Chapter 66
Roni
I’m practically humming with anticipation as I move around my bedroom, my heart fluttering with the kind of joy which lives in the skin.
Warm. Charged. Alive. The night feels different.
Stimulating. Like the air before a thunderstorm.
Heavy with promise and mystery. I’ve been waiting for a night like this.
Not just to go out, but to feel like the real me. Bold. Beautiful. Unapologetic.
Roni: Are you there bitch?
Watching a text chain and waiting for a reply is the new waiting for water to boil. It’s agonizing. How dare she not be expecting to drop everything she’s doing to address my random—
Chloe: Have we ever talked about why THAT is your name for me?
FINALLY!
Roni: If you never hear from me again, just know I love you.
Roni: Bitch.
There isn’t a reason. I don’t even remember when I started using the term as her nickname. Probably when we were both shitfaced at some frat party. But it stuck.
Chloe: EEEK!! Are you meeting that web papi?
Chloe: Where’s it happening?
Chloe: Needs to be somewhere public. Like the library.
Chloe: Babes?
Chloe: …
Chloe: …
Chloe: BABES!
Roni: Really, Clo. The library?
Chloe: You know you love getting railed against a shelf of books.
Roni: How do you always do this?
Every time. I have something I want to get out, and she comes with the humor and almost makes me forget I’m the one who started the conversation.
Chloe: Oh shhh. You love it.
Roni: No. I love you bitch. But sometimes you get me all fucked up.
Chloe: Fine.
Chloe: Spill it.
It has lost its luster by then, but she’s the best, so I give her the full breakdown of what’s going on.
How Phoenix has me getting all tarted up before heading I don’t know where to see him.
Chloe’s not as enthused it’s not me cheating, and we’re going to talk about that another day.
But she is thrilled I sound so happy. And she makes me promise to text her for a meet up tomorrow so she can get all the deets in person.
Though I think she really just wants to gawk at Vic again.
Oh fuck.
I need to get dressed.
I begin with the centerpiece. The black gown.
As soon as I slide open the closet door, I see it waiting like a secret weapon.
It’s the one that never fails to take my breath away, and I know it will do the same to him.
The fabric is deep, inky black, but not flat.
It catches the light in subtle waves like oil on water.
It feels like cool silk in my hands, and I take my time stepping into it.
As I pull it up, the material hugs my curves with reverence, like it was made for my body alone.
The neckline dips into a soft plunge, revealing just enough without giving too much, while the back falls scandalously low, exposing the elegant arch of my spine.
The cut skims my waist, then flows over my hips, long and dramatic with a high slit that slices up my left thigh.
Every step will show just enough to make his jaw drop.
And I want that tonight. I want to own his attention. His desire.
Next, the stockings and garters. I sit on the edge of my bed and slowly roll up the black thigh-highs, savoring the way the sheer fabric wraps around my legs.
They gleam faintly in the low light, soft and smooth, hugging my thighs without a wrinkle.
The band at the top is thick and sensual, trimmed with lace.
My favorite. I reach for the garter belt, sleek black satin, and fasten it snugly around my waist. One by one, I clip each garter to the tops of the stockings.
The little metallic snaps click like whispers in the silence.
Now for the heels. Those heels. The ones I know he secretly loves.
Impossibly high. Glossy black with pointed toes and delicate ankle straps that I buckle tightly.
They make my calves flex and shape my walk into a slow, deliberate sway.
When I stand in them, I feel taller. Stronger.
More commanding. I test a step or two across the floor, and the way the slit in the gown parts for each stride makes me smirk.
Dangerous. That’s how I feel, in the best possible way.
I turn to the mirror and begin my makeup, taking my time, letting each step draw me deeper into the transformation.
My foundation goes on flawlessly, silky and glowing, evening out my skin.
Then the eyes. I start with a soft gray, building depth into the crease, then deepen it with darker charcoal shadows, blending until it looks like smoke curling across my lids.
I line my eyes in jet black, dragging the tip just past the outer corner for a winged effect which sharpens my stare.
Mascara coats my lashes thick and heavy, framing my eyes with something almost hypnotic.
And then the crucial touch. My lips. I pick up the tube of bright red lipstick and twist it slowly, savoring the moment. The color is rich. Classic. The kind of red that says, “Watch me.” I outline first, precise and focused, then fill them in. When I press my lips together, I feel complete.
Lastly, my hair. I brush it back slowly, taming every strand until it's smooth and sleek.
I gather it at the nape of my neck, pulling it into a clean, tight, low ponytail, leaving my neck bare and elegant.
I feel loose strands on my face softening the edges, but the overall look is polished, powerful.
I stand up straight and take one last look at myself. I see more than just fabric and makeup. I see intention. Confidence. Presence. I look like someone who knows what she wants and exactly how to get it. My heart beats a little faster. The night is calling, and I'm ready.
