Page 98 of Masked in Deception
He stares down at me, searching for an explanation I’m not ready to give, before conceding. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. His embrace isn’t passionate, nor does it send shock waves through my body, but I relax into his arms, just relieved to havesomeonehold me.
“How do you want me, mon amour?”
With my eyes closed in an attempt to conjure up a fantasy, all I can see ismylove…my Jackie…fuck!Visions of our time together flood my mind, bringing up memory after memory of each orgasm he’s given me both as my Sir and as my Jack. Hundreds at this point.
“Margot? Cheri?”
“Just get me out of my head, however you can,” I say, hoping he didn’t notice the flash of disappointment on my face when I opened my eyes to find him standing there and not the only man who’s ever succeeded at my request.
Michel removes his tie as he walks me to my room, proceeding to gently place my hands on a poster at the foot of the bed and blindfolding me. He slowly unzips my sleeveless dress, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle beneath my feet and leaving me in a matching set of floral lingerie from our spring collection. He’s never been a very vocal lover, or at least not like Jack, constantly whispering praises into my ears. I’m able to imagine anyone leaving chaste kisses from the small of my back to my neck. Except there isn’t enough need behind the way his lips meet my skin. There isn’t a fire that burns into my soul with every touch of his fingertips.
The flush that spreads across my skin encourages his perusal of my pleasure, but it’s not from desire. Sweat glistens across my skin as a panic attack threatens to ruin this moment.If I could just stop comparing him to Jack.
On second thought, maybe I have this all wrong. Maybe thinking about Jack is exactly what could help you.
I try with all my might to welcome those memories of orgasms past back into my mind, but I can’t quite conjure them. Because even with the blindfold, everything iswrong.
“Mmm, mon amour,” Michel says, licking his way up my neck.
Mon amour. Not my love, not my princess, not baby girl. Mon amour.
I’m already at risk of losing my dinner when he moves his lips to mine, but I’m done from the moment I open my mouth. I run to the bathroom, ripping off the makeshift blindfold in the process, before spilling my guts into the toilet.
“Margot, are you okay?” Michel asks, holding my hair back with one hand and rubbing my arm with the other as I continuethrowing up more than I ever have in my life. And God, I’m so undeserving of his kindness.
The moment I’m finished, I turn around in his arms and finally let myself break, sobbing as I fall to the floor, bringing him down with me. “I’m so, so sorry, Michel. I can’t do this. I thought I could, but…but I...”
“You belong to someone else. I know, mon amour.”
“You know? How do you know?” I ask, pulling away to look in his eyes.
“I know because I tried to make you mine years ago, cheri. You are a treasure, Margot Sinclair, but try as I may, you’ve never beenmon trezor.” He pauses to wipe a tear falling down my face, smiling softly. “Tell me about him, belle. And why on earth you’re here and not with the man you love.”
All it takes is a sniffly head nod before Michel scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed, leaving me there momentarily to grab a wet towel for my face, a bottle of water, and my favorite blanket. Climbing in beside me, he adjusts me so that I’m bundled in my blanket, then holds me as I spill my heart out for the first time in my life. Starting from my very first memory and ending with the perpetual shadow I’ve had as of late.
For hours, this beautiful, successful,kindman caresses me while I blabber on and on about another asshole, not once showing any signs of annoyance. He’s always been like this with me, always there when I need him, but never pressing me for more than I’m willing to give.
“God, why could it not have been you, Michel? Why can’t it be younow?” I ask as tears fall from my eyes yet again tonight.
He squeezes me a little tighter before placing a chaste kiss on my covered shoulder. “Oh, don’t I wish it could be. But it seems the heavens had someone else in mind for you, mon amour.”
Oh and don’t I know it. I’ve only spentmy entire lifeknowing there would never be another man for me. Even when I didn’t allow myself to voice the thought in my mind, my very essence called to him.Well, fuck the heavens.
“No, it’s over. I can’t be with him, but it seems the heavens have cursed us both because I can’t be with anyone else either.”
“Yes, you can, cheri. You have to.” He’s brushing my hair now, and I realize he’s been doing it for a while. “He’s your Heathcliff.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your Heathcliff. He’s fromWuthering Heights.”
“I know my Brontë, Michel,” I say, cutting him off with more attitude than intended. “I’m sorry, but what do you mean he’s my Heathcliff?”
It’s been years since I’ve read any classics, especially since Sloane and I started a little smutty book club, but I remember the story fairly well. Sure, Jack and I grew up together, and sure, we had a strong connection as children, but that’s where our similarities stop. He is most definitely in the same social class through his own parentage, so he would’ve been raised alongside us regardless. And God only knows, neither of my brothers resented him. Henry never had reason, and there were moments after they left for college that I thought perhaps he and Ledger were a closeted couple, given how codependent they became on each other.
My furrowed brows must convince Michel to proceed. “Whatever souls are made of, yours and his are the same.”
“Oh.”Well, yeah. I guess that’s another pretty significant similarity.
