Karma (18 page)

Her
senses were on overdrive.

Marcy
blinked, stunned and captivated with the inner vision of such a thing. Of her
arms and legs bound to a bed, while Mike teased, tormented and played with her
naked body. A sensuous heat pooled low inside – in that spot she was just
beginning to figure out.

Holy
shit.
Really? Mike could do that?

Marcy
had never thought of him
that
way. He was big and strong and so
overwhelmingly male. Already he inundated her senses. Damn. Marcy didn’t know
if she was terrified or thrilled at the idea of being tied up and completely
under his control.

It
was probably a bit of both.

Mike
opened the fridge, got out the chardonnay, and poured her out another glass of wine.
He handed it to her. "Here," he said. "You look like you need
this."

Marcy
took it gratefully, and drank a soothing gulp. She could feel his gaze hot upon
her. He was watching her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. Jesus. Had the room
just gotten hotter? Because her temperature had certainly spiked. She didn't
want to talk about what had just happened.

Not
here. Not now with the girls in the next room.

When
she finally calmed down, she took a deep steadying breath and looked at him.
His eyes searched her face. Then he gave her a heart-stopping smile.

"You'll
climax," he said confidently, brushing his fingers along her cheeks in a
comforting manner. "I don’t think you should worry about it, Marcy.
Anyway, André can help us if we get stuck. And in the worst case scenario, if
you never ever have a climax, so what?"

"Nice,"
she said, feeling more herself. "This from a man who is no doubt perfectly
capable of having an orgasm."

He
grinned in the roguish manner of a pirate. "I'll show you later if you
like," he said with a mischievous wink. They both laughed.

"You
know what I mean," Mike said. "If you're never able to climax we can
both live with it, if we have to. Marcy, I don’t want to marry you just so that
we can have sex," he said and raised his hands, his tone and manner
vehement. "I love you."

"You
are such a goofball," Marcy said, but she found herself smiling at him. There
was something in the flash of his eyes, a wild passionate look. Was he just
getting started? Intrigued she shifted on the stool at the kitchen counter to
face him. Just what did he want to say?

"Tell
me, Marcy. When did having sex become the whole game anyway?" Mike said
beginning to pace and communicate with his hands, wildly gesticulating as he
sometimes did when he got excited.

"Jesus,
who even gives a fuck about sex?" he asked. "Everyone acts like it's
the most important thing people do, but come on! Sewer rats have sex.
Cockroaches have sex. I like to think as a human being that life and love is
about much more than sex. Family is important. Kids are important. Satisfaction
at work and having a partner who is on your side and that you can talk to is
important. Having someone who understands you, knows your faults and loves you
anyway is important."

Mike
took both of her hands in his, sending a flutter of sensation through her. They
were big, warm and masculine, just like he was. The passion and intensity in
his eyes was adorable and awe inspiring. Was this love? The things he was
talking about sounded like as good a definition as she had ever considered.

"Do
you know what I miss most now that Barbra's gone?" he asked. "Not the
sex… I miss companionship. Having someone who really knows me and likes me the
way I am. Someone I can share my problems with, and who isn't afraid to tell me
off and set me straight when I'm being a jerk."

He
cocked an eyebrow mischievously at her. "Not that I'm ever a jerk, of
course."

"Oh,
of course," she agreed with a wry smile.

Pressing
his lips to her wrists, he squeezed her hands tighter. "I want someone who
knows not just all my secrets, but all my dreams. Someone fun who makes me
laugh, but also can cry at the end of a good movie. I miss listening to the
person I love breathe at night, and watching them sleep, and having someone of
my own. I miss cuddling, and kissing and holding hands."

He
squeezed hers once more, his palms warm against her. "I miss that intimate
sharing with one's best friend in the whole world."

"Wow,"
Marcy said, entranced by the vivid pictures he was painting. "I don’t
think I've ever had any of that."

"I
want that with you, Marcy," he said, his voice low and compelling. "When
I'm with you I feel so happy that I can’t stop smiling. Tell me that you want
me, too."

