Marcy wasn't aware of responding, but there must have been something – a shift in her body, a flick of something in her gaze because Mike jumped on it instantly.
"Oh!" he said, snapping his fingers. A canny light kindled in his eyes. "That’s right! I bet you didn’t have that the first time around. From what I know of Trent, he married you on the cheap. He would have pinched those few coins he spent so tight that they screamed."
He paused, tilted his head and studied her. With a nod he added in a low yet eager tone, "This time you'll have a great big lavish wedding, Marcy. We'll invite everyone, we'll buy the best." A cheerful devious grin was spread right across his face.
Mike raised his hands, much like the conductor of an orchestra would. "We'll have a huge, ultra lavish, ridiculously expensive, invite everyone, massive society-page event," he told her excitedly, waving his arms with a finale of passion, as if his musical piece had reached its crescendo.
Marcy was still speechless, but the determined man was getting to her.
What was more, she could see that Mike knew that he was getting to her.
An extravagant wedding to celebrate such a romantic, important and life changing occasion did sound amazing. That had once been her dream. Marcy's first wedding had been held in the 'Little White Chapel.' It had cost less than $150, with $60 of that amount paying for the marriage license. Even that had taken some convincing on her part. Trent had wanted to go to the County Clerk's Office and pay only $60.
"C'mon," Mike said when she remained silent. "I know I freaked you out when I mentioned marriage before. I just thought if I brought it up from time to time you might get used to the idea."
"I tell you that I'm unable to climax so that makes you want to marry me?" She laughed.
"I wanted to marry you anyway, but your honesty and bravery just makes me want to marry you more," Mike said with an endearing grin.
"You really do nag, you know," she observed with asperity. "What if I'm never able to climax?"
"You'll climax. I'm not worried about that. Seriously." He cocked a smug brow and gave her a sexy wink. "I know exactly how to tie you up and torture you, keeping you right on the edge of orgasm with my hands, my mouth and a ton of naughty toys. I could happily do that for hours."
He raised his eyebrows up and down at her wickedly.
He leaned closer. "By the time I finish with you, Marcy," he said huskily, "you'd sob and beg and plead with me to allow you climax." The dark expression in his narrowed eyes flickered, dominant and dangerous.
Marcy's pulse elevated, thudding perilously in her throat.
"If you were a good girl, and had pleased me… I'd even let you," Mike murmured. His masculine voice was low, and slow and seductive.
Jesus!
34. Surprise
Her senses were on overdrive.
Marcy blinked, stunned and captivated with the inner vision of such a thing. Of her arms and legs bound to a bed, while Mike teased, tormented and played with her naked body. A sensuous heat pooled low inside – in that spot she was just beginning to figure out.
Holy shit. Really? Mike could do that?
Marcy had never thought of him that way. He was big and strong and so overwhelmingly male. Already he inundated her senses. Damn. Marcy didn’t know if she was terrified or thrilled at the idea of being tied up and completely under his control.
It was probably a bit of both.
Mike opened the fridge, got out the chardonnay, and poured her out another glass of wine. He handed it to her. "Here," he said. "You look like you need this."
Marcy took it gratefully, and drank a soothing gulp. She could feel his gaze hot upon her. He was watching her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. Jesus. Had the room just gotten hotter? Because her temperature had certainly spiked. She didn't want to talk about what had just happened.
Not here. Not now with the girls in the next room.
When she finally calmed down, she took a deep steadying breath and looked at him. His eyes searched her face. Then he gave her a heart-stopping smile.
"You'll climax," he said confidently, brushing his fingers along her cheeks in a comforting manner. "I don’t think you should worry about it, Marcy. Anyway, André can help us if we get stuck. And in the worst case scenario, if you never ever have a climax, so what?"
"Nice," she said, feeling more herself. "This from a man who is no doubt perfectly capable of having an orgasm."
He grinned in the roguish manner of a pirate. "I'll show you later if you like," he said with a mischievous wink. They both laughed.
