Escalation Clause (29 page)

The door swung open before he could touch his knuckles to it. He stepped inside a dimly lit large room filled with overstuffed expensive-looking furniture. As his eyes adjusted to the semi gloom he caught a whiff of something, a sort of sultry, almost citrusy aroma climbed up in his brain and made his scalp tingle. Low music came from somewhere, U2, if he was not mistaken, “With or Without You.” He smiled, knowing Sara had as much of a sense of irony about a song like that as he did. “Hey, anybody home?” he called out.

He wandered into the compact, well-equipped kitchen. A huge bowl of strawberries sat on the counter alongside a dish of cream. He dredged one through the stuff and ate it in two bites. “Baby?” he called again. His heart sped up when he saw the dish of fresh jalapeños next to a bowl of a deep yellow liquid. Honey, he proved to himself after dipping a finger in it. Bono and the boys finished their tune, segueing into Coldplay, a concert he and Sara had seen together, what seemed like eons ago—“Fix You” was the song.
When you love someone but it goes to waste, could it be worse?
His nerves resumed their annoying tap dance along his spine.

A light flickered at the end of a long hallway. He tucked his hands in his pockets and tried not to rush towards it, to beg her to stop hiding. He’d not spent much of his nearly forty-seven years scared or even very nervous about anything. But the words he’d use to describe himself now were along the lines of “utterly terrified” or even “breathless with panic.” He swallowed around the giant lump of emotion building in his throat. This was not what he expected at all and he felt his lizard brain leaping into fight or flight mode. Not a good thing, considering he was supposed to be here making up with his wife.

The next room he found was illuminated by about a million candles and held what appeared to be a single chair, right in the middle. The kind of sturdy chair without arms, with an unmistakable glint of cuffs attached to either side. He frowned, mind already moving three steps ahead and wondering why she was setting the stage. That was his job.

The perimeter of the room came into view but with a sort of snapshot, in-and-out quality thanks to the flicker of light. A table that held various elements of their life stood at one end, complete with the leather flogger, soft cotton ropes, a pile of condom packets, an iPod with earbuds attached, even a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He touched each one of them, grinning when he spotted a large, blingy looking, fake diamond ring next to the condoms. A couple of shirts, one with a block M and another his Michigan State S were in a pile, next to a pacifier, and one of Kate’s favorite shirts—the one she wore when he picked up her from daycare that day, with SpongeBob on the front. He picked up the wedding photo of them staring into each other’s eyes. His skin pebbled. He put it back down.

The song changed to the duet that they’d danced to, the night at the Grand Opening of his building, the night he’d had her, then tossed her away thanks to his own stupidity. Billy Currington and Shania Twain sang “Party for Two” and he was immediately back there, holding her close, spinning her around in her killer dress and heels, desperate to get her upstairs and prove…something. He couldn’t even remember anymore what he could have possibly needed to prove enough at that point that would’ve been worth losing her. Shutting his eyes a split second he let himself own a simple truth and with it a brain numbing emotion so clear he nearly choked on his own spit—one that reminded him how much he loved his wife and how his fucking entire existence would end if he lost her.

God damn you, Gordon. This is not how you operate. You know what you want. Go get it. Tell her how you feel. Just admit you don’t understand what she’s become after Blake’s death and that you are flat out freaked over being a shitty father.

He slowly turned, noting the restraints attached to the ceiling. Something resembling fear shot through him again as his normal calm equilibrium seemed to slip ever so slightly out of his reach. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than to see her, hold her, and get all this shit back under his control.

“Sara,” He whispered when he saw her silhouette in a doorway, backlit so all he could make out was her figure. Coldplay was back. It had been one of their better nights, that concert. They had sung, laughed, kissed in the huge mosh pit crowd; he recalled it like it was yesterday and wanted it the fuck back. He wanted that Sara, that Jack. Not these damaged adults, limping their way through life trying to do nothing more than not screw up the kids. The emotion he’d given in to a moment ago kept rolling through him, like a slow moving thunderstorm.

