Page 36 of Say You Love Me

“Enough,” I choke out.

Rylee doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. His mouth still works at my wife’s breast even as she pulls away. His hands grasp for her as she backs away, coming to stand by my side. I thread my fingers through hers.

“It’s time for you to leave now.” My voice is rough and raw. “I’ll call you a ride.”

Rylee looks between us. His chest heaves with denied desire. He’s disheveled by my wife’s hands, his hair tossed and tangled by her fingers. His mouth is dark, bruised by her lips and the bulge straining against his jeans is obvious.

He blinks, confused and still coming down from the high of touching my wife. I extend my hand, helping him to his feet. We stand face to face. He’s shorter than me, but not by much. There’s so much confusion in his eyes, confusion and arousal. His gaze keeps darting to Finity who is clutching onto my hand as though her life depends on it. One breast is still exposed. It is red and marked by his attention. His gaze falls to it and he licks his lips.

I suppose it’s cruel, what I’ve done to him. I’ve given him a taste, nothing more. And a taste of Finity is never enough. He’s going to be thinking of this for days. It’s going to haunt his dreams and stalk him when he’s awake. He will have the taste of her on his lips and the feel of her under his fingers. I almost laugh at the number of times he will jerk off to the thought of her.

Without a word, I walk to the entrance of the house, tugging Finity behind me and open the door. “Until next time,” I say.

He looks me in the eye. There’s something I respect in that action. It’s bold. “Until next time,” he repeats.

Then, even though her hand is in mine, even though she presses against me, he caresses her cheek and lowers his head to place a chaste kiss on her mouth. She turns away and he glances back at me. There’s not as much boldness in his eyes this time.

When he walks out into the darkness, I close the door, turn to Finity and rip my hand away.

“Go to bed.”

chapter sixteen

THEN

~

HUDSON

They’ve hired a driver to take me to and from work. It’s just temporary, until this issue with the protestors dies down. But I miss being behind the wheel. I miss being in control.

“Straight home tonight, Mr James?” Laws says as soon as I’m in the back. I loosen my tie, toss my briefcase onto the seat and glance at my watch. I told Finity I would be home two hours ago.

“I told you to call me Hudson.”

Laws catches my gaze in the reflection of the mirror. “And the person who hired me told me to call you Mr James, so if you don’t mind, sir, I’ll just keep calling you that.”

I sigh and let my head roll back against the seat. Thanks to the tinted windows the protestors don’t know it’s me as we pass through the security gates, but they still rush the car, signs held high and voices raised. There’s only five of them now. There used to be more.

About six months after we moved here, a rumor started circulating that the water plant was being sold to overseas investors. It’s a baseless rumor, and utterly false, but it was enough to get the locals enraged and a few of them started to picket outside the gates. It seems no matter what assurances we give them that the plant is to remain under the present ownership, they won’t believe us. Our current position is to ignore and hope it all blows over, but it’s been two months now and the protestors keep turning up. And even though the number of them has dwindled with each passing day, the news team still has someone covering the story. Despite there being no story.

It’s meant a lot of long hours for me. Long hours which have left Finity bored, lonely and desperate for my attention. And the truth is, I miss her too. When I accepted the job, I thought it would mean fewer hours, more time at home, and maybe the possibility of starting a family. But I can’t even broach the subject with Finity. Not now. Not while she’s so unhappy.

It takes exactly nineteen minutes to travel between work and home. Most of that time is spent along the narrow and winding road that leads to the plant, the rest of it is weaving through the streets of the place I’ve always called home. It’s autumn, and golden and red leaves fall from the trees as we drive. My hometown is a pretty one. Everyone takes pride in their homes; there is nothing abandoned or desolate, lawns are mown and fences are kept painted.

Our house is on one of the more picturesque streets. The steps to the entrances spill onto the footpath as though inviting people in. The buildings are old and ornate. The lamps are high and trees form a canopy over the road.

Finity had clasped her hands under her chin with eyes wide in wonder the first time we drove down here. She was trying not to show excitement but it was hard to hide. For the first few months, we had very little furniture since our last place was so small, and my mother and Finity spent hours combing the shops looking for just the right pieces. It was only once she was satisfied with the house that she started looking for a job. She didn’t need one. My new position meant that my salary was higher than it had ever been, but Finity just laughed off my suggestion that she stay at home.

She’s been looking for months now with no luck. And with each passing day, her smile slips just that little bit more, I hear her laughter a little less often, and she becomes a little more desperate for me to come home.

I have three missed calls from her. Two text messages.

“See you in the morning, Mr James.”

The lights on the upper level of the house are all out, but the lower ones glow warmly through the thin curtains. Finity usually greets me as soon as I open the door, but not tonight. I place my briefcase on the floor, and pull the tie from my neck, tossing it over the case. I take my shoes off one by one, and then pad through into the dining room. There’s music playing softly in the background, and the warm glow I saw through the curtains wasn’t the lights at all. It comes from the candles dotted around the room.

A slice of panic rips through me at the thought that I’ve forgotten our anniversary, but it subsides as soon as I remember the date. There is nothing special about the day. It’s just a day.

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