It was the pretty, nubile sub who initially caught Lana’s eye when she was being fucked for their corner of the club to see. There she was, looking cozy with Ken, who put a flirtatious hand on her shoulder and whispered something into her ear that made her giggle.
Flashes of Chloe the trampy maid took over Lana’s mind. If her husband were fooling around with that girl, then this was probably what they looked like getting all cozy in his office. Probably one of the guest rooms. Her room. Who cared.
“Ah, Lana,” Ken said the moment he noticed his wife standing before them. “Meet our new friend, Josie.”
“Our new friend?”
The sweet brunette smiled meekly. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. I… really liked that…” She turned away, giggling.
She was the type of girl Lana would normally love to Top in front of her husband, but they had just enjoyed a threesome with their mistress that past weekend, and sometimes Lana thought she only had one threesome a week in her.
“Can I talk to you, Kenneth?”
His smile wavered, but his demeanor did not. “Of course, my love.” He stood, sending a trite apology in Josie’s direction. Ken followed his wife into a dark corner where they could be alone enough to convene on whatever was troubling her.
Everything was troubling her.
“I don’t feel like fooling around with other people tonight. Get rid of her.”
Ken was visibly taken aback. Whether at this being her reaction, or the force of it… “Sorry, Bunny, I thought you might like her.”
“Like her? What is there to like about a weak little girl who can’t hold her own against a virile woman like me?” Lana scoffed. “If you’re going shopping for a woman for us, at least pick one who is more like me. I can’t stand little muffins in my bed. That’s more your bag, isn’t it?”
The perplexity on Ken’s face unnerved Lana. Could he not see what was going on? Did he not know that he was being so transparent? “Excuse me?” he said, quietly. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Besides you tonight?” The huff wracking Lana’s body was almost as strong as her orgasm from earlier. “It’s not becoming of a man your age to flirt with twenty-year-olds who look like they came from a sub’s nursery. It’s creepy, Kenneth. Even our mistress at least acts like a grown woman for her age.”
“Because she is a grown woman, Lana.”
Words, words.
“And I don’t appreciate you insinuating that about me.” Ah, there it was. The hidden impatience of Kenneth Andrews. Sometimes Lana was able to get it out of him. And this was a man who had seemingly endless patience for her insecurities and crazy ideas. “You know damn well that I am not… like that.” Like what, exactly? Why wouldn’t he say it? “I thought she was attractive, regardless of how she chose to present herself. Yes, she’s young, but she caught my eye, and I know you like taking control of more innocent women, and I thought… well, excuse me for trying to liven up the night a bit.”
This was the moment Lana should have leaned into his embrace, kissed his cheek, and apologized. But she was not the type of woman to have those types of moments. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head instead. “Forget it, Ken. You know what? I want to go home.”
“Already?”
“You heard me.”
It was petty, but Lana was the queen of petty as of late. Like I’m going to stand around and watch my husband flirt with a Chloe stand-in. She realized what she was thinking, had a moment of panic, and immediately made the decision to call her therapist in the morning. She needed it.
Chapter 7
“Everything’s Fine.”
“But you have no evidence that your husband is cheating on you.”
There was that annoying word again. Evidence. Lana rolled over on her therapist’s couch, wondering who he bought it from. It’s comfortable. I want it. She wanted a lot of things.
“Does evidence really matter when my gut tells me something is wrong?”
“Perhaps something is, in fact, wrong or amiss.” Her therapist was an elderly gentleman who was rumored to have single-handedly solved the Clintons’ marriage. What he was doing in this God forsaken city of the rich and powerful, Lana had no idea. Sucking my money dry, that’s what. The man charged thousands an hour. Not even “rich” people could afford him. He better fix me. If he could do it without pills? Even better. Lana had watched pills destroy her mother’s personality until she was nothing but a vapid shell who nodded politely and then went back to her jigsaw puzzles while guzzling orange soda – at least she wasn’t drinking alcohol with the pills. I’d rather die than become her. Sister Inid was already on that path with her shitty husband and brood of kids.