The sunset streaks the sky with orange, red, and pink, but the warmth lighting up within me, carrying my rapid feet forward, is Mr. Silence standing there in his black three-piece suit and tie in front of our back door.
I cling to him as the words come spilling out of me faster than I can hear them. "My love! When did you come in? Didn't Jason say you'd be here two days from now? Is he lying to me? I'm so happy you're here! Are you–"
His predatory eyes lock onto Lizz like an animal defending his territory. With one hand clutching her jeans, her other hand trembles as her fingers wrap around the rim of her large glasses framing her red face. Lizz is uncomfortable around men, especially someone as intimidating as Mr. Silence.
Cupping his face, I angle it down to me. "My love, you're scaring her," I murmur seductively on his lips. His eyes soften when they meet mine, then flutter closed as my lips caress his. Our breaths tangle in an escalating kiss, and I feel secure enough to break away to go to Lizz. As soon as I turn to Lizz, his arm captures my waist, imprisoning me against him.
She covers the side of her face with one hand and hurries back to her car.
"Lizzy–" I call out while trying to get to her, my arms outstretch toward her. But he rotates me to him, recaptures my lips, continuing where we left off.
###
If pleasure could cut, this one is just as sharp. He slows when I want him fast. He's quick when I beg him to be slow. I plead for him to stop so I can breathe, but as soon as he stops, I feel just as suffocated. So we merge as he drives me to the edge. I fall into the abyss. Blood drips down my chest as his teeth dig deeper than usual. The flash of pain is as quick as his eruption within me. But he's still hard; he needs more, and I want more. We keep going, the penetrating waves pushing me back into the darkness. What is this? His caresses burn against my skin, his kisses ignite more desire, his desire demands endless fulfillment, and haven't we spent yet? It's been hours.
I taste him on my lips. I taste myself on his. Sweat mixed with my sweet scent and the strength of his essence. Aren't we done yet? Please, don't stop. The bedroom shrinks as he rocks my body. This dizzying, dazed disorientation—how can there be more? His seed wets the sheets in a different spot. So many spots on our silk sheets. His lips are still hot on my cheek. A salty mouth mixed with wanting demands more. His or mine?
If happiness could drown, I'm deep under. Heavy. His body is heavy and hot. He turns me over. His sweat drops like hot rain on my shoulder. His hips angle forward. Pushing, pulling, back and forth, we go. Round and round, and it never ends.
If desire could kill, I would have died a thousand times. The sound of our flesh hitting one another is like splattering rain on a rooftop. The ceiling is spinning. He pulls my hair, demanding my soul to melt with his. I can't breathe.
What if I'm on top? I ride and ride. His body jerks beneath me, the explosion within mixing with his primal grunts. The room pulsates in and out of focus. I collapse onto him. Our eyes meet. There it is. His or mine?
He turns us but refuses to disconnect. Trapping my form against his perspiring skin, his nose touches mine. Our heavy breaths bounces off of each other. He closes his eyes. I submit to sleep.
Birds chirp loudly as sunlight glares into my eyes, making me squirm. How long have I been sleeping? Dehydrated, I make my way to the closed door. But when I turn the handle, it's locked by his fingerprints, and I can't open.
Pressing my ear to the door, I hear nothing. The soundproof door and insulated bedroom prove to be effective. Scanning the room for my phone, I remember leaving it in the living room in our lustful state. There are several bottles of water lined neatly in a row on the nightstand. Gulping down the water, I remove the band-aid covering his bite mark above my left breast.
The yellow outline is the usual mark of his meticulous cleaning, disinfecting my wound before he puts a band-aid over it. I wonder if he was a doctor. Showering wakes me up further, helping me remember that I'm supposed to meet Lizzy at 3:00 PM in Dr. McCoy's office to show him our progress report. Where's my phone? Why didn't I buy a clock?
The beeps make me run toward the door. Mr. Silence comes in and quickly shuts it. "What time is it? I have to see—Nnn..." His gentle touch around my cut distracts me. I search for his phone in his pocket when he bends over to open the drawer. I find my phone in his pocket and text Lizzy: I know. I'm sorry, we got into our usual black hole. I can still make it!
I sit still on the bed and wait for him to finish dressing my very minor cut. I know better than to say anything at this point. No matter how small the cut is, he always insists on full medical treatment. Dotingly admiring him, I've noted that his face becomes more impassive the more profound our lovemaking was. I think I'm still in a haze—how is he able to recover so quickly?
"Who's Lizzy?" he asks.
"Lizzy is my crush. She's..." I blurt out cheerfully.
His stare instantly deepens. I clear my throat and correct myself, "Just kidding... she's my research partner. We're collaborating on a summer project for our, hmm..." My heart races at his darkened eyes.
The doorbell rings. Without taking his attention off me, he unlocks the door with his phone.
"Who's—" I begin to ask.
"What research project?"
I pout up at him and make the cute face he likes as I slowly inch my body away from his hovering form and toward the bedroom door. But his arms hold me in place, those orbs command an answer.
"Lizzy developed a mathematical model that calculates cybersecurity risks. We further refined the model to determine ways to mitigate them as well, with predicted probabilistic outcomes for each method. I then incorporated these into our cybersecurity software."
His almost-angry face turns curious. "How is your software different?"
"Like most other cybersecurity software, it's able to run scheduled diagnostics. However, Lizzy's mathematical model incorporates the human factor, which other cybersecurity risk assessment methods have not done."
"Social risk."
My eyes flutter at his knowledge of the topic. He goes to the closet. I follow. Standing in front of my side of the closet where four dresses hang, he faces me and asks, "Why haven't you moved your clothes?"
The accusation in his tone makes me avoid his eyes. "Beth's making them for me. She's custom designing—"
He hands me the gold silk dress that stops at my knees, with butterfly sleeves and Italian buttons down the front. The same dress we had sex in. This isn't business attire. I take the dress and put on underwear and a bra underneath, which is not how I usually wear the free-flowing silk dress.
He also changes out of his slacks and shirt and into his usual formal business wear. The navy blue suit stands out against the black silk tie. While I dry my hair, he leaves and locks the bedroom door again. What's going on in our house?
Dressed, ready, and it's two o'clock on a Wednesday, so traffic shouldn't be too bad. I should text Jason to see why he keeps locking— Mr. Silence comes back in, my laptop bag in one hand. He takes my hand, and I follow him out.
As soon as we emerge from the bedroom, two men in work clothes are standing in front of the glass desk in our living room. Jason comes through the front door with two other men in construction hats, carrying toolboxes.
Jason smiles at me, and I open my mouth to ask, but Mr. Silence says, "Cancel my afternoon appointments." This wipes the smile off Jason's face as he watches us go. I feel guilty for some reason and mouth to him, "I'm sorry."