05

There are two types of people in the world : those who leave their hometown and those who don’t. Everyone who left and ended up moving back acted as if I was insulting them when I made the choice to stay away. But that was for reasons other than career growth. In fact, it was almost always to avoid judgment while living the more private parts of my life.

After changing into my sleepwear, the curiosity got to me. What is in that fucking box ?

I took the package and meandered down the dark hallway in an attempt to locate something sharp enough to cut the tape. I knew where three types of dining rooms were located but had yet to find the kitchen.

When I made it to the grand stairwell in search of it, I spotted the door to Augustine’s office. I knew I shouldn’t go in there unaccompanied, but who was going to tell me otherwise ? More than that, where else was I going to find a pair of scissors in this behemoth of a mansion ?

I opened the door quietly and let myself inside. I glanced over the antique, wooden desk, looking for a sharp object, but found nothing. Setting the box beside me, I leaned over the top of the desk and slid open the top drawer. A frame set atop some papers.

Inside it was a picture of a much younger Augustine standing with a blonde woman. The two of them stood in Paris near the Arc de Triomphe, wearing laughing smiles as if they were having the time of their lives. A message was scribbled in the corner.

To my Gus,

Forever my favorite day. Love you always.

Paris 2001

Meaning to close the drawer, my eyes fixated on the image and the thousand words it shared. Gus ? Paris the year Matthew was born ? I was looking at Mrs. Montgomery.

I had always imagined what his wife looked like—the type of woman who could enamor a cavalier man like Mr. Montgomery and make such beautiful children. The picture in my mind had been a modelesque, gaunt beauty with a face as intimidating as her memory. The woman in this photo looked much different.

She was not average by any means, but she looked kind and approachable. Surprisingly normal. She wasn’t gaunt, rather an average size 12 or 14. Her hair in a messy bun atop her head, her crooked smile warm and friendly, not a lick of makeup on. I stared in surprise.

« Looking for something ? » Mr. Montgomery’s voice rumbled in the quiet room.

I flinched with fear and quickly closed the drawer. « S-sorry, I was looking for scissors, » I stammered as I stood up and turned around. I reached down to find my shorts had ridden up much higher than I thought. Shit. My heart raced with the embarrassment of knowing my employer just walked in to find me ass up and snooping through his stuff.

He stalked over slowly, never prying his eyes from me. Without looking away, he dragged a pair of scissors from his penholder and held them out to me on the tip of his finger.

Somehow, I found his gesture flirtatious. Everything the widower did seemed sexual to me.

And toxic.

« Thank you, » I said, then began to cut the packaging tape from the box’s joints. When I glanced up between cuts, I found him still peering at me, expressionless. « I’m sorry for being in here. I can never seem to be in the right place to find something so minuscule. » He said nothing in response. I didn’t know whether to run out or make small talk so I defaulted to the latter. « When did you get back ? »

« A few minutes ago. » He stepped forward and took the scissors from my hand. The small brush of his fingertips against my palm made my skin prickle. As he placed them back into the holder, my eyes drifted over his alluring visage while my mind imagined the body hidden beneath the crisp, white shirt. « Was there something else you needed ? » he asked in his posh accent. « Or are you simply entertaining your habit of stumbling into places you shouldn’t ? »

I realized I was still standing awkwardly in his office in the middle of the night. My cheeks warmed with embarrassment. What he must think of me. « No, sorry, just the scissors. » I gathered up my box and started to leave. « Thank you again. »

« Goodnight, Ms. Nielson, » he said as he ushered me through the door.

I turned around and smiled at him. « You can call me Aubrey, Mr. Montgomery. »

He peered down his nose at me with a look of annoyance. « Goodnight, Ms. Nielson, » he repeated. With that, he closed the door in my face.

I stood in front of the door, regretting everything that just happened. With a cringe, I shuffled back down the hall and up the stairs to my room.

Once inside, I closed the door and leaned against it to catch my breath. Something about him got under my skin. It always did.

He was rude, cold, and domineering. He reminded me of the men with who I used to waste my time. He reminded me of how I used to waste my time with them. Still breathless, the myriad of memories sent a chill over my skin and warmth between my thighs.

You don’t need that anymore, I reminded myself. Once I pushed the lewd thoughts from my mind, I locked my door and walked over to set the box on my bed.

Inside it was nothing but my college hoodie.

Really ? I felt stupid for making a fool of myself over an old piece of clothing.

I threw the box onto the floor and still couldn’t shake my nerves—the humiliation tempting me towards old habits and predilections. The pull in my belly grew noticeable as the desire nagged in my mind. Even my clothes sliding against my prickled skin with every breath felt like a tease. When I could stand it no longer, I walked past the box and went to my dresser.

Inside the chest, I found the silken rope and wand. My excitement stirred warm in my core. I stared for a moment, trying to remind myself they weren’t needed, only wanted. But what is the point of denying who we are or what we want ?

I grabbed both and returned to the bed. After plugging in the wand, I tied one end of the rope to the bedframe and looped the other around my neck. Holding the silken tail in my hand, I moved down the bed until the tie added more pressure against my throat. My excitement heated to arousal. Placing the wand between my legs, I gasped.

The perfect vibrations hummed on my clitoris straight into my core, giving me just what I wanted. The silken material around my neck made my breathing harder, depriving me of what I needed. As the pleasure built in my core, I moaned quietly, sacrificing critical air in the process.

I panted and turned the intensity up a level. Trying to catch my breath, the vibrations teased me further, the grip around my neck tightening the more I strained with pleasure.

When my breathing was nothing but tiny gasps, the fear sent a rush of adrenaline into my veins, heightening my senses, blinding me to everything but the hot pressure building in my core. My legs started to quiver and shake. I moaned again, and with my last bit of air gone, I turned up the intensity on my wand once more.

The feeling was too much, my body shaking in time with the vibrations as I rubbed it against me. I let it flood through me, holding my breath, focusing on my climax and my inability to call out in ecstasy. When my vision began to narrow, I let go of the rope. A rush of air entered my lungs, along with a burst of sensation between my legs.

I grabbed a pillow and smothered my moans while the orgasm tore through me­­. My body shaking, shuddering—wave after wave of deep pleasure washing over me each time my hips jerked and my sex clenched and released around nothing.

We all have secrets, I suppose.