Married on Mondays (12 page)

Victoria and her sisters had made a pact to keep the adult fantasy part of their business a secret between them and their
clients and never to disclose their clients to anyone. Victoria confided in Naomi that she and her sisters owned and operated
Crème Fantasyland. Victoria documented their clients and showed Naomi the daily list, and she’d briefly mentioned the Swiss
account and the $1.5 million Crème yielded on an annual basis. Since Victoria told Naomi she specialized in coaching women
and couples on how to improve their sex lives, Naomi didn’t consider that cheating.

Naomi eased her fingers inside Victoria’s white button-up collared men’s shirt. She delicately grazed the nipple. “The sunrise
is almost as beautiful as you,” she said, pressing her lips to Victoria’s. Naomi inhaled Victoria’s breath, closed her eyes
for a moment, opened them, and said, “I’m your friend first. I’m here for you. Whatever you want to do is okay with me. Don’t
feel guilty. Don’t feel pressured. And do not lie to me. I love you, Victoria.”

Responding would not be wise. Victoria suctioned Naomi’s tongue, then sat on the kitchen table, spread her thighs, and held
the middle button of her shirt. She unfastened one, two, then three buttons, exposing her mocha breasts that were the size
and firmness of tennis balls. Her body yearned for her wife’s touch.

Naomi dipped her finger inside her bowl of oatmeal with strawberries and cream, eased her hand between Victoria’s legs, then
gently traced her outer labia. Naomi scooped a handful of oatmeal, rubbed it on Victoria’s titties. Dipped more oatmeal, lathered
Victoria’s pussy, then gripped Victoria’s ass, sucked her areola, then slid Victoria’s hips against the cold glass tabletop
until Victoria’s hairy pussy was in front of Naomi’s mouth. Separating Victoria’s lips, Naomi extended her tongue, deliberately
flicking the tip against Victoria’s clit, then pressed her lips against the shaft, holding them there until Victoria’s body
relaxed.

“Ah,” Victoria exhaled. Sliding her hands along her wife’s hair, she massaged Naomi’s head, then locked her legs behind Naomi’s
head. Pulling Naomi closer, Victoria came long and slow but not hard the way she’d cum for Rain yesterday.

Victoria’s body trembled in her wife’s hands. Omitting Rain’s name from the client lists she’d shown Naomi wasn’t the same
as lying. Something had to give. What or who should it be?

It was 4:45. Time to shower and see Rain.

W
hat does it feel like

Playing in the dirt

Getting your hands dirty

Because you’re hurt

Or simply playing dirty

Because you can

Negate your responsibilities

Yet call yourself a woman

Thursday morning at 5:15, Victoria reluctantly parked in Rain’s driveway, turned off her engine. He stood in the doorway of
his blue stucco–framed house motioning for her to come inside. His home wasn’t secluded like hers. He’d benefited from “The
Officer Next Door” program the government instituted years ago. He’d paid a third of his neighbors’ home values in exchange
for being visible in his community.

She swore this visit was her last. Entering his home, she hoped to persuade him to see things her way. The sex was what had
kept her coming back. Her pheromones instantly ignited the second she was near him. She sat on the end of the sofa closest
to the door, pressed her thighs together, placed her hands in her lap.

“Get up. Let’s go into the bedroom,” he said, tilting his head toward the bedroom door.

Victoria didn’t move. “I’m not staying. I’ve got to get to work.” She smoothed her hands over her red skirt. Crossed one cream-colored
stiletto over the other.

“Victoria you’re starting to disgust me. Why are you playing games?” Rain asked, standing over her.

Dr. Jekyll had exchanged places with Mr. Hyde as Rain’s personality changed. Was he waiting until after they married to expose
the angry man that stood before her? His parents were in part to blame. A little boy shown hate the majority of his childhood
may never learn to love himself. Impervious to compassion, he looked down on her.

Victoria’s breasts heaved. Not with pleasure. The tone of his voice alarmed her. “I’m not playing games.” She folded her arms
over her red button-up blouse.

“Then what the hell do call what you’re doing? Huh!” He bit his bottom lip, narrowed his eyes. He removed his pants, his boxers,
and his shirt. “Get up.” His dick drooped in front her face.

She could suck it, make him hard, make him cum in five minutes, and be out the door before five thirty. Victoria didn’t move.
Her heart thumped hard against her breast.

“Rain, I’ve got to go. Whatever I’ve done to hurt you, I apologize.” Tears escaped her eyes. “You need counseling.”

Rain moved closer. “Stop stalling. And don’t tell me what I need. Today is the day, Victoria. Let’s do this. Let’s just get
this over with, and you can go to work.”

Did he think taking a woman’s virginity was simple? “Please move your dick out my face.” What if he raped her? How would she
report him? His dick pointed at her mouth like she was speaking into a microphone. She suppressed her desire to take off her
clothes and submit. “I won’t come back. And you’re no longer my client.”

Why did he have to mess up a good thing?

“Come home, Victoria. This is your home. The only reason I became your client was so I wouldn’t lose you completely. You think
I give a damn about being your fucking client?”

She knew he did. The way they sexed one another was insane. The first time she let Rain put his dick in her ass, they bonded.
Each subsequent time he fucked her, she’d become more emotionally attached to him. She hated the way he made her feel—out
of control. They’d fucked in every corner of his house before she married and moved in with Naomi.

Rain snatched her arms away from her breasts, grabbed both her biceps, lifted her up from the sofa, then hoisted her in the
air.

