“Just like that,” he rumbles.
His movements become harder, demanding more, taking more, his hips driving forward with a force that makes my eyes water and my jaw burn.
“Yes!”
His voice is like thunder as he comes with a groan. The warmth fills my mouth.
“Swallow,” he orders.
I don’t think, don’t hesitate.
The taste stays on my lips. On my tongue. In the back of my throat.
“Very good,” he nods. His voice is steady. “You may leave the premises on Sunday, Miss Calloway. Is there anything else?”
I stare up at him from the floor.
“I, uh… No,” I manage. “Thank you.”
Thank you.Did I really thank him forthat? I must have lost my mind.
I stand. My legs are unsteady, not supporting weight the way they should.
At the door, I glance back.
He’s behind the desk, seated and dressed, his laptop open and a glass of water at his elbow, not a hair displaced. As if I had hallucinated the last ten minutes.
I close the door behind me and walk to my room. Each step is deliberate — left foot, right foot. I don’t think, don’t process, just walk.
I need a cold shower, clean clothes, and approximately fifteen minutes of hot water against my skin to wash away the fact that I am soaked through my underwear and halfway down my thighs. The ache between my legs is so acute that it feels like a medical condition.
The dinner is in thirty minutes.
I am going to sit across a table from this man and his daughter. I have to eat food, make conversation, and pretend that my jaw doesn’t ache.
I close my bedroom door and press my back against it.
Breathe.
Thirty minutes.
I can do this.
I turn on the shower.
18
ROLAN
The dining room is warm.
Not the formal dining room, but the smaller one, the family room off the east corridor that Angelina uses for private meals. The table seats six. Tonight, it holds four, with a fifth setting waiting for me at the head.
Elizabeth is already seated. She’s changed into a simple, dark sweater, her hair pulled back in that clip she wears during lessons. Her face is clean. Composed. Not a trace of the woman who was on her knees thirty minutes ago.
She’s good at this. Better than I expected. The ability to compartmentalize, to seal one version of herself behind a door and present another, is a skill I recognize intently.
Which raises the question I don’t want to ask but can’t stop my mind from circling.Is she performing?
