Page 63 of Wicked Games

Everything was orderly and calm. Everyone knew their place in this world. Even me.

And why shouldn’t it be this way? There was not the chaos of the modern world with its constant distractions and disruptions. There was no such thing as eating a sandwich out of a paper bag while you ran down a dank hallway to your next class. Or reacting to the latest friend drama because someone posted an unflattering picture of another friend out of spite. Or wondering how you were going to pay your student loans and rent month to month.

Still it was ironic that despite all the reserve and politeness of this Victorian world Richard had created that was true to the time itself, just below the surface seethed sexual tension, violence, and the very basest of man’s human nature.

It was as much a commentary on the Victorian times as it still was in modern times, that Richard could dress me in silks and diamonds for dinner and engage in polite conversation all evening, never missing an opportunity to flatter or charm and yet, later that night, show up in my room with a belt in one hand and a jar of ointment in the other, telling me he was in the mood to mark my body while he fucked my harlot ass.

You wonder why I was slowly going insane?

It was because I actually loved it… all of it… every painful fucked-up moment and I hated myself for it, which was why I needed to escape.

Turning back to Richard, I gave him a sheepish smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting you?”

He smiled warmly back. “You are never an interruption, my dear.”

I lowered my eyes and took a deep breath.

This needed to be my greatest performance yet.

Turning my back on him, I began to play with the buttons on my bodice. After coming up with my plan in the conservatory, I had rung for a maid to help me change into a gown that buttoned down the front, telling her I had wrinkled and stained my current one.

Flicking the first few buttons open at the collar, I began to weave my web. “I needed your comforting presence. I’m afraid the sun lulled me into a fitful sleep just now in the conservatory and I had another one of my dreams.”

Richard’s eyes sharpened.

When the level of pain you might feel and perhaps your very life depended on reading the moods of the person across from you, you got very, very good at picking up on the slightest inferences.

The barely perceptible straightening of his shoulders. The attentive shift of his eyes. The way he flipped a few files from one side of his desk to another so he looked nonchalant and slightly disinterested. The way he was perhaps unconsciously holding his breath till my next sentence.

My so-called dreams made him nervous.

I knew that now.

And I knew why.

I just needed to hear it from him.

“I’ve told you not to pay those dreams any attention. They are just your heated mind trying to play tricks on you,” said Richard finally. As always, his voice calm and controlled.

“Yes, but this one was so vivid. I think it would help me if I talked about it,” I implored with wide frightened eyes as I undid two more buttons at my throat.

Richard stroked my cheek as he had done a hundred, perhaps a thousand times. I could never be sure; the passing of days seemed to have no meaning here.

“In my dream, I was this great actress on stage receiving a standing ovation at the end of a play. I can remember thinking I didn’t care because I wanted to get back to my dressing room. At first I didn’t understand why but then in my dream I opened the door and you were standing there.”

I risked a glance under my eyelashes. Richard was staring intently at me. There was the barest flush to his cheeks.

I unbuttoned several more buttons. Now the tops of my breasts and the edge of my corset could be seen through the parting of the delicate cream lace.

“You looked so handsome in your suit. I can remember feeling my heart flutter in my chest. You made me nervous but that good kind of excited nervous,” I continued. “Then my dream became quite scandalous.”

Richard’s mouth tightened slightly. Looking down I saw his hand flex into a fist then open again.

“It was like the dream jumped ahead in time. I was standing with my back to you, like this.”

I sidled up to Richard and turned my back. I knew the bustle of my skirt was brushing his cock and wished I could feel it through the thick fabric. His superior height would give him ample view of my bosom pushed up by the corset.

“Your arm was wrapped around me like this,” I coaxed as I reached my right hand back to grasp his right arm and pull it around my small waist. “The dream felt so real. I felt like I was experiencing every emotion.”

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