As we approached the limousine to ride to the cemetery, I fought the urge to tell her exactly what I thought about her timing. Though Stewart wasn’t being buried, the cemetery had vaults made of thick marble specially designed for urns. When my gaze met that of Travis, I ever so slightly nodded. Instead of speaking my mind, I whispered near her ear, careful to avoid the multitude of listeners who mingled nearby. “I believe there’s another car for you. Allow Travis to help you find it.”

“But, dear, I need to speak—”

I didn’t hear any more as Val and I moved into the car and Travis directed my mother away. Once the door was closed and we were alone, the cool, dark interior allowed me to remove my sunglasses.

“She probably wanted—” Val began.

“She hasn’t been able to talk with me in two weeks,” I interrupted. “She wants money, money for Marcus’ second semester tuition. The thing that she doesn’t realize is that I’ve already paid it. I’m sure she’s worried they’ll contact her and put her on the spot.”

Val shrugged. “She might want to offer you her support.”

“She might,” I conceded halfheartedly. “They say there’s a first time for everything.”

Just then, through the glass panel, I saw the passenger side door open and Travis get into the limousine. Exhaling, I leaned back against the soft leather seat, closed my eyes, and sighed.

“I’d be glad to prescribe something for you. Probably not too strong, but you could use a good night’s sleep.”

Remembering Brody, I said, “I had a good night’s sleep last night. I just want this to be over.”

She patted my hand. “It’s almost over.”

I didn’t respond, because I wasn’t sure. Was it almost over? The car began to move. It didn’t take long as we meandered toward the cemetery for me to miss Travis’ heavier accelerator foot. I figured, if he and the driver would switch places, we could have Stewart safely behind marble in half the time.

Should I feel guilty about Stewart’s death or the way he suffered?

I imagined him as I’d seen him hundreds of times over the past nine years. I imagined him sitting in that chair: his smug expression of pleasure and control when he’d finally allow me to remove the blindfold and headphones. From the very beginning, I knew that when he told me to take them off, my focus was supposed to be on him.

Rising from the chair, he walked toward me, his blue eyes glowing as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Tori, my Tori…” he cooed as the pad of his thumb wiped away my smeared mascara. “No tears. You’re fantastic. Our friend was extremely satisfied.”

I never knew what to say to that kind of praise. Good? Yippee? Or be honest. I don’t fucking care. I hated every second of it. There just wasn’t an appropriate response.

His hand dipped down to my sex: his fingers stroking my swollen lips and circling my clit. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come. You should’ve seen how aroused our friend was as you put on your little pre-show. He got hard before he ever touched you.”

I closed my eyes. The blindfold was a blessing. I didn’t want to see that. I didn’t want to be any part of it.

“Look at me.”

With shame and hatred simmering in my chest, I opened my eyes.

“I’ve told you before to never be ashamed of your body’s reaction.”

Stewart’s hands roamed my naked body, stopping to caress my tender nipples. When he did, I involuntarily flinched. His mouth immediately covered one and then the other. Gently his lips and tongue stroked and sucked. Against my will, my nubs grew hard.

His breathing quickened. “Oh, fuck! You’re so responsive.” His blue eyes questioned. “Are your tits sore?”

“Yes.” My voice cracked. It was the first word I’d uttered in over two hours.

“I’m sorry, darling. Our friend left the clamps on longer than either of us realized. He was just so preoccupied with other parts of you, like that fuckable pussy.” His large hands palmed each breast. “Let me make them feel better. Lie back on the bed. I’ll make you feel better.”

I didn’t want to lie back. I wanted to shower and leave. But that wasn’t Stewart’s plan. He enjoyed round two as much as round one. Despite his tender voice and concerned manner, I knew my place. As long as we were still at the warehouse, I had a role to play. I was his whore.

The word I’d said—yes—was only allowed because he asked me a direct question. If he hadn’t, no matter how painful my nipples were or how upset I was, I wasn’t allowed to speak. At home I could make advances or reach out to touch my husband. I could run my fingers across his broad chest or over his shoulders. I could wrap my legs around him as he pounded his cock deep into my core. At home, or when traveling, I could get out of bed and go to the bathroom to pee or clean myself. Not here.

Here, I waited for instruction.

Lying back as I’d been told, I left my arms at my side and prayed he’d let them stay there.

“That’s my girl. Now hold on to the bars.”

Obediently, I reached up, the ache in my shoulders replacing the soreness of my nipples.

“Hold on tight, my darling. Don’t close your eyes. I want you to see me, your husband. That’s what makes us so much more special than you and our friends. My Tori, we have our connection. Your gray eyes say so much more than your words. I want to see every emotion in those eyes.”