The glass door closes behind me with a soft click, sealing in the quiet lavishness of the house as I step into the warm night air. A floral scent lingers from the front garden, comfortable yet faintly exhilarating.
The path beneath my heels is smooth stone, edged with perfectly trimmed hedges and the soft glow of recessed ground lights, all guiding me forward like a runway.
Parked at the end of the drive is one of Phoenix's SUVs, polished and unmistakably high-end. The headlights remain dimmed, but the running lights cast a soft halo across the gravel, highlighting the precision of its design.
As I approach, the driver's side door swings open and Vic steps out with fluid efficiency. His suit is dark and fitted, more tailored than tactical, but his shoulders alone make it clear he could body check a charging bull if the need ever arose.
Despite his stoic demeanor, there's always the slight falter in his jaw when he looks at me, like his thoughts betray him for half a second before he reigns them in. He clears his throat and meets my eyes with a subtle smile.
“Evening, Ma'am,” he says, his voice deep and smooth with the faintest rasp. “You look—” He doesn't finish the sentence, just gestures toward the open door as though that says enough.
I return the smile with a knowing glance, my heels clicking softly on the stones as I step closer.
As the slit of my gown parts, I catch the flicker of his gaze, not leering, but unmistakably caught, before he redirects it with soldier-like discipline.
He opens the rear passenger door and holds it for me with one hand, the other gently resting at his side, near what I assume is a concealed weapon of some sort. Always alert. Always watching.
Sliding into the back seat, I sink into the plush leather interior.
The cabin smells faintly of cedar wood and something expensive, possibly Vic's cologne, subtle and masculine.
The door shuts behind me with a satisfying luxury-grade thunk.
And moments later, the seatbelt glides across my chest with a soft click as I fasten it.
Vic gets back in the driver's seat, and the SUV eases forward with a near-silent hum. The tinted windows darken the outside world, giving the illusion I'm floating through the night in a cocoon of quiet, humming power. I lean slightly forward.
“So, where are we going?”
There's a brief pause. I can see his face in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable but familiar. He's been given orders.
“I've been instructed not to say,” he replies, eyes still fixed on the road. “You'll see when we get there.”
I raise an eyebrow, a slow smile pulling at the corner of my lips. Of course, Phoenix would do it like this. He’s always had a flair for the dramatic.
Still, I glance out the window, noting the turns.
The shifting scenery. We pass rows of private estates, then leave the suburbs behind.
The road widens, darkens. I can feel the shift in the air.
Cooler. Crisper. There's a smell riding the wind now.
Salt. Distant and sharp. The unmistakable scent of the ocean creeping in.
We're headed toward the coast.
I lean back in my seat, smoothing the gown over my thighs, letting the vibration of the road and the low hum of the engine lull me into a quiet anticipation. I don't know what awaits me at the end of this ride, but the night is open, whirring with mystery, and I’m ready for it.
I fire a text off, hoping to pass the time with some idle chitchat.
Roni: So, where did you get the idea to mark me in my sleep?
I watch the bubble with three dots on his end pop up then disappear. Then reappear once more.
Phoenix: There's a great many things I'd like to do to you. Sleeping or otherwise.
Roni: Do tell.
Phoenix: Little Temptress, I know what you've been doing.
I shake my head at his message unsure of what he means.
Roni: And what's that?
Phoenix: I've been watching.
His words are plain. Cold. And immediately followed by more.
Phoenix: But now, I'm done playing games.
Roni: I don't understand, Phoenix. Is something wrong?
But he doesn't respond.
The SUV's headlights sweep across an old weather-worn sign as we veer off the main road. I lean forward, narrowing my eyes to read it through the dark.
Coastal Access.
Suddenly, my heart stirs with recognition. Vic doesn't say a word, but the muscles in his jaw shift. He's smiling, just barely.
We take the exit toward a narrow lane that winds along the coastline.
The pavement gives way to packed sand and gravel.
The ride’s quieter now. Softer beneath the tires.
Through the tinted window, I catch glimpses of the moonlight flickering across wet sand and shallow pools.
The tide's gone out, revealing the broad, rippling stretch of shore which only exists for a few hours each night.
That's when it hits me.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, pressing a hand to the cool window. “We're at—”
The jetty stretches out like a spine of dark stone and seaweed into the silver-black sea, veiled in mist and moonlight. I haven't been here since I was a teenager. Long before everything happened. There's a weight to this place. A memory. More importantly, my fantasy.
The SUV slows to a deliberate stop, pulling into a secluded clearing near the dunes. The headlights dim once more to a low glow. But Vic doesn't move. No opening door. No chivalrous gesture this time. He just keeps his hands on the wheel, eyes forward, like his part is done.
Then, with a soft mechanical click, the rear passenger door unlocks and opens. And there he is. Only... it's not Phoenix. It's... The man who used me. Who suspended me from a tree. Who covered my eyes and—no. NO!