Marcy
would have replied that she did want him, but just then her phone rang. She had
left it out on the kitchen counter, not expecting any calls.

She
gave him an apologetic look and took her hands from his. When she picked it up
an unlisted number showed. Who could be calling? Maybe Gustave? Did André need
her? Yet she was on Thanksgiving break, with the next few days off. Curious,
she answered it.

"Hello?"

"Is
this Marcy Paget?" said a soft feminine voice.

"It
sure is. Who's calling?"

"My
name is Debra," the woman said. "Debra Berger."

Like
shutting down a computer by pulling out the plug, Marcy's mind went utterly
blank. There was a long pause, while she tried to understand those words with a
mind that was no longer able to process.

Say
what?

"We
both married Trent," explained the soft voice. "I don’t have long to
talk, but I was hoping that we could meet somewhere. Maybe after Thanksgiving?
I hope you don’t mind."

"Uh…"
Marcy said in a clouded daze. She had never met Debra. "Okay, sure."

"Thank
you so much," Debra said. "I'll be in touch. God bless you.
Goodbye."

What
the fuck is she up to?
Trent wondered as he
silently strode into the plush carpeted room. His wife's back was to him as she
looked out toward the pool. Debra was talking on the phone, but there was
something in the way she held herself. She looked secretive.

"Who
was that?" Trent asked as Debra hung up the phone.

Debra
swung around, unable to hide her surprise. Or was it shock? The stupid bitch
couldn’t have looked more ashamed if she had been caught taking money from the
church tithe basket as it was being passed around. Just who had she been
talking to? Trent wondered. Why would she look so guilty?

"Oh,"
Debra said in a sort of breathless gasp. "I was talking to the caterer
about Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. Just checking, you know."

Trent
knew a lie when he heard one, mainly because he had so much experience with
lying himself. "Oh? What did they say?" he asked.

Debra's
smile was somewhat forced. "Everything will be ready by noon. I'm so glad
I'm not doing any cooking this year."

Trent
took her in his arms, but she stiffened against him. "What's wrong?"
he asked, deciding that his best move right now was to indulge her. "Are
you still mad at me for losing my temper? I'm so sorry, baby. Things have been
difficult at work. I'm under an enormous amount of stress. You know how much I
rely on you to make my life easier though, don’t you? Behind every successful
man is a good Christian woman, you know that."

Her
tense body loosened. "Oh," she said. "Well, I was upset. You
used the 'C' word, Trent."

Trent
pulled back and gave her his most conciliatory smile. "I said I was sorry,
sweetheart. As the scripture says, 'Forgive us our sins as we forgive those who
sin against us,' right?"

"Oh,
well, of course I forgive you," she said, giving him a slight hug.

When
Trent first set his sight on Debra as a wife, he spent weeks learning every
useful bible verse. His hard work paid off. It was so easy to manipulate Debra,
and to keep her right where he wanted her.

Stupid
to have snapped at her, however. He knew better than that. He rarely lost his
temper with his wife, but he could fix it. Trent knew about leverage. He used
it to manipulate and control everyone around him. People only did things
according to what they needed and wanted. Every person had a reason, something
to protect, something they valued, or some secret they found necessary to hide.

Debra,
like everyone else, could be taken advantage of through the calculated and
judicious use of leverage and power.

Being
a good Christian was high up in value, so he used guilt to get his way.
"Honor and Obey" your husband was useful for that. "Honor thy
Father," was important, too. Debra was anxious to please her father. She
wanted to be a good daughter. A failed marriage would be her fault. Debra
wouldn’t want to let her father down.

"I
told your father that you were no longer on the pill," he said, changing
the subject.

Debra
stepped back from him, blushing an appealing pink. "You didn’t!"

Trent
gave her his most charming smile. "He was happy for us, sweetheart. Men
discuss these things. We want children, and he wants grandchildren." He
pulled her against him again. He kissed her neck and nuzzled against her.
"Let's go make a baby, shall we?"

Once
she was pregnant she would never cause him trouble again. Debra was naive and dumb
as a brick – but he hadn’t married her for her brains. He had married her for her
looks and bank account, and for her father's financial backing. Not to mention all
her father's business contacts.