"You know what I mean," Mike said. "If you're never able to climax we can both live with it, if we have to. Marcy, I don’t want to marry you just so that we can have sex," he said and raised his hands, his tone and manner vehement. "I love you."
"You are such a goofball," Marcy said, but she found herself smiling at him. There was something in the flash of his eyes, a wild passionate look. Was he just getting started? Intrigued she shifted on the stool at the kitchen counter to face him. Just what did he want to say?
"Tell me, Marcy. When did having sex become the whole game anyway?" Mike said beginning to pace and communicate with his hands, wildly gesticulating as he sometimes did when he got excited.
"Jesus, who even gives a fuck about sex?" he asked. "Everyone acts like it's the most important thing people do, but come on! Sewer rats have sex. Cockroaches have sex. I like to think as a human being that life and love is about much more than sex. Family is important. Kids are important. Satisfaction at work and having a partner who is on your side and that you can talk to is important. Having someone who understands you, knows your faults and loves you anyway is important."
Mike took both of her hands in his, sending a flutter of sensation through her. They were big, warm and masculine, just like he was. The passion and intensity in his eyes was adorable and awe inspiring. Was this love? The things he was talking about sounded like as good a definition as she had ever considered.
"Do you know what I miss most now that Barbra's gone?" he asked. "Not the sex… I miss companionship. Having someone who really knows me and likes me the way I am. Someone I can share my problems with, and who isn't afraid to tell me off and set me straight when I'm being a jerk."
He cocked an eyebrow mischievously at her. "Not that I'm ever a jerk, of course."
"Oh, of course," she agreed with a wry smile.
Pressing his lips to her wrists, he squeezed her hands tighter. "I want someone who knows not just all my secrets, but all my dreams. Someone fun who makes me laugh, but also can cry at the end of a good movie. I miss listening to the person I love breathe at night, and watching them sleep, and having someone of my own. I miss cuddling, and kissing and holding hands."
He squeezed hers once more, his palms warm against her. "I miss that intimate sharing with one's best friend in the whole world."
"Wow," Marcy said, entranced by the vivid pictures he was painting. "I don’t think I've ever had any of that."
"I want that with you, Marcy," he said, his voice low and compelling. "When I'm with you I feel so happy that I can’t stop smiling. Tell me that you want me, too."
Marcy would have replied that she did want him, but just then her phone rang. She had left it out on the kitchen counter, not expecting any calls.
She gave him an apologetic look and took her hands from his. When she picked it up an unlisted number showed. Who could be calling? Maybe Gustave? Did André need her? Yet she was on Thanksgiving break, with the next few days off. Curious, she answered it.
"Hello?"
"Is this Marcy Paget?" said a soft feminine voice.
"It sure is. Who's calling?"
"My name is Debra," the woman said. "Debra Berger."
Like shutting down a computer by pulling out the plug, Marcy's mind went utterly blank. There was a long pause, while she tried to understand those words with a mind that was no longer able to process.
Say what?
"We bot
h married Trent," explained the soft voice. "I don’t have long to talk, but I was hoping that we could meet somewhere. Maybe after Thanksgiving? I hope you don’t mind."
"Uh…" Marcy said in a clouded daze. She had never met Debra. "Okay, sure."
"Thank you so much," Debra said. "I'll be in touch. God bless you. Goodbye."
35. Conflict
What the fuck is she up to? Trent wondered as he silently strode into the plush carpeted room. His wife's back was to him as she looked out toward the pool. Debra was talking on the phone, but there was something in the way she held herself. She looked secretive.
"Who was that?" Trent asked as Debra hung up the phone.
Debra swung around, unable to hide her surprise. Or was it shock? The stupid bitch couldn’t have looked more ashamed if she had been caught taking money from the church tithe basket as it was being passed around. Just who had she been talking to? Trent wondered. Why would she look so guilty?
"Oh," Debra said in a sort of breathless gasp. "I was talking to the caterer about Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Just checking, you know."
