I twirl my whip with a hotter stare. I imagine Scott on the other line with Connor, and little minions with pitchforks dance across my brain. I recognize that Connor is partially putting on this charade for me. He could live with the sex tapes. I’m the one who can’t.
I’m thankful to have someone like Connor, who’d be willing to do whatever it takes so that I don’t have to. I can’t fake it as well as him. If I come into contact with Scott again, I’d maul his face off.
I snap the whip, and it cracks in the air.
Connor’s brow arches, but agitation coats his face at whatever Scott is saying. I can see it surface as he rubs his lips. He plasters on a cheerful, congenial voice. “Golf on Saturday works for me, just don’t go too hard. I haven’t played in a year.” His eyes rise to mine.
I mouth, ew.
He grins. “See you then.” He hangs up.
“What two kings sit on the thrones of England and France at the beginning of A Tale of Two Cities?” I ask him. “You have one minute.” I crack the whip again.
His lips keep lifting upward, his usual arrogance returning. Normally I’d scoff at it, but I do love this part of him, definitely after his fake conversation. I’m happy to see the real sides emerge.
“George III and Louis XVI,” he answers correctly.
“Congratulations, you saved yourself from a 24-hour silent treatment.” I inspect the length of the whip and accidentally glance at the store windows again.
Connor approaches me, his hand slipping to the small of my back. In one sensual, seamless action, he kisses me and nips my bottom lip between his teeth. It would be amazing—if I didn’t descend into my head. I go rigid and spot the cashier watching us from the register, the shelves too low to hide us.
“Relax,” Connor whispers. PDA is hard for me. I understand it’s laughable that I struggle to kiss my husband in public when sex tapes of us are online, but I can block some of that out.
This is right now. Physically all me. Here.
“The store is nearly empty.” He can read my little insecurities. Connor called ahead and asked the manager to clear out the customers in exchange for their store featured in Celebrity Crush tomorrow.
It worked, and we had to take off lunch on a Friday afternoon to avoid suspicion from Ryke, Lily, Loren, and Daisy. Our bodyguards cover the door, so it’s clear that no one will interrupt us.
I toss my silky brown hair off my shoulder and inspect the whip again, a little dazed. “Do you prefer me this way?” I ask him. “Have you always wanted me to be outwardly affectionate?”
Connor tilts my chin, and his deep blue eyes barrel into me with sincerity. “No,” he says. “I love you the way you are. I don’t want to change you, but—”
“I know,” I nod. He doesn’t have to say anymore. This is the last incriminating photo that we need to set-up for Walter Aimes and Celebrity Crush. We’re done with exclusive pictures after this, our debt paid. Now the tabloid won’t post the story about doubting Moffy’s paternity test.
But it doesn’t completely end for us.
We still plan to bolster the media by acting out. More PDA. More random baggie drops of powdered sugar. It’s been working, keeping the articles focused on our relationship rather than our children.
“I want Jane to have a sister,” I whisper. I’d step outside of my comfort zone a million times over just to give my daughter more in life. This has to work.
Connor draws me to his chest, holding me close. “J’en suis sûr.” I’m sure she will.
His phone buzzes with mine. Walter took the photograph?
Move closer to the rack on the right side. I don’t have a good angle. – WA
Ugh. Connor easily clasps my hand and guides me. All the while I drag the whip across the floor. I’ll buy it, just for dirtying the thing, but in no way is Connor using it on me.
We stop by the giant wall of multicolored dildos and vibrators. Some luxury brands, others much cheaper.
“Find anything you like?” Connor asks, partially serious.
I’ve never been in a sex store with him. “I like this,” I lie, in a cold voice, waving the whip near his ass.
He steals it from me, and I glare.
“That was mine, Richard.”
“And now it’s mine,” he teases. Then he snaps the whip, the crack much louder, echoing like a gunshot. The hairs on my arms rise, my legs turned to gelatin. He carries a whip like he’s the king of the fucking underworld.
“So now you’re a thief,” I refute, having to clear my throat once. He shouldn’t be this attractive in a sex store, and what’s more infuriating—he knows he is.
“If we weren’t married, then yes, I’d be considered a thief.” He turns back to the wall of toys.
I scowl. He always has to one-up me. I’ll beat him, make him uncomfortable for once. Game on. I scan the wall and remove the largest of the dildos, big and fat, also a shade of blue. Its girth alone looks insanely miserable. My vagina quivers in warning like hell no.
I check the tag: horse cock.
I swear I’m not lying.
I rotate to Connor. He’s not the least bit flustered.
“For you,” I say with a tight smile. I’m joking, I think. I swallow hard as his smile fades, staring impassively at me. In the back of my brain, I wonder if this is something he misses. Not obscenely large dicks, but just them in general. I add, “If you need—”
“Rose,” he cuts me off. He glances once at the cashier before lowering his voice to me. “Do you remember when I told you that I used to have sex for two different reasons?”
“For manipulation and for pleasure,” I say beneath my breath.
He leans close, his lips skimming my cheek before he whispers a secret. “When I was on bottom, it was always for manipulation.” He cups my jaw. “I’m not missing anything with you.”
I inhale strongly. Translation: you fill all of my needs.
Of all the places to have a heart to heart…it’s incredibly disgusting this had to be the location. I set the dildo back, already planning on bathing in a tub of bleach and sanitizer when I return home.
“Sex doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” I say. I realize I’m fighting a losing battle by trying to unnerve him here.
“Not even for a second.” He’s so comfortable in his own skin that almost nothing can shake him. I thought I was that way too, but I’ve been tested too much. I have limitations and things that make me tic.
“I have something I need to show you,” he tells me.
My mind spins as I follow beside him, edging closer just to steal back the whip. He gives in, releasing his firm clutch on the leather. I feel powerful with it in hand, but I don’t want to actually use it on anyone.
“Please tell me you’re guiding me to hand sanitizer.”
“I’ll take a shower with you when we get home,” he tells me. I never thought I’d be married to this man, let alone hear him offering showers with me so casually. Two years have already flown by, and the girl who was worried that she had to be dominant in bed (or at least every guy expected it of her) has all but vanished.
I gasp and pause by a rack of edible underwear, made from black licorice. I pick up the thong from the display since the others are in boxes, and I hold it with one finger, snuffing out the image of other dirty hands touching it too.