Vaughn, the things I’ve learned about
your lady colleague. She appears to be selling herself on the
side.”
“Oh God.” Hair
went tight around my finger as I twisted. “I’ve never understood
that kind of thing.”
He chewed his
bottom lip; he was convincing, comically so. “Me either. Why waste
a couple of grand when you can invite a girl to an overpriced floor
picnic that your assistant did all the work for?”
“Now there’s
the mark of a man who wants to impress.”
His laugh was
dry and mocking. “Oh, fuck off.” He sprang to his feet. “Come and
see the view from the terrace.”
He pulled me
up. Waited as I steadied myself on the heels. Then he unlocked the
glass doors and flattened himself against them as I stepped
out.
I didn’t get as
far as two feet on the ground.
A light little
kick took one leg from under me and I smacked forward on to the
tiled floor, my palms hot and fizzing on impact. The door slammed
and it rang in my ears. Then he eased me over with another foot to
the shoulder, and I lay sprawled on my back beneath the darkening
sky.
Kneeling, he
brought my trembling arms above my head.
“This morning,”
he murmured, tugging me toward the railing, “the way you said no to
me. I liked that.”
There were no
words–I poked them, prodded, but they wouldn’t come out to play.
This businesslike manner of his aroused me. Disturbed me. Did both
because all this was planned.
Something cool
and smooth bound my wrists together. As he secured me to the
railing, the ends flew across my face: a thin twist of silk rope.
The mark of a professional. He checked his knots with a vague frown
of concentration and then snipped the end with a pair of scissors.
He’d brought a little of the other side of the mirror to New York
too, it seemed.
“What are you
doing to me?” Charlotte played his game, but Leila heard the blood
soar in her ears.
“Making sure
you stay just where I want you.” He crawled back down and took my
ankle in his hand. “It’s very convenient, this terrace.”
I tugged my
foot away and he caught it again, looping the rope in a tight
crisscross. It chafed against my gossamer-thin stockings.
Breath stuck in
my throat. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I’m just
practicing my knots, baby.” He snapped another tight. “It’s an art
form. Did you know that?”
I twisted
sideways to look at him. “Untie me. Teach me how to do them.”
Creamy hair
fell into his face and obscured the smile that flickered. “Nice
try.” He fondled my free calf, raked his nails over the seamed
black nylon. “I’m going to leave this one free. Makes things a
little more interesting.” Then he came forward on flat palms and
settled between my spread thighs.
“Joseph–”
“Shh.” The kiss
was inescapable; he filled his hands with my hair, held me tight to
his mouth. He tasted like mint and sugar.
Now the world
became a cold stone landscape with its edges barred in black iron
rails. The breeze drew shivers, cool despite humid air, as if the
setting sun was a fire ablaze in the distance. So Charlotte came to
purgatory, tugged so fast she arrived with no plucky escape plan,
or bag of tricks to rival his.
But maybe she
didn’t want to escape. Liked to be helpless. Liked the frothy kiss
of pain at her wrists.
Joseph appeared
above me clutching the scissors, and I split the silence with a
wrought yelp.
“What?” he
whispered.
“Don’t–”
“You mean
this?” Twin blade tips lifted my skirt. His signature was obscured
by my suspender belt and he eased the band down with uneven breath.
A fingertip traced scratched letters. “You think I’m going to do
this again?”
“Please
don’t.”
I think.
“Oh no,
sweetheart. This is perfect as it is.”
There was a
rough snip as he cut the hem of my dress, and then the roar of torn
fabric filled my ears. I wanted to weep as he split it up the
middle–it held so many memories–but a strange calm took hold as
your lady colleague. She appears to be selling herself on the
side.”
“Oh God.” Hair
went tight around my finger as I twisted. “I’ve never understood
that kind of thing.”
He chewed his
bottom lip; he was convincing, comically so. “Me either. Why waste
a couple of grand when you can invite a girl to an overpriced floor
picnic that your assistant did all the work for?”
“Now there’s
the mark of a man who wants to impress.”
His laugh was
dry and mocking. “Oh, fuck off.” He sprang to his feet. “Come and
see the view from the terrace.”
He pulled me
up. Waited as I steadied myself on the heels. Then he unlocked the
glass doors and flattened himself against them as I stepped
out.
I didn’t get as
far as two feet on the ground.
A light little
kick took one leg from under me and I smacked forward on to the
tiled floor, my palms hot and fizzing on impact. The door slammed
and it rang in my ears. Then he eased me over with another foot to
the shoulder, and I lay sprawled on my back beneath the darkening
sky.
Kneeling, he
brought my trembling arms above my head.
“This morning,”
he murmured, tugging me toward the railing, “the way you said no to
me. I liked that.”
There were no
words–I poked them, prodded, but they wouldn’t come out to play.
This businesslike manner of his aroused me. Disturbed me. Did both
because all this was planned.
Something cool
and smooth bound my wrists together. As he secured me to the
railing, the ends flew across my face: a thin twist of silk rope.
The mark of a professional. He checked his knots with a vague frown
of concentration and then snipped the end with a pair of scissors.
He’d brought a little of the other side of the mirror to New York
too, it seemed.
“What are you
doing to me?” Charlotte played his game, but Leila heard the blood
soar in her ears.
“Making sure
you stay just where I want you.” He crawled back down and took my
ankle in his hand. “It’s very convenient, this terrace.”
I tugged my
foot away and he caught it again, looping the rope in a tight
crisscross. It chafed against my gossamer-thin stockings.
Breath stuck in
my throat. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I’m just
practicing my knots, baby.” He snapped another tight. “It’s an art
form. Did you know that?”
I twisted
sideways to look at him. “Untie me. Teach me how to do them.”
Creamy hair
fell into his face and obscured the smile that flickered. “Nice
try.” He fondled my free calf, raked his nails over the seamed
black nylon. “I’m going to leave this one free. Makes things a
little more interesting.” Then he came forward on flat palms and
settled between my spread thighs.
“Joseph–”
“Shh.” The kiss
was inescapable; he filled his hands with my hair, held me tight to
his mouth. He tasted like mint and sugar.
Now the world
became a cold stone landscape with its edges barred in black iron
rails. The breeze drew shivers, cool despite humid air, as if the
setting sun was a fire ablaze in the distance. So Charlotte came to
purgatory, tugged so fast she arrived with no plucky escape plan,
or bag of tricks to rival his.
But maybe she
didn’t want to escape. Liked to be helpless. Liked the frothy kiss
of pain at her wrists.
Joseph appeared
above me clutching the scissors, and I split the silence with a
wrought yelp.
“What?” he
whispered.
“Don’t–”
“You mean
this?” Twin blade tips lifted my skirt. His signature was obscured
by my suspender belt and he eased the band down with uneven breath.
A fingertip traced scratched letters. “You think I’m going to do
this again?”
“Please
don’t.”
I think.
“Oh no,
sweetheart. This is perfect as it is.”
There was a
rough snip as he cut the hem of my dress, and then the roar of torn
fabric filled my ears. I wanted to weep as he split it up the
middle–it held so many memories–but a strange calm took hold as
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