She
had been an innocent in the sack, but in her need to "Honor and Obey"
Trent had taught her what he wanted.

Unlike
his last wife, she was a good fuck as long as he didn't do anything too
outrageous. Her young firm body already made his dick hard. There were always
other women for his anal interests. Trent was being careful to cover his bases.
Scripture was unclear. To many Christians, sodomy was a sin. He didn't want to
scare his wife about eternal damnation. She might leave him over that.

Debra
was the perfect woman for an ambitious man like him. Until their first child,
he had to keep her more or less happy. Even though she annoyed him, Trent couldn’t
let his temper slip.

"Trent,"
Debra said. "We can't… I, well, I'm on my period."

Trent
pushed his erection against her, holding her firm ass with his hands. He rubbed
himself between her legs, wanting her to feel it. "That's okay,
sweetheart," he said. "But your husband needs you. Can't tell how
much I want you?"

"Oh,"
she blushed. "Yes."

"I
don’t mind a little blood," he added, knowing that she hated to have sex
during her period. Debra found it embarrassing and disliked the mess it made of
the sheets. Trent knew that it disgusted her, and consequently he enjoyed
fucking her when she was bleeding. It proved to both her and to him that he was
the husband. That he had all the power in their relationship.

He
took her hand and led her up the stairs and into their bedroom.

"How
about I just please you, Trent?" she asked.

He
smiled down at her, stroking the soft skin of her face. "You are the best
wife in the whole world, Debra. You're a good girl. Strip your clothes like I
taught you, and then get on your knees. If I can't come inside your beautiful
pussy and create a baby, at least I can still come inside you. You don’t mind
that, do you sweetheart? You like to please your husband? That's an important part
of a wife's duties, isn’t it?"

"Yes,
Trent," she whispered.

Debra
would never deny him sex. Trent liked making her have it, particularly when she
wasn't in the mood. He enjoyed that control. Besides, a woman needed to be
reminded of her place. If a husband wanted sex it was a sin to refuse him. The Bible
said so.

As
Debra shyly began to take her clothes off, Trent considered how clever he was.
Handsome, ambitious, focused, powerful and rich. He was a lion, surrounded by
sheep. He could do anything he wanted.

That
thought made him even harder, inflexible as a steel blade. Sex was more than
just a pleasure. It was a weapon, one he used regularly with lots of women,
including his wife, Debra.

"I'm
not going to lie or exaggerate," Mike pronounced in a moment of heavily
sated silence. "That Thanksgiving dinner changed my life."

Appreciative
laughs filled the room. Mike had gone all out, decorating with white and orange
pumpkins and candles. The dinner table looked like the aftermath of a battle.
The turkey was down to less than half, mainly bones. The ham was in a similar
state. Waldorf salad, corn on the cob, giblet gravy, stuffing, honeyed carrots,
mashed potatoes, candied yams, green beans and almonds, jellied cranberries,
and mandarin orange salad.

Red
and white wine flowed in a manner equal to a public tasting at a winery.
Everyone was in an excellent mood.

Marcy
arrived early for Thanksgiving lunch at Mike's house. She had been filled with
trepidation, while Katie, shy as she was, seemed to take everything in stride. Mike's
house was full of laughter, noise and organized chaos.

The
place was like a madhouse.

Crowded
and noisy, everyone seemed to be doing something all at once in the kitchen. After
a couple of drinks, and an overwhelming welcome from Mike's family, Marcy was completely
at ease.

Mike's
mother, Pamela, was an outspoken sixty something. Despite her white hair, she
looked much younger. She used little makeup and wore tortoise shell glasses
that set off her bright blue eyes. Pamela cornered her, with an aspect of idle
chatter, yet it was anything but.

The
woman sized her up, and quickly seemed to come to the conclusion that she liked
Marcy.

"Mike
has always been caring and considerate, Marcy," she said, patting her arm.
"He's a very good son, and that's something to remember. A man who is good
to his mother will also be good to his wife."

