Page 26 of Rockland

The excitement drains from my body as I truly realize what’s about to happen. All the emotions suddenly turn to one—a sinking dread. I’ve got to get myself out of this. I say, “Look, Rockland. I don’t know what planet you’ve just flown in from⁠—”

He doesn’t even bother to meet my gaze as he answers. Instead, he’s focused on rolling up his shirtsleeves.

He’s… rolling… up… his shirtsleeves. Like a dashing man would in an old timey black and white film.

I stare, fascinated as his deft fingers crease the fabric, folding it up his arm with the air of an aristocrat. I barely hear the words he says because this one single gesture of his has my weakened knees shaking and my pussy doing that funny, delicious pulsing thing that I haven’t felt in so long. He says, “Greece. I told you, I’ve come from Greece.”

“Huh?” I mutter, my eyes feasting. My core melting.

“You said you don’t know what planet I’ve flown in from.”

I swallow back my fear, my desire… my confusion. He’s just finished turning up the sleeves of his white business shirt. Now he’s placing his cufflinks in his shirt pocket, and I’m left with an aching core turned to molten lava.

I clear my throat. Gather myself. Tell my weeping pussy to behave. Conjuring an air of false confidence, I cock a hip out and announce, “Well, whatever foreign land you’ve been gallivanting naked around and chanting with witchdoctors by bonfires, you must have gotten some insane notions into your head because—though you may have… spanked my bottom, twelve whole months ago I might add—I’ll not be taking off a stitch of my clothing in front of you.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I jut out my chin, perfect my pose, and make my stand—I can tell by the tension in his jawline that I’ve made an impression.

He stops still. The air hangs thick and tense between us. The silence passes like a thread through a needle. He takes a step toward me. As he glides closer, his eyes rove over my breasts as if he’s undressing me with his gaze. A heat rises in me. I find my face flushing, my nipples tightening, now visible beneath my thin bra and silk dress. He says, “You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen on a lady before.”

Maddened by the effect he’s having on me, by doing nothing more than being himself, I snap, “Who says I’m a lady?”

His brow raises. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was fighting to hold in a laugh. He raises one perfect hand, white sleeve rolled neatly to his tanned elbow and points at the Chesterfield. He says, “You’re right. You haven’t been much of a lady tonight. Doesn’t change the fact that you’re going to be buck naked over that couch in one minute.” His hand leaves the air and reaches into the other pocket of his shirt. He extracts something small, shiny.

It’s a silver metal bullet—the one the Bachman Beauties have warned me about. He tosses it onto the side table. It lands with a clink and a roll. I give a gasp as it slowly comes to a stop. Shiny metal forming a teardrop shape, widening at the base. An engraved, swirling letter T stares back at me.

He’s had this made. For me.

Something strange shifts in the center of my being. A hot, fluid feeling that makes my limbs feel like jelly. My anger, sass, determination… they all evaporate at the sight of this… this… thing. I can’t take my eyes from that silver piece.

I’m terrified yet fascinated by the small object. I want to take it and bury it in the backyard where he will never find it. And yet… I wonder what it would feel like inserted in that taboo place of my body that has never, ever been touched. Would it hurt? Cause pleasure?

I imagine Rockland’s handsome face, going wherever it is one would go to get such a piece like this and telling the engraver, T, for Tess. Inspecting the work and giving the clerk that devilish half smile of his… Something close to submission twinkles in my heart and my breath catches in my throat. My thoughts are cut short by his voice, jolting me from my daydream.

“If you can’t obey, we can see how much you like tasting my belt with a plug in your ass.”

I stare down at the metal implement. Just looking at it makes my ass clench, the hole in my bottom pulse. My gaze goes back to him. He won’t wait long before he makes the decision himself.

I find myself drifting over to the couch, my head light.

Is this really happening?

The huge picture windows stare out over the back garden. Anyone meandering down the back alley could see what’s about to happen. The thought ties my stomach in knots. That’s when I notice the new white curtains that are hung from a black metal rod. Thick and long and running the full length of the huge panes of glass. I stand beside the couch, watching curiously as Rockland goes to pull the fabric panels over the windows.

We don’t use drapes in the Village. Our homes are all three stories, in tall rows. Built with huge picture windows facing both east and west, the panes open to the streets and backyards of the town. I say, “But… there are no secrets in the Village. No window coverings. Have you been gone so long you don’t remember?”

He stands back, inspecting his handiwork. He turns to me and says, “You forget I began my life as a Bachman here. I remember every detail of this Village. Every rule.” He goes to the other end of the room, pulling the second panel to meet the first.

I say, “But it’s Bronson’s orders.”

He says, “Bronson can take it up with me. What happens between a man and a woman is not for public consumption.”

His words stop my breath. In this moment, I remember what is so alluring about Rockland. Why he has the women of the Village doting over him when he’s in town—devoutly loyal to the Brotherhood, he’s still his own man.

The curtains are completely closed. The Village blocked out.

We’re more alone then we’ve ever been before. All eyes gone.

Just the two of us.

He stands before me, his hands clasped behind his back. He’ll not wait long now.