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As difficult as it is to keep my moans under control, I allow myself to indulge them. I haven’t felt this alive in weeks. If I knew that all it would take to get me out of a mental hole would be to masturbate to the thought of my husband, I would have done it as soon as I woke up.
The pressure builds under my skin as I think about sitting on his lap and letting him feel me all over, allowing him to explore me as if he’s never touched a woman in his life. I would give anything to feel him inside of me right now, even though I don’t remember what it feels like at all.
In a way, I feel like a virgin who is anticipating her wedding night with a conscious, living combination of anxiety and excitement. I picture the kind of lingerie I would want to wear if I got a chance to do it all over again. I would give myself away to him in a heartbeat.
I revert back to the fantasy of him walking in on me. I want to be his sweet, submissive little wife, who he spanks and punishes in order to earn my own pleasure. I would let him have anything he wanted right now.
And he hasn’t even kissed me yet.
My orgasm sneaks up on me, quickly taking over and causing me to gasp loudly as I fight the urge to whimper out loud. I let myself get so worked up that I don’t even have the chance to hold off, to really revel in the beauty of it.
When I close my eyes, there’s nothing but Adas. The tidal wave of pleasure and sin courses through my body as I imagine him here with me, encouraging me to cum harder, to moan louder for him.
My sheets are soaked, which isn’t something I had thought about or anticipated before I decided to let myself get carried away. I’m a little embarrassed by it; do I just leave it alone until it’s time for me to change the sheets? I could never tell Adas why I needed new ones. I would absolutely die.
Instead of stressing about the sheets, I let myself sink into the bed, melting downward as I close my eyes.
8
ADAS
Itap the long ash off the end of my cigar. It’s the last of a large box of Cubans I got when River first arrived at the estate. I should go get more, but that would involve getting out of my chair, and the cool breeze of the evening air won’t allow me to leave the patio just yet.
I lean back in my chair, but the sound of crunching gravel catches my attention, and I sit up straight again. Erik approaches with a manila file in his hand.
"Damn, that was quick,” I say a little disappointedly as he hands it to me. “I thought it would at least take you a week to comb through everything. Doesn’t everybody have like, ten alter-egos in the age of social media?”
“Nah, there’s almost nothing anywhere about her. The only info I was able to really get ahold of is that she worked in a fast-food place since high school. No living relatives as far as I could tell, at least nobody who would come looking for her,” he replies, sitting down next to me.
I hesitate for a moment. “Nothing about her family or health history?” I ask.
Erik sighs. “Adas, I’m trying to show a lot of restraint here, but even just keeping this girl in your house is basically false imprisonment. Adding medical fraud and violating her right to her health info on top of that would basically guarantee that you rot in prison. I’m just trying to keep you from getting caught. If you get caught, I have to get a real job.”
I shrug defensively, trying not to stammer out some kind of petty insult. He really is doing me a huge favor here.
He flips a few pages over and points to a picture of River, possibly fifteen or sixteen. “Here are some photos I found of her when she was younger. She looks kind of sad in most of them. I think her parents might have been addicts or something. Might be why they aren’t around anymore.”
It’s true. She looks inexplicably unhappy in the photos even though she appears to be surrounded by friends at what looks like a high school sports gathering. “What about friends?” I ask.
“Doesn’t seem like there’s anyone she communicated with on a regular basis other than her boss before we found her. They probably assumed that she no-called and terminated her without calling to check first,” Erik answers.
As he explains the details of River’s former existence, I feel a sort of unusual satisfaction come over me. It would appear that I’ve saved River from a life that she absolutely hated. Even if she never finds that out, it only motivates me to give her everything she could possibly want. She’s suffered enough.
“What about her personality? What kinds of things does she like?” I ask. There must be more to her than just a shitty job and shittier family.
“There wasn’t much to find, to be honest. She had an active Facebook account a few years ago, but all she ever posted about was one band, and whatever was on her mind, which seemed to be nothing most of the time,” he replies, flipping the pages toward the back of the folder.
“Well, what band is it? That’s a good place to start, right?” I ask, hopeful that it’s a band I’m at least a little familiar with.
“It’s called One White Thread. They’re an indie band from Seattle. Nothing too special about them, not sure why she obsessed over it so much,” he replies, handing me a copy of some screenshots he had taken of her Facebook profile.
I scan it, curious to find out exactly who this girl was before I changed her life forever. Erik is right. She doesn’t seem to have a lot to contribute to anyone’s newsfeed. It’s mostly just links to the band’s songs from YouTube and a couple of complaints about how bored she is. Here and there, I’ll find a post from an elderly woman saying happy birthday in all caps.
That’s disappointing.
But for now, it’s all I’ve got.
“Alright, so I’m just going to go out on a limb here and assume that she probably didn’t have a lot going on in her life. No wonder she’s amazed by literally everything,” I wonder to myself out loud.