They were not “that Jack and Sara” anymore. He knew it and figured she did, too. Staying true to himself while being the man his family needed had never felt more like a unbearable burden—no, more like an unreachable goal. He couldn’t do it. He was on the verge of the worst kind of failure—one he’d dreaded and avoided by keeping himself free and clear of emotional connection for so many years. He was going to fail as a husband and father. He shivered as she moved closer. “What the fuck are you wearing?” he croaked out as she walked into full view.

She was decked out in leather bustier, silk stockings and high patent leather pumps. Her hair was down around her shoulders in a way he loved but hardly ever saw anymore. Kids, work, family drama meant it was usually yanked up in a convenient ponytail. She looked like five million bucks. “You look…what the hell is that?” he pointed to the candle she had in one hand.

“Ow!” she shrieked and nearly dropped it. “Crap.” He lunged forward and grabbed it before she set the damn place on fire. She shook her hand, flustered, making him smile. This he knew. This he could handle. He reached for her, tried to pull her close, but she jerked away from him. “No.” Her voice was low and firm.

A natural anger rose in him, familiar, but somehow wrong. He let it talk. “Excuse me?” He stepped back and put the candle alongside the others. She lifted her chin. His love for her at that second made him breathless. He reached for her again. “Listen, Sara, that thing you saw—”

She held up her hand. His eye caught the glint of her wedding band, a simple platinum thing she’d insisted on, telling him she wanted nothing to do with his need to show off by putting giant diamonds on her finger. Their rings were nearly identical and had a date engraved in them: May 10. It was the day they first met, when she handed him a set of condo keys after loitering in said condo with her then-current boyfriend too long, when he’d needed to show the damn thing.

He claimed it was the day his life changed forever, and there was a no more true statement. “I know.” She said, taking a step towards him. His nerves went on immediate alert, soothing him with familiar reactions. A hard cock and a need to fuck was something he understood well. This niggling thing in his brain, her set up, the props, the music, all of it had him more rattled than he cared to admit.

“Good,” he said, relieved beyond measure. But his voice was shaky. She stared at him, the amazing deep emerald of her eyes mesmerizing like they always were. He reached forward, needing to touch her.

“No,” she stepped back, and made her way to the single chair. “Come sit.”

He waited a beat. Her voice was the same one he knew but her words were clipped, odd sounding. She loved to go on and on usually adding more words than were necessary, something he’d cured her of through the years, making her a much better sales manager. Sometimes less was just more, period. He tamped down his need to question the scene and decided play along.
What could it hurt?

“Wait,” she said and took a step back into his space giving him another heady nose full of her. He nearly dropped to his knees with a sudden intense surge of lust. She unbuttoned his shirt, slid it slowly off his arms as the music swirled around them, the candles casting an eerie sensuality around the room. He sucked in a breath when she dropped the shirt to the floor and trailed her fingers up his abs, across his chest, never taking her eyes from his.

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, Sara, but…,” a small flare of anger lit his brain. “This is not….”

She put her fingers to his lips, traced them, and then frowned. “What in the hell happened to your face?”

He touched his sore eye. “My buddy, Rob and I had a little discussion.”

“Oh,” her face flushed. He shifted, when all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him light headed. As if sensing it, she smiled and threaded her fingers in his hair. He licked his lips, needing her kiss more than he needed to breathe.

“So, back to my observation about not knowing what the hell you’re doing here.” He kept his voice low. She reached for his zipper but he stopped her, grabbed her arm. “I’m not doing this; it’s…not what we do, not how we handle….”

“Shh. No talking.” She had him unzipped in the blink of an eye, his jeans and boxers in a puddle at his feet. He frowned, angry and horny, and everything in between. She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him into the seat. Another thrill of fear hit him hard. He tried to get back up. He was not going to be this guy. No fucking way. But her low voice did something to him then, and when she propped her sharp stiletto heel on his bare thigh his brain fogged over at the sight of it, digging into his flesh, and the feel of it, painful and sexy at the same time. She leaned down and whispered. “I trust you Jack. But now, I’m calling the shots.”

