Page 3 of Exquisite Temptation

Iunloadthegrocerieson the counter, my stomach rolling at the thought of putting food in my mouth. I have been living off smoothies and oatmeal since I broke up with Tristan three weeks ago. Despite his unrelenting daily calls and text messages, I have stayed strong and ignored him. God, my throat closes up every time unwanted images of him fucking his ex or her sucking his dick bombard my mind. They just pop up at the most inopportune moments, like teaching or taking photos, knocking the breath out of me. I squeeze my eyes shut to stop them, even though I know it is useless. As if this wasn’t enough torture, last night I had a dream about them.

Tristan came to my house with a bouquet of red roses and a black velvet box. After giving me the red roses, he dropped to one knee.

"Heidi, I love you with everything in me. Please forgive me. Will you be my collared submissive until death do us part?" He opened the box, revealing my black graduation collar dotted with tiny diamonds.

His heartfelt promises hammered my resolve, and I reached out, ready to lift the collar, when it morphed into a black cobra. The serpent hissed at me before its sharp teeth bit into my flesh, reminding me of his betrayal. As I cried out in pain, his ex submissive appeared in the room. She stood two feet away from me, tears streaming down her face.

"Tristan moved all his things into my apartment apart from his red box." Her shoulders shook with helpless, wrenching sobs. The urge to ease her emotional pain surged through me unexpectedly. I couldn’t find it in my heart to hate this pitiful woman because I could see in her eyes he was the center of her universe, and she was crazy in love with him.

I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug. "Shh, it’s okay. I’ll talk to Tristan. I'm sure he will bring the box with him." She stopped crying, staring at me with eyes full of hope.

I don't know what my subconscious mind tried to tell me about the missing red box. Does it represent his love for me? Is it the part of him he is too afraid to share with others and fights hard to keep locked? Underneath Tristan’s calm, cool, and collected exterior lies repressed rage, which I have seen glimpses of once when he was intoxicated. He confessed that when he was twenty-two years old, he was dating a girl who was a masochist with a knife play obsession. He was adamant that she consented to being tied down and encouraged him to make cuts on her body. However, the next day, the cops arrested him and charged him with assault with a deadly weapon. He couldn’t understand why she reported him. I have always wondered about the truthfulness of his story because his family intervened, and she dropped the charges. The day after, he packed his stuff and moved across the country.

Shivers run down my body when I realize how eerily similar it is to what Nathan did to Allie. The moment I met him, I knew Nathan was trouble. I tried to tell her, but she was besotted with him. It’s been super hard not being able to share my loss and grief with my best friend, but after everything she’s been through, I don't think it’s a good idea for me to bother her with my ordeal. As much as I hated the idea of letting her go to Seattle on her own, I knew it was vital for her recovery to leave San Diego.

The sound of the doorbell echoes through the house, nudging me back to reality. Opening my Ring app, my gaze drifts over Tristan’s unshaved face and disheveled hair. My knees wobble, forcing me to drop onto the chair. I grip my phone so hard my knuckles turn white.

"Heidi, open the door. I know you are at home. Your car is outside," he yells, banging on the door repeatedly. "I'm not leaving until you open the door. Please, Buttercup. I miss you." He presses his hand on the door and hangs his head, the runaway strands of his dark hair obscuring his face.

My heart twists in my chest, tempting me to swing the door open and throw myself into his arms. God, I miss him. I leave my phone and rise to my feet, taking a few involuntary steps toward the door, stopping dead in my tracks.What are you doing? No, Heidi. The dream tried to warn you. Stay strong. Don’t let him manipulate you with his sweet lies.My pulse races uncontrollably, and tears burn behind my eyelids, blurring my vision.Don’t you dare cry, you hear me? He doesn’t deserve your tears. When his ex-girlfriend sucked his dick, he wasn’t thinking of you. He didn’t care about breaking your heart.

"Heidi, open the door, or I’ll fucking break it down," he bellows.Good luck kicking in my top security composite door, you idiot.

Taking a sharp breath, I blink my tears away and stroll back to the living room. Switching on the tv, I find my break-up playlist on Spotify. I rock Cee-Lo Green’s "Fuck You"song on full volume, drowning out his voice dripping with a mixture of anger and desperation. I jump up and down, singing the lyrics at the top of my lungs and hoping he will get the message. After the track finishes, I bolt to the kitchen and get my cell, scanning my front yard for any sign of Tristan, but he is gone. I expel a long breath of relief. I might have escaped him today, but my gut feeling tells me he won’t stop calling, texting, and knocking on my door until he gets what he wants.