Her
words embarrassed Marcy at first. Why was she telling her this? Yet it was
obvious that Mike liked her, so clearly Marcy was a possible companion for her
son. Later when Marcy considered Pamela's statement, she realized how true the
woman's words were.

Trent's
mother moved to Florida when she remarried, and he never wrote and never
called. His mother had no money, no beauty, and no useful connections. Thus she
was someone Trent chose to ignore.

There
were fourteen for Thanksgiving lunch. Mike's mom and dad and grandmother, his
brother, Craig and his boyfriend, his sister Janice who was six months
pregnant, her husband Bob, and their two children, Madison age eight, and Sarah,
age six. There was also Mike's youngest brother, James, with his wife and first
child, a baby three months old.

After
dinner the children took off to play games together, while the adults chatted,
waiting for the food to settle enough to have coffee and dessert. Homemade pumpkin
pie, pecan pie and ice cream would be featured. As well as strawberry chocolate
cheese cake and rum balls.

Mike's
brother, Craig, brought his boyfriend of six years, also named Craig. To save
confusion Mike's brother went by ET. Not ET as in the movie - ET standing for
'Evil and Twisted One.'

ET
wore black and white cowhide clogs, a Tom Selleck moustache and seemed to be
living in the eighties. A well-loved school teacher, he was firm friends with
the moms of all his students, and collected classic cars. A psychiatrist would
probably want to treat him for his outrageously manic behavior. His laugh
sounded a little like "bawahahaha!"

Marcy
thought he was hilarious.

His
partner, Craig, was ET's opposite. He dressed and talked like the conservative
lawyer he was. After the children left to play, Craig's partner had come out
with "Regular sex helps insulate a man from chronic stress which increases
longevity. Men who have sex at least three times a week have half the risk of
heart attack."

Had
they all had way too much wine? This bland textbook statement, apropos of
nothing, sent everyone off into furious gales of laughter.

ET
began a long involved story about his first motorbike, and how his sister
Janice annoyed him, harassing and nagging until he gave her a ride on it.
"So she gets on the back," he said. "And I'm racing along."

"You
weren’t driving dangerously were you?" Mike's mom said.

"Don't
worry, mom, I was only going a few miles per hour over the speed limit,"
he assured her. "Anyway, talk about lead foot, Janice! Jeez! She's holding
on, yelling the whole time in my ear, 'Faster! Faster!'"

"Damn!
I just hate it when girls say that," Mike interjected.

The
sudden mental image of what Mike was talking about cracked Marcy up, not to
mention everyone else at the table.

"Mike,"
his mother said. "You're going to be forty this year, it’s a special day.
Have you thought of how you want to celebrate? Do you want a surprise birthday
party?"

"Oh,
yes, please," he said, grinning mischievously at Marcy while ignoring the
laughs and catcalls. "I love surprises."

Bob,
Mike's sister's husband, began telling a story of how he had broken his ankle. "When
I went for an operation on my ankle the nurse said, "Is it the right
arm?" as they were putting me to sleep. I kept saying, "It's the
ankle, the ankle! As I went under I worried that there was no telling what
would happen when I lost consciousness."

"Ha,
ha," Mike said. "And when you woke up you were a woman!" They
all laughed uproariously over that one.

"My
sister, the nurse," ET began. "When Janice was learning how to draw
blood she practiced on me. No greater love, I tell you! Talk about a pin
cushion. As she put in the needle her supervisor would say, "No, that's
the muscle. No muscle again, nope – that's the muscle, too. Good – wait. Oops –
went right through the vein that time. Well, you're getting closer."

"It
wasn't that bad," Janice protested. "He's exaggerating," she
assured everyone.

"He
isn't," Mike whispered in Marcy's ear. "She practiced on me, too."

"Did
you see the new Superman movie?" Janice asked. "Good lord, can you
believe that actor's abs? Talk about beefcake. Is he ripped or what?"

ET
snorted. "Disproportionately ripped - for a human anyway," he said
with a cynical smirk. "While he looked pretty hot, his shape might be more
appropriate for a water buffalo."