He bit back a retort, as the fear flared to life in his chest. Visions flashed in his head—Sara, the open house, the hall of her office, the night of the building opening, the blood when Katie was born, the stupid soccer tournament when they’d fought, all of it. He gulped. The scary emotion was back, clouding his brain and making his vision dim. He stared down, unable to meet her eyes.

“It’s okay, Jack.” She walked around behind him and whispered into his ear. “I’ve got you.” Cold metal clamped around his wrists. He started to stand as his internal storm kept roiling, dark and ominous, building strength.

“I’m not going here, Sara. You don’t know what you’re doing. I’m not…you…we….” He heard himself babbling.

“Shh….” She secured him to the chair.

“God damn it woman we are not doing this.” He yanked his arms, encountering nothing but cold, firm steel. His eye pounded, and his heart sped up so fast he feared for his safety. Plus, as a bonus, his cock could cut diamonds it was so hard. He groaned when she ran her hand over it. “Christ,” he whined. “I’m cold.” He kept complaining, trying to find something to distract her, but he
was
shivering. His vision was going wonky, tunneled; he chalked it up to the swelling.

“I know,” she said as she started to put a soft silk cover over his eyes.

“No fucking way,” he jerked away. But, she came around to his front and straddled his legs, standing still, but giving him a clear view of her bare pussy. He licked his lips.

“You want this,” she touched the soft pink of her sex, slipped a finger in, making him break into a cold sweat. She put her fingers to his lips giving him a taste of her familiar sweetness. “You will do this.” She slipped the blindfold over his eyes. He let her, unable to speak lest he curse, struggle, and bloody well come all over his lap. Quite the buzz, but it was more than that. When he reached deep and found the fear, really owned it, it made him sick to his stomach. The dark encased him leaving him with nothing but his nose and his skin.

“You know what, I do want that,” he mustered a strong tone although his gut was churning and his brain was getting mushy. “And I’ll get it, don’t worry. It’s mine. We’ve already determined that. You have no idea how this works, Sara. You need to… to….”

“Yes, Jack, we did.” Her breath ghosted over his face. “But we have some business to discuss, and this is the only way I can get your undivided attention.”

“Bullshit,” he rattled the cuffs, trying like hell to let the tiny flame of fury blaze and overtake the emotional hurricane that had engulfed him.
He feared nothing, God dammit. Least of all being cuffed, blindfolded, and topped by his own fucking wife.
He heard his ragged breathing, and attempted to calm it, to let her know he was in control.

Something touched his lips, her finger, covered with honey. He sucked at it, letting the smooth liquid coat his throat. “I’m not…,” he croaked. “I can’t….” The terror pulsed once more like a live thing clawing around in his chest.

Her lips were at his ear. “Yes. You can, Jack. You will.” The leather flogger draped over his shoulder. He gritted his teeth and tried not to react when she flicked it across his skin. “You spent so much time using all this…,” she used the leather against him, harder. He yelped, and tried not to pant.
Jesus. What the hell was she…?

“Ow, fuck!” he yelled when she hit his thighs. He bit back a groan. His cock throbbed in direct response.
Since when did he get off this way? He doled out the pain and control, not her.

She slid it back up his torso. “Exactly. You used your control to make me lose mine. And I let you. And I will again. But we are going to have a conversation first. A conversation about us. This is not about our particular bedroom preferences. It’s about our marriage.”

“Whatever,” he whispered, shivering, anger trying to push away the extreme anxiety that threatened to engulf him.

Something cold hit his exposed nipple. She rolled his flesh along her tongue, using ice and her teeth to make him moan and thrust his hips involuntarily. Then she stopped. All was quiet, even the music had gone silent. He sat, and the distress returned. “Sara?” he called out. “Listen, baby, I get it. A little taste of my own medicine. It’s cool. And we should talk, I mean, you know really talk. I’m ready for that.” He gulped, unwilling to own up to the panic overtaking him. “Now, let me go and let’s…holy…shit.” Something hot hit his thigh, dangerously close to his cock. But, instead of being painful, it made his eye hurt less and the pounding in his head suddenly cease. “Ah…,” he cried out as small splatters hit his other thigh. His cock twitched, he felt himself leak. A whimper escaped his lips. “Sara, please.”