15. Tatum
Chapter 15
Tatum
I storm into the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. The lace of my lingerie scratches against my skin as I collapse onto the king-sized bed.
"Wide ass?" I mutter into my pillow. "Really?"
The silk sheets cool my heated skin as I roll onto my back, staring at the pristine white ceiling. My hands slide down my sides, over the curves Thomas apparently finds so offensive.
"There's nothing wrong with my body." But the words sound hollow, even to my own ears.
I drag myself up and pad to the full-length mirror, examining my reflection. The red lace hugs every curve, accentuating my hourglass figure. I turn sideways, checking my profile. Sure, I'm not stick-thin like his secretary or that woman who left our house the other day, but I'm far from overweight.
"Maybe I should call my trainer," I whisper, pinching the skin at my waist. "Or switch to salads only."
A phone buzzes. Probably Thomas texting to remind me about some political function or to criticize my outfit choice for tomorrow. I ignore it.
Instead, I think about how he barely looked at me when I walked in. How his eyes stayed glued to his computer screen even as I practically threw myself at him. The rejection stings more than it should, considering I don't even want him.
"Get it together, Tatum," I tell my reflection. "You're not doing this for him anyway."
But a small voice in my head whispers that maybe if I were prettier, thinner, better somehow, he wouldn't need other women. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. This isn't about me - it's about getting evidence. About freedom.
Still, as I change into my silk pajamas, I can't help but wonder what those three men thought if they saw me on camera. Did they think I looked desperate? Pathetic? Wide-assed?
I drag myself off the bed and grab my phone from the nightstand. The screen remains dark - no messages. Thomas hasn't even noticed I left his office.
"Of course not." I toss it back onto the nightstand. I could have sworn I heard it vibrate earlier during my pity party.
A thought crosses my mind. Wait. The burner phone.
My designer purse sits on the vanity chair, pristine and proper like everything else in this house. I dig through its contents until my fingers brush against the cheap flip phone hidden in the inner pocket.
One new message blinks on the tiny screen. Unknown number.
'Nice work with the tech.'
I curl up against my padded headboard, the burner phone's dim screen illuminating my face in the darkened bedroom. My fingers hover over the keypad before typing out a simple "Thanks."
The response comes almost immediately, making the cheap phone vibrate in my palm. An address downtown, followed by "Tomorrow. 2PM."
Before I can respond, another message pings through. "BTW, your husband's a fucking idiot. That body deserves worship, not criticism."
Heat spreads across my skin, and I bite my lower lip to suppress a smile. My fingers trace the edge of the phone as I debate how to respond. The lingerie suddenly doesn't feel quite so ridiculous anymore.
I type out "Careful, that almost sounds like flirting," then delete it. Instead, I send back a noncommittal "I appreciate that."
The silence stretches for a moment before one final message comes through: "Sweet dreams, Tatum. Your fan club really enjoyed the show earlier."
My breath catches. I stuff the phone back into my purse, but the words echo in my mind. Someone was definitely watching that pathetic attempt at seduction. Someone who apparently appreciated the view more than my husband did.
The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me. I slide down under the covers, my skin still tingling where the lace is. Sleep might not come easy tonight.
I lie back against the headboard, the darkness of the room enveloping me like a cocoon. My hand drifts to the nightstand drawer, and I pull it open with a soft creak. The familiar weight of my vibrator sits inside, nestled between an array of perfectly organized lotions and perfumes. My fingers brush over it, and a shiver runs down my spine.
"Fuck him," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else. "He doesn't get to make me feel this way."
I slide the vibrator out of its place and hold it in my hand, feeling its smooth surface against my palm. It's cold at first, but it warms quickly to my touch. I turn it on, and the gentle hum fills the room. The vibration is soothing, almost like a purr.
Leaning back against the headboard, I let my knees fall apart, giving myself space. My other hand trails down my stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of my silk pajamas. The cool fabric brushes against my skin as I push it aside.
The first touch is electric, sending a jolt through me that makes me gasp. I press the vibrator against myself, letting it glide over sensitive skin. My hips arch involuntarily, seeking more contact.
"You're such an idiot, Thomas," I whisper into the darkness. "You have no idea what you're missing."
I close my eyes and let myself get lost in the sensation. The vibrator moves in slow circles, teasing and exploring. My breath quickens as I find a rhythm that feels right.
Images flash through my mind – not of Thomas but of something far more exciting. The way Dominic looked at me when we met, his eyes dark and intense. How his voice rumbled when he spoke to me over the phone earlier today.
"Oh god," I breathe out, pressing harder.
The vibrator's hum grows louder as I increase its intensity. My body responds instantly, muscles tensing with each passing second. It's like every nerve ending is alive, begging for more.
"Yes... just like that," I moan softly, rolling my hips in time with the vibrations.
I think about how Dominic would react if he saw me now – not just watching through a camera but really seeing me. Imagining his hands instead of this plastic device sends another wave of heat through me.
"Dominic," I whisper his name without thinking.
My climax builds quickly, faster than usual. It's as if all the frustration and anger I've been bottling up are finally finding an outlet. My breath comes in ragged gasps as I teeter on the edge.
One last push and I'm there, tumbling over into a shattering release that leaves me trembling and breathless. The vibrator falls from my hand as I collapse back against the pillows.
For a moment, all is quiet except for my pounding heart and heavy breathing. The aftermath is sweet – an oasis of calm after the storm.
I reach for the vibrator to switch it off and place it back in its drawer with a sense of satisfaction that Thomas will never give me. As I settle under the covers once more, a small smile plays on my lips.
"Maybe this isn't so bad after all," I murmur to myself before sleep finally claims me.