"Jealous!"

"Oh
yeah, in so many ways."

"Grandma,"
James said to the oldest woman at the table. She hadn't taken part in much
conversation, yet her facial expressions showed that she was following
everything. "I'm so worried about our little Emma," he said, holding
his sleeping newborn and first child. "I'm anxious over every little cough
or sneeze. Is that normal? What did you find with your children? At what age do
you worry most?"

Everyone
went quiet while grandma took a moment to consider this question. "Well,
children always go through stages when they make you worry more than other
times," she pronounced. "Everyone is different of course, but for me,
I think I worried about my kids the most when they got to be about the age of forty."

Marcy,
who was taking a drink of wine at the time, almost choked. The entire day had
been so much fun. She couldn’t recall having a better Thanksgiving.

When
everyone finally left, Marcy helped Mike finish tidying up. Exhausted and
overfull, they both sat down on the family room couch. Katie was outside
playing fetch with Ziggy – a game neither of them ever tired of. Mike and Marcy
both watched as Katie skimmed the Frisbee as far away as possible and Ziggy
cheerfully brought it back – sometimes even catching it in the air.

"Did
you have fun today?" he asked.

Marcy
smiled. "It was the best. I love your family. It explains a lot about
you."

"I
knew you'd like them," Mike said. Then his voice lowered and his gaze
became intense. "You and Katie need a place to stay. If I promise not to
pressure you, and give you your own room, will you both move in with me?"

Marcy took a deep breath, frowned and looked away. Meeting
Mike's family had obviously been just one more step in his carefully planned
seduction. Not to mention marriage. She wondered what the hell she was doing.
Everything was moving too fast, pushing her out of her comfort zone.

It was stressing her out.

Life on her own with Katie wasn't perfect, but it was
predictable. Did she really want to move in with Mike? She hadn’t had a lot of
relationships with men, but the ones she had were crap. Were her mistakes of
the past likely to manifest as the same mistakes in the present and in the
future? Or had she grown? Was she smarter now?

Nothing had ever worked out previously. She didn't enjoy
sex, but hopefully she could change that. Mike was different person, and she
was different, too. And in the final analysis, was sex the most essential
reason for a relationship?

She recalled Mike's words and smiled,
"Just when
did having sex become the whole game anyway? Who gives a fuck about sex?
Everyone acts like it's the most important thing people do, but come on! Sewer
rats have sex. Cockroaches have sex. I like to think as a human being that life
and love is about much more than sex. Family is important. Kids are important.
Satisfaction at work and having a partner you can talk to is important. Having
someone who understands you and loves you anyway is important."

Move in with Mike? Marcy's stomach jittered, thrilled
with excitement at the idea of spending more time with him - including having
sex with him. It was scary, it was exhilarating, and it was life changing. If
what she felt toward Mike wasn't love, what was?

Marcy didn't mind jumping of the cliff, but she wasn't
keen to take Katie over the edge with her. What about the risks? Moving in with
Mike wasn't the safest thing to do. It could all end in tears.

A
quote crossed her mind, from a 'The Way of the Peaceful Warrior,' a book she
had found solace in while going through her numerous troubles over the last few
years. It stated,
"Stress happens when your mind resists what is. The
only problem in your life is your mind’s resistance to life as it
unfolds."

Marcy looked up into Mike's dark brown eyes. The restless
man was perfectly still. Waiting patiently for her reply.

Thoughtful, fun, passionate and persistent. And then
there were those amazing kisses. Mike's kisses were like good champagne – they
gave her a ridiculous buzz, fogging her brain and pushing her whole body into a
tingling high. Was this True Love? Could Mike be for real? Was he her happily
ever after?

Marcy
had asked Katie her thoughts about moving in with Mike. Her generally quiet and
reserved daughter had screamed with delight. The man was never going to give
up. She was pretty damn sure that she didn’t want him to. Why was she even trying
to escape?

So
stupid to resist the inevitable.

"Yes, thank you, Mike. Katie and I would love to
move in with you."