Trent knew a lie when he heard one, mainly because he had so much experience with lying himself. "Oh? What did they say?" he asked.
Debra's smile was somewhat forced. "Everything will be ready by noon. I'm so glad I'm not doing any cooking this year."
Trent took her in his arms, but she stiffened against him. "What's wrong?" he asked, deciding that his best move right now was to indulge her. "Are you still mad at me for losing my temper? I'm so sorry, baby. Things have been difficult at work. I'm under an enormous amount of stress. You know how much I rely on you to make my life easier though, don’t you? Behind every successful man is a good Christian woman, you know that."
Her tense body loosened. "Oh," she said. "Well, I was upset. You used the 'C' word, Trent."
Trent pulled back and gave her his most conciliatory smile. "I said I was sorry, sweetheart. As the scripture says, 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who sin against us,' right?"
"Oh, well, of course I forgive you," she said, giving him a slight hug.
When Trent first set his sight on Debra as a wife, he spent weeks learning every useful bible verse. His hard work paid off. It was so easy to manipulate Debra, and to keep her right where he wanted her.
Stupid to have snapped at her, however. He knew better than that. He rarely lost his temper with his wife, but he could fix it. Trent knew about leverage. He used it to manipulate and control everyone around him. People only did things according to what they needed and wanted. Every person had a reason, something to protect, something they valued, or some secret they found necessary to hide.
Debra, like everyone else, could be taken advantage of through the calculated and judicious use of leverage and power.
Being a good Christian was high up in value, so he used guilt to get his way. "Honor and Obey" your husband was useful for that. "Honor thy Father," was important, too. Debra was anxious to please her father. She wanted to be a good daughter. A failed marriage would be her fault. Debra wouldn’t want to let her father down.
"I told your father that you were no longer on the pill," he said, changing the subject.
Debra stepped back from him, blushing an appealing pink. "You didn’t!"
Trent gave her his most charming smile. "He was happy for us, sweetheart. Men discuss these things. We want children, and he wants grandchildren." He pulled her against him again. He kissed her neck and nuzzled against her. "Let's go make a baby, shall we?"
Once she was pregnant she would never cause him trouble again. Debra was naive and dumb as a brick – but he hadn’t married her for her brains. He had married her for her looks and bank account, and for her father's financial backing. Not to mention all her father's business contacts.
She had been an innocent in the sack, but in her need to "Honor and Obey" Trent had taught her what he wanted.
Unlike his last wife, she was a good fuck as long as he didn't do anything too outrageous. Her young firm body already made his dick hard. There were always other women for his anal interests. Trent was being careful to cover his bases. Scripture was unclear. To many Christians, sodomy was a sin. He didn't want to scare his wife about eternal damnation. She might leave him over that.
Debra was the perfect woman for an ambitious man like him. Until their first child, he had to keep her more or less happy. Even though she annoyed him, Trent couldn’t let his temper slip.
"Trent," Debra said. "We can't… I, well, I'm on my period."
Trent pushed his erection against her, holding her firm ass with his hands. He rubbed himself between her legs, wanting her to feel it. "That's okay, sweetheart," he said. "But your husband needs you. Can't tell how much I want you?"
"Oh," she blushed. "Yes."
"I don’t mind a little blood," he added, knowing that she hated to have sex during her period. Debra found it embarrassing and disliked the mess it made of the sheets. Trent knew that it disgusted her, and consequently he enjoyed fucking her when she was bleeding. It proved to both her and to him that he was the husband. That he had all the power in their relationship.
He took her hand and led her up the stairs and into their bedroom.
"How about I just please you, Trent?" she asked.
He smiled down at her, stroking the soft skin of her face. "You are the best wife in the whole world, Debra. You're a good girl. Strip your clothes like I taught you, and then get on your knees. If I can't come inside your beautiful pussy and create a baby, at least I can still come inside you. You don’t mind that, do you sweetheart? You like to please your husband? That's an important part of a wife's duties, isn’t it?"
"Yes, Trent," she whispered.