Ambling back, I fire up my laptop to send the black and white photographs I took last week to a client. A Special Ed job ad in Seattle pops up on my screen just as I'm about to login to my account. For a long moment, I stare at it, wondering if the universe is showing me a way out of this mess with Tristan and his ex. These two have a toxic relationship. Whoever becomes his submissive will need to accept the extra baggage he carries around with him. My hand moves involuntarily, clicking on theapply nowbutton, and before I'm even aware of what I'm doing, I complete the form and hit send.

I place my elbows on the table and rest my chin in my hands, staring at the monitor. Damn, did I just apply for a new job in Seattle?Yes, you did.My pulse speeds up as excitement thrums through my veins.What about your teaching job here? And you have established yourself as an erotic photographer,my rational mind reminds me. Change is good.I don’t believe in coincidences, which means this was definitely a sign from the universe. Even if I don't get the job, there is nothing stopping me from joining Allie.

The deliciously spicy and fragrant aroma of homemade enchiladas wafts in the dining room as I help Carter, my older brother, set the table. My father wraps his arms around my mother’s waist and whispers something in her ear, eliciting a girly giggle from her. They have been married for over twenty years, yet they still behave like love-struck teenagers. To this day, my father showers her with gifts and leaves cute notes around the house. It’s sickeningly sweet, I know, but this is the type of love and devotion I crave to find. My parents told me the moment their eyes met across the busy lecture theater, they knew they would marry each other. They reassured me I’ll also experience the same "inner knowing" when I meet my soulmate.

"You are awfully quiet today, sis. Is everything okay?" Carter brushes his tawny-gold hair and wrinkles his slightly crooked nose, gazing at me with curiosity. He’s always been self-conscious of the tiny bump on his otherwise straight nose, but I think it adds charm to his somewhat boyish good looks.

I swallow hard, bobbing my head. "All good, just a bit tired. I had a busy week." He cocks his head, searching my face as if he doesn’t believe me.

My mother sashays in our direction. Her slightly wrinkled face crinkles with a wide grin as she places the stoneware bowl in the middle of the table.

"Dinner’s ready, and muffins are in the oven," she chirps in a sing-song voice. I dip my head, noting that there isn't any hint of resemblance between us, especially with her raven black hair, firm square jaw, almond-shaped black eyes and long straight nose.

"I’ll get the salad." I plod to the kitchen to grab the salad.

Every Sunday, for as long as I can remember, I have insisted on my mother making cinnamon and blueberry muffins, but I don't remember when and how my obsession with them started. My father grabs the bottle of wine from the cooler and walks back with me with a massive grin on his face. We take turns loading our plates with enchiladas and salad while my father fills our wine glasses. He raises his glass, training his gaze on my brother.

"To Carter, for being the youngest law partner. I'm so proud of you, son. Your Papa G would have been even prouder." His firm features and heavy-lidded blue eyes soften with the warm smile dancing at the corner of his thin lips.

"You are a spitting image of him, too." My mother wipes her eyes, gazing at him with adoration.

As usual, Carter mumbles, "Thank you, Pa and Ma." Praise makes him uncomfortable.

This isn’t the first time that my parents have told him how much he resembles my grandfather, who was an undefeated criminal defense lawyer. My parents don't have a favorite, and throughout our childhood, we were treated equally, but they never mentioned me resembling living or deceased family members. On top of that, whenever I have asked my parents to tell me about my birth or funny stuff I did as a toddler, they give me vague answers like, "normal easy birth, unlike Carter, who took his time" or, "you were an easy-going and quiet child."But the weirdest thing is there are no baby photos of Carter and I. We were told our old house got flooded and they lost most of their possessions, forcing them to start from zero.

I whip my head in his direction, widening my eyes in surprise. "Oh, my God, Carter! You got the job and didn’t tell me."

"I literally got the call right before you came, which was completely unexpected, as I thought they would tell us tomorrow." He winds his hand through his hair and exhales. "Honestly, it feels unreal. I never expected they would make me a partner, especially when I was up against stiff competition."

"Congratulations. I'm so happy for you." Clinking our wine glasses, I take a long mouthful. I was planning to spring my news over dessert, but I might as well hit them with my news now.

"Um, while we are sharing news, I have something to tell you." Silence falls at the table as all eyes turn on me. "So, I was offered a teaching job in Seattle. Better hours, more money, in a great private school. I'm moving next week," I babble as nervousness courses through me.

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