Grabbing the toy in one hand, I keep it in while massaging my clit with the other. He watches as he pumps himself in his fist, dark fascination etched on his face. He uses my need to fuel his lust, taking more from me than just a few moments of pleasure.
I’m over-stimulated and too sensitive. It only takes a few strokes before release finally crashes through me. Exhausted, my body goes limp. The toy falls from my hand, discarded somewhere on the sheet as he palms himself faster.
I turn my head to look at him. His expression is one of concentration. Now that I’ve broken, his focus is on finishing the game.
He grunts. “Open your mouth.”
His aim is to possess me, to stamp his mark on me in every way. I can refuse, but I don’t want to. I want to know his taste. I want to know his colors. I want to coat my fingers in his blacks and grays and paint my skin with his shades. I want to get dirty with him so that we can share our sins and shed our guilt.
When I open, he aims at my parted lips. He pumps one more time before he ejaculates, coating my tongue and chin with ribbons of seed. He tastes earthy and dark like the cloud that shed a single drop of rain but never unleashed the downpour. Like powerful potential and restrained promises.
“Swallow,” he says in a gruff voice.
He studies my mouth and the work of my throat with his gaze, his eyes darkening as I lick my lips clean.
Surprising me, he grabs my face in his hand, digging his fingers into my cheek and forcing my mouth open before crashing his lips on mine. He plunges his tongue inside, sweeping the depth of my mouth with a deviant kiss.
I melt beneath him, needing his gentleness, willing him to wrap his arms around me and dispel the coldness.
As fast as he grabbed me, he lets me go. He holds my gaze as he takes a tissue from the nightstand and cleans himself before zipping up. Then he takes his wallet from his back pocket and leaves two fifty-rand notes on the nightstand.
The point he’s making is crystal clear. I guess I deserve it. It’s ironic though that he’s paying me when I’m the one with the debt to settle.
Sitting up, I wrap the sheet around my body. He opens the nightstand drawer and takes out a small blue box.
With a careless flick of his wrist, he dumps the box in my lap. “Congratulations, Mrs. Hart.”
The logo is embossed in gold on the lid.
Hart Diamonds.
Not waiting for me to open the box, he saunters to the bathroom and slams the door behind him.
Silence grows around me even when the water in the shower comes on. The quietness that settles inside me isn’t the kind that’s defined by the absence of sounds. It’s a darker, colder, much more hurtful void.
Flipping back the lid of the box, I stare at the diamond studs twinkling on a bed of white silk. They’re small and modest but classically elegant. They’re exactly what I would’ve chosen.
The lid snaps back when I close my fingers. I leave the box on the nightstand, switch off the light, and lie down on my side. In the dark, I can finally breathe easier again. I can take a break from acting, from pretending Leon’s actions don’t hurt me, and let my mask slip. In the dark, I can embrace my pain. Only in the dark am I brave enough to shut the lid on the lies and face the truth.
No matter what I do, my debt will never be paid off.