Debra would never deny him sex. Trent liked making her have it, particularly when she wasn't in the mood. He enjoyed that control. Besides, a woman needed to be reminded of her place. If a husband wanted sex it was a sin to refuse him. The Bible said so.
As Debra shyly began to take her clothes off, Trent considered how clever he was. Handsome, ambitious, focused, powerful and rich. He was a lion, surrounded by sheep. He could do anything he wanted.
That thought made him even harder, inflexible as a steel blade. Sex was more than just a pleasure. It was a weapon, one he used regularly with lots of women, including his wife, Debra.
36. Thanksgiving
"I'm not going to lie or exaggerate," Mike pronounced in a moment of heavily sated silence. "That Thanksgiving dinner changed my life."
Appreciative laughs filled the room. Mike had gone all out, decorating with white and orange pumpkins and candles. The dinner table looked like the aftermath of a battle. The turkey was down to less than half, mainly bones. The ham was in a similar state. Waldorf salad, corn on the cob, giblet gravy, stuffing, honeyed carrots, mashed potatoes, candied yams, green beans and almonds, jellied cranberries, and mandarin orange salad.
Red and white wine flowed in a manner equal to a public tasting at a winery. Everyone was in an excellent mood.
Marcy arrived early for Thanksgiving lunch at Mike's house. She had been filled with trepidation, while Katie, shy as she was, seemed to take everything in stride. Mike's house was full of laughter, noise and organized chaos.
The place was like a madhouse.
Crowded and noisy, everyone seemed to be doing something all at once in the kitchen. After a couple of drinks, and an overwhelming welcome from Mike's family, Marcy was completely at ease.
Mike's mother, Pamela, was an outspoken sixty something. Despite her white hair, she looked much younger. She used little makeup and wore tortoise shell glasses that set off her bright blue eyes. Pamela cornered her, with an aspect of idle chatter, yet it was anything but.
The woman sized her up, and quickly seemed to come to the conclusion that she liked Marcy.
"Mike has always been caring and considerate, Marcy," she said, patting her arm. "He's a very good son, and that's something to remember. A man who is good
to his mother will also be good to his wife."
Her words embarrassed Marcy at first. Why was she telling her this? Yet it was obvious that Mike liked her, so clearly Marcy was a possible companion for her son. Later when Marcy considered Pamela's statement, she realized how true the woman's words were.
Trent's mother moved to Florida when she remarried, and he never wrote and never called. His mother had no money, no beauty, and no useful connections. Thus she was someone Trent chose to ignore.
There were fourteen for Thanksgiving lunch. Mike's mom and dad and grandmother, his brother, Craig and his boyfriend, his sister Janice who was six months pregnant, her husband Bob, and their two children, Madison age eight, and Sarah, age six. There was also Mike's youngest brother, James, with his wife and first child, a baby three months old.
After dinner the children took off to play games together, while the adults chatted, waiting for the food to settle enough to have coffee and dessert. Homemade pumpkin pie, pecan pie and ice cream would be featured. As well as strawberry chocolate cheese cake and rum balls.
Mike's brother, Craig, brought his boyfriend of six years, also named Craig. To save confusion Mike's brother went by ET. Not ET as in the movie - ET standing for 'Evil and Twisted One.'
ET wore black and white cowhide clogs, a Tom Selleck moustache and seemed to be living in the eighties. A well-loved school teacher, he was firm friends with the moms of all his students, and collected classic cars. A psychiatrist would probably want to treat him for his outrageously manic behavior. His laugh sounded a little like "bawahahaha!"
Marcy thought he was hilarious.
His partner, Craig, was ET's opposite. He dressed and talked like the conservative lawyer he was. After the children left to play, Craig's partner had come out with "Regular sex helps insulate a man from chronic stress which increases longevity. Men who have sex at least three times a week have half the risk of heart attack."
Had they all had way too much wine? This bland textbook statement, apropos of nothing, sent everyone off into furious gales of laughter.