Page 28 of The Facilitator 1

It was with a smile that I changed ‘unknown’ to his name in mycontacts.

I poured myself a large glass of water, turned off the kitchen lights, and headed for my bedroom. I pulled down the blind and climbed into bed. I picked up my Kindle and just held it. I’d intended to read but I couldn’t see the words. My mind was filled with him, his scent, his words, his breath, and his touch. Everything about him consumed me. I likedit.

* * *

Iwoke latethe following morning; my night had been filled with the eroticism that was Mackenzie Miller. I couldn’t recall the dream, but judging by the wetness between my thighs, I assumed it to be good. I slid my hand under the waistband of my pyjama bottoms and my fingers circled my clitoris. I closed my eyes and thought of him. I brought every minute detail to mind. His dark eyes and hair, the way the muscles on his forearms had flexed when he tensed. I pictured him with his hand down hispants. His strong fingers wrapped around his cock, massaginghimself.

I heard his whispers in my head; I felt his breath against my skin. I was transported back, I recalled the way he humiliated Scott, for me. I relived every moment I’d spent with him until my body shook, and I moaned out loud as an orgasm washed over me. It was neither as powerful or as fulfilling as the ones he’d given me, but it was enough to dull the ache between mythighs.

* * *

Iwas half temptedto Google why someone would be interested in another’s fantasies but was too frightened to see the results and have that in my search history. I thought of his request while I showered and dressed, and as I sipped my tea and ate my toast. If it had been anyone else who had asked me, the word ‘pervert’ might have sprung to mind, but there was something about him that said he had plans. It was all part of thegame.

If I were to stand a chance of winning this game, I’d have to think hard. There didn’t appear to be any rules, other than fucking with my head. One minute he’d been a normal guy, sharing a meal and a bottle of wine, the next: predatory andchallenging.

I was sure he was a little fucked up in the head, perhaps more than a little. No matter what, he was beginning to intrigueme.

I walked into my bedroom and opened the wardrobe door. Black, grey, more black; it was devoid of colour. I smiled, although shopping wasn’t one of my favourite things to do, maybe it was time for this ‘ice queen’ tothaw.

I checked my watch and decided to head to Westfield’s. I’d avoided visiting the ‘largest shopping centre in the U.K.’ according to its advertisement, until then, not wanting to be surrounded by people invading my personal space. I was a woman on a mission. I forbade myself from picking up anything dark or dull. No muted tones, no pastelseven.

By the time I’d arrived back home, I had bags of colourful clothes and a couple of new pairs of shoes. I didn’t remove the black suits. When the game was over, I had no doubt I’d be back to wearing them. I simply moved them to one side and hung red, green, blue, and purple alongsidethem.

The last bag that I emptied was from the chemist. I pulled out a box of condoms and placed them in the bedside cabinet, just incase.

I chuckled as I sat on the bed. Whatever this game was, it felt liberating, empowering even. I’d found I wasn’t slumping my shoulders so much; the tension in my neck wasn’t as noticeable. I was answering back, standing a little taller. So what if great sex was a by-product?

When I thought back on the last few months with Scott, I guess somewhere along the line I’d begun to feel a little downtrodden. Maybe instinctively I’d known, maybe I just hadn’t wanted to face up to it. We hadn’t had sex in months, in fact that could have been a year. We didn’t go out alone, together. If anything, we were really just flatmates, except he was the one having all thefun.

I picked up my phone. Was it the norm to text my boss on a Saturday afternoon? But then, we’d crossed that ‘should not have been crossed’ boundary the first night wemet.

I’ve been thinking. It’s a little perverted to want to know a stranger’s fantasies, don’t youthink?

I waited with bated breath for a reply. I knew what I was doing: baiting him, but for the first time in a long time, I feltalive.

Ten minutes, then twenty minutes passed before he finallyreplied.

I sucked your cunt, Lauren. I’d hardly call us strangers. And I’m offended by youraccusation.

Oh shit! Was I offensive? I sat there with no idea how to reply. I reread his text. It surprised me to notice that I wasn’t disgusted by his choice of word. Had anyone else used the ‘C’ word, even within earshot of me, I’d cringe; tell them off for being so crude. But not him, and I wonderedwhy.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tooffend.

I’d pressed send before I thought about what was going on. In fact, I had no real idea what was going on at all, but had I just played straight back into hishands?

I asked you to do one thing for me. Now I’m asking for another. Trustme.

Trust him? I didn’t know him. This ‘stranger’ had bowled into my life. I’d spent an amazing night, doing something I’d never done before; sex with a stranger, then found out he was my new boss. I’d thought back. Had he known who Iwas?

I don’t knowyou.

My name is Mackenzie Miller. If my father is to be respected, you need to add ‘the second’ to that. I was born in South Carolina, moved to LA late teens. Googleme.

Google him? Why the fuck hadn’t I done that earlier? I grabbed my laptop. Thankfully there weren’t that many Mackenzie Millers in South Carolina or LA. His father was involved in manufacturing back in the 1970’s. I found an old college photo; Mackenzie had played football, American football. There was a report detailing how he was about to turn pro before being injured in a car crash that had resulted in the death of his friend. Fuck! That must have been a painful time, both physically andmentally.

He was as good-looking in his teens as he was an adult. I could imagine the cheerleaders fawning all over him, or maybe that shit just happened inmovies.

I found lots of articles about his business dealings. Some where he was accused of shutting down companies and putting people out of work, others where he’d saved the day. My understanding of a venture capitalist was someone who came into fledgling businesses and financed them; obviously what he did was a little more involved, or I had itwrong.

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