Page 1 of The Facilitator: Part 2
1
That was it,done, dusted, divorced, finally. After months of fighting Scott, I wasfree.
I sat and looked at a piece of paper that represented fifteen years of being with my childhood sweetheart. Asweetheartwho turned into an adulterer and anightmare.
Now I could perform the ritual of removing the wedding ring. I’d thought about removing it ages ago; I should have removed it agesago.
It was a bright morning and I’d woken early. I was sitting on the terrace, catching up on the previous day’s post. Mackenzie was still in bed. I smiled when I thought of him. He never laid in, normally. But last night had been a late one. My smile grew broad as I thought on the reasonwhy.
Mackenzie Miller, my man. A man who wanted, no,insisted,I explored every sexual fantasy that lived deep inside in my mind. It was his mission, so he told me, to facilitatethat.
Just a few months ago, I’d met him…intimately. It felt like a lifetime. I still chuckled as I recalled our first meeting. Two strangers in a bar, one night of unbelievable sex, then the cringe-making moment when I found out he was my new boss. It had been the stuff of eroticnovels!
Erotic didn’t come close to describing Mackenzie. He was powerful, sensual, commanding, sexual, dominating, gentle, loving—a mass ofcontradictions.
He was my equal, yet he gave me all the power to decide what I wanted sexually. He was my boss, yet he gave me the respect to run his business my way. He was my alpha male when I wanted to give myself to himtotally.
It was the alpha who laid sleeping after a long night of taking control of my mind and body for hours andhours.
I sipped on my coffee and marvelled I had the strength to raise the cup to my lips, let alone walk that morning. Mackenzie had told me he wanted to fuck me in every room in his house, the one I now lived in. I think we’d covered that task within the first week. He had a list, one he wouldn’t share with me. Amenuof things he wanted to do to me. I had no idea the length of that list, but if the previous night was anything to go by, I prayed it was superlong.
I felt the hair at the side of my neck being swept to one side, soft lips kissed just under myear.
“Good morning,” Iheard.
Mackenzie stepped to the side and sat in a chair. I smiled athim.
“You slept in late,” Isaid.
“I had a busynight.”
I chuckled, “You did.Coffee?”
“Mmm, that would be nice.” He leaned back in his chair and raised his face to thesun.
I rose and as I passed him, I let my fingernails trail over the scratch marks present on his barechest.
“Branding me again, Miss Perry?” hesaid.
“Always, Mr.Miller.”
He grabbed my wrist before my hand left his chest. He brought it to his lips and kissed theunderside.
“When I’ve had my coffee, I’m going to fuck you again,” hesaid.
“You’ll be fucking a free woman.” I indicated the document on the table beside him. He glanced atit.
“Then I’ll fuck you twice ashard.”
“Is thatpossible?”
He laughed as I made my way to the kitchen. The only piece of equipment I was allowed to touch, and I was still trying to master it, was the coffee machine. The kitchen was Mackenzie’s domain and I wasn’t going to argue with that. We ate out often, but cooking seemed to be the only way Mackenzie could relax. That andsex.
I stroked the coffee machine and purred a little, hoping that was enough to have it submit a short shot of espresso. That morning, it complied. I took the cup out to Mackenzie. He was reading through the divorcedocument.
“So that’s it then. How do youfeel?”
In the beginning, I’d tried to keep a count of how many times Mackenzie asked me how I felt. It was a matter of great importance to him. I think I lost count, or ran out of numbers, by the third day of living withhim.