“Ahhhhhh,” she screamed. Her feet dangled. She kicked him. Her gold-heeled stilettos plopped to the floor. “Ow! Put me down!
Are you crazy!” She tried biting his face, but he was too far away.

He rattled her body. “You think I’m some fucking joke, Victoria?” he asked, carrying her to his bedroom. He threw her on the
bed. Straddled her. Tugged at her red blouse, popped all her buttons. Her breasts were exposed.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” he said, squeezing her titties.

Victoria hurled her fist toward his nuts. He blocked her hand, then slapped her. His eyes narrowed, lips tightened. “Try that
again,” he threatened.

Victoria remembered when she was a teenager, DéJà made her and Foxy sit still and listen. DéJà had told them, “A woman’s wardrobe
is her weapon. Always have at least three items on your person that can save your life. One, have a sturdy hairpin. Do not
keep it in your purse, put it in your hair. Two, wear slip-on spiked heels. No closed-in shoes. Practice grabbing the toe
of the shoe and holding it your hand. Your attacker’s eardrum or eyes is your target. And three, wear earrings with removable
backs.”

DéJà had taught them that metal necklaces, bracelets, and anklets could be used in self-defense. And as a teenager and a woman,
DéJà kept a razor in a special compartment of her belt.

Victoria screamed, “Stop it! All right! We can do this but don’t rape me!”

Rain stopped. His knees were straddling her waist. He inched toward her neck. His dick hung over her face like she was defeated.
“Yeah. Now, you’re starting to talk like you have sense. I love you, Victoria.”

“You don’t know what love is. As long as you get your way, you’re happy. That’s sick. You’re sick. How in the hell did I—”

“Don’t stop. Say it. How in the hell did you fall in love with me? Finish your sentence,” he said, flapping his dick. “You
know you want this. You know, you know you want this dick.”

Once upon a time that made her smile. Not so long ago he could make her laugh.

“You know you want to laugh. Go on,” he said.

Victoria smiled. She removed the back from her hoop earring, held his dick in her hand, removed her earring, then stabbed
it in the eye.

“Bitch! Are you… fuck!” he yelled, covering his dick head.

She started to scrape the metal post deep into his balls but changed her mind when he fell onto his side. His mouth stayed
open; he couldn’t speak.

Victoria scurried from the bed, grabbed her keys and shoes. She left his front door open, got in her car, sped out his driveway,
headed home.

He shouldn’t have hit her. Maybe his plan was to intimidate her and make her give in. That way she couldn’t cry rape. If he
were serious about raping her, he would’ve done so. Considering all the times they’d had anal sex, Rain had had lots of opportunities
to try, including yesterday. Was his “I love you” supposed to make her think he cared about her? Regardless of his intent,
he’d gone too far.

Rain had gotten what he deserved. Or had he?

D
éJà entered the shop, locked the door, went into the kitchen. There was no way she could prep and bake all the pastries before
opening. Yesterday they’d lost morning revenue due to a shortage of baked items. The money wasn’t her main concern. Permanent
reduction in clientele bothered her. If they started running out of pastries, the customers would patronize their competition.
If one of her sisters didn’t show up soon, today would be a repeat.

Thursday morning, six o’clock, the parking lot was still empty. DéJà had been at the shop for an hour. Tired of preparing
trays of pastries alone, she sat on a stool.

“Let’s see what happens if I do nothing,” DéJà said, tapping her foot. Five minutes went by, DéJà called her sister’s cell.
Immediately she got “Hi, this is Victoria, please leave a message.”

The sun was rising. Soon customers would arrive. DéJà called Foxy.

“Hey, I decided not to stop by Dallas’s this morning. I’ll be there in two minutes,” Foxy said.

That was a first in a long time. “I’m proud of you, sis.”

“Don’t be. Dallas is out of town on business. He’ll be home tonight.”

“Yeah, if he doesn’t get arrested on his way home for drinking and driving,”

Foxy exhaled heavily. “Let it go, please.”

“Have you spoken with Victoria?” DéJà asked.

“No, she’s not at the shop with you? I’m parking, bye.”

DéJà heard the front door open. She was elated but hadn’t expected to see Foxy until nine or ten.

Foxy walked in frowning. “Where do you think she’s at?”

It was uncharacteristic of Victoria to be late two days in a row. DéJà’s universe was out of alignment. She had to regain
control. “Line up the ingredients for my popovers, Victoria’s cream puffs, and your chocolate-dipped macaroons.” She went
to the lobby, looked into the lot, no Victoria. She dialed Victoria’s home number, no answer.

“I’ll call Naomi on three way,” Foxy said.

“I’ll do it.” DéJà phoned Foxy, dialed Naomi’s direct line at work, then conferenced Foxy in.

“Naomi Cooper speaking.”

DéJà spoke, “Hey, Naomi. Is Victoria feeling all right?”

Naomi’s voice trembled. “What do you mean is she feeling all right?”

“She hasn’t arrived yet. I was wondering if she was running—”

“Hang up. I’m here,” Victoria said, entering the kitchen.

“Shit! Do not walk up on us like that,” DéJà said. “Naomi, never mind, she just walked in. She’s fine. Sorry to have bothered
you.”

Victoria snatched DéJà’s cell. “I had a flat tire. No worries. I’ll call you later. Bye.” She took Foxy’s phone. Looked at
the caller ID, pressed the end button, then handed it back.

DéJà snatched her phone from Victoria. “Flat tire my ass. You’ve been in a fight.”

“A scuffle. Not a fight,” Victoria clarified.

Foxy stared at Victoria’s arms. Red fingerprints marked her biceps like tattoos. “What happened?”