to meet out front of the Onyx, and Willow and Mark found David on his phone, his voice loud and brash. Willow took the moment to push Mark against the building’s brick facade. He fell easily, always a pawn in her hands, and looked down at her with a glazed look of appreciation.
With his negotiation in the works, his rookie leaning on him heavily to maximize his payout, Mark’s stress was at an all-time high.
This, a day in the cage, a night of kinky punishment, and jealousy .
. . it was exactly what he needed. Right now, the last thing he was thinking about was questionable drug tests or trade deadlines.
This was about clearing out the cobwebs in his brain, pushing aside the stress and the obligations of work, and having a moment of base pleasure.
The first domination had been a fluke, like wandering into the wrong bar by accident and then liking the vibe and staying.
They had been in a fight and she had lost her temper.
Willow had tried to leave in a huff, and he had chased her to her car.
When she had dressed him down and spat at him to crawl back to his pathetic life without her, his eyes had grown dark with arousal, and it had been a switch that both of them suddenly, instinctually understood.
When she had slapped him across his face, he groaned.
That night, she had tied him down to the bed and sexually teased him until he begged for completion.
The orgasm denial had unlocked the door. The pain . . . it came later. Years later, after a slow deterioration of their boundaries.
It wasn’t that Mark liked pain. He didn’t. But he liked the desperation he felt at the thought of losing her. He craved the fear of her being displeased with and uninterested in him. It was chaos that somehow shuttered all the other pieces of his psyche back into place.
“Hey,” he said softly and leaned forward to kiss her.
She stepped back, out of reach, and turned to David. “Get off the phone. We’re ready.”
The man paused, his gaze going to Mark as if to question her tone.
He ended the call, and Willow smiled. He wasn’t going to get any sympathy from Mark, and David would listen to her, at least for now.
The possibility of sex always made a man more pliable.
He’d come with them to the house, where he’d learn how this game was played. He’d bend to her or he wouldn’t.
Sometimes they didn’t. She looked into his eyes and there was a defiance there, an edge of something that told her that he might not.
The possibility didn’t worry her. If anything, she appreciated the challenge. After all, this was a game. And sometimes, rarely, she lost.
But typically, even the most dominant of men would yield to the call of sex.
She looped her arm through David’s and pulled him toward their car.
They started in the living room, because everything was easier there.
Willow took off her sweater, exposing the clingy camisole top, and David’s gaze dropped to the twin peaks of her nipples.
She fixed them a round of drinks and carried a handful of pills into the room.
Passing David his glass, she held out a pill. “Want to play?”
He took it without asking what it was, and she watched as he downed it with half of the glass. She passed Mark’s to him and then straddled David on the couch. “Tell me,” she whispered in his ear. “Tell me your darkest fantasy.”
And just like that, it began.