My Dark Knight Read online

  I’m hot and feel a throb between my legs. The sight of Max’s huge penis has my heart beating fast, my whole body tingling. I press my fingers on my clit and give it a hard push. Oh yeah. I look at the screen and am transfixed as he fondles himself and starts moving his gripped hand tightly around his erection. He goes on, “I’m thinking of your wet cunt, Arielle, and your beautiful face when you come for me, and your erect nipples and that pretty waist and soft skin and I’m thinking how when I get home I’m going to tease you with my cock. I’m going to bend you over the arm of the sofa and flutter my tongue around your clit. Just the tip of my tongue. Really gently. I know you baby, you’re gonna get all wet and hot and be begging me for it. And I’ll make you wait. I’ll make you moan with anticipation.”

  I swallow. I can feel my pulse speed up hearing his words, imagining myself in the position he describes. I press ‘pause’ and go over to my office door and lock it. Jeanine always knocks, but just to be sure. I go back to my laptop and press ‘play’ again.

  “See how hard I am?” he purrs. “I’m thinking of you sucking me – your pretty lips wrapped around my cock, running your tongue up and down and making it even stiffer.”

  I unzip my skirt and let it pool around my ankles on the floor. I take off my suit jacket and fling it on the back of my swivel chair.

  Max continues. “Have you got your fingers in your pussy, baby? Is it all wet for me? I want you to sit back in your chair with your legs wide open...”

  Wait a minute, I think, how does he know I’m next to my chair? I sit down, my heart pounding, and yes, I am wet. Very wet.

  “Let’s get back to the other position I had in mind for you, eh?” he says, the focus now on his face, which is grimacing from pleasuring himself. “You bent over the sofa arm, your peachy arse in the air. I’m gonna have to spank that arse, baby and then I’m going to take you from behind.”

  He has never spanked me, ever, but he talks about it in his fantasies – does he do that to please me, or does he secretly want to punish me? I still don’t know.

  “I’ll slip my cock in just an inch, no more. Thrust it in all the way, and then out, and then tease you again with just a centimeter of my cock. You won’t know when I’m going to slam you. Maybe I’ll pump you good and hard, maybe I won’t. Maybe you’ll be screaming for me to fuck you.”

  My fingers are deep inside myself now. I’m hooking them up against my front wall against my G-spot – a place I didn’t even know existed until Max found it with his magic thumb. My left hand is on top, both adding pressure now to my clit and my special zone. I make circular movements and press harder now. I can feel the build-up. My eyes are glued to the screen. The camera is back on his rock-hard cock and he’s moaning now, almost growling – he’s about to come – I can sense it.

  “All I can think about is fucking you. I. Love. Fucking. You. Arielle. I love fucking you hard, fucking you really slow.”

  I suddenly hear a knock as I’m about to reach orgasm. The panic of it makes me climax in a thunderous spasm. But then I realize the knock’s coming from Max’s homemade porn movie, as I hear him shout out, “hang on, just coming.”

  “We’re about to take off, sir, I need you to buckle-up,” a muffled voice says through the cabin door.

  He groans. I watch his face, now shown up by the camera in twisted ecstasy, and I laugh at the madness and irony of it all – ‘just coming’ he said – and I’m still coming, too, with delicious, powerful contractions – never were words more aptly spoken.

  Then the video goes dead.

  Why does Max continually make me feel like a naughty schoolgirl?

  I try to compose myself, which is difficult as now all I have on the brain is my sexy fiancé. I’m not the jealous type, but I wonder at my foolishness of letting him roam free in London without me there by his side. I trust him, I do, but at the end of the day, he’s still a guy. Women throw themselves at him. Women, girls, mothers, dogs; this is a man who enjoys popularity. He’s easygoing and nearly always has a gentle smile on his lips, which makes him very attractive to everyone. But there’s also something commandeering about him that make people sit up and pay attention.

  Funny, he says the same about me – that people listen. I do a good job of pretending – shoulders back, head up (and all that), but inside I feel the same as when I was twelve years old. If I have him fooled, that’s fine by me. If I have Billy Gold fooled, all the better.

  I go to the bathroom to freshen up. One thing Max has had installed in every bathroom in his apartment and here is the old-fashioned bidet. At first, I thought it was archaic, but now I’m a convert and wince every time I go to a bathroom and there isn’t one. How civilized they are – perfect for a quick cleanup at any moment, especially if you’ve indulged in a little afternoon sex and don’t have time for a shower. I have found they are perfect to use as a footbath, too.

  I look in the mirror and see a happy woman staring back at me. Her skin is glowing, her blue-gray eyes bright. Lots of passionate sex – the perfect cure for anyone.

  I turn my cell back on and see I have three messages. Max? No, Kevin. My mind flashes through a series of disasters that could have befallen him. Has he set the kitchen on fire? Did he try and squeeze his huge body into the Dumbwaiter? Has he smashed something, broken a chair? Fed Prince the box of hand-made chocolate truffles that were on top of the piano? Has he spilled a hot drink onto the piano keys? Kevin has two left feet and is always crashing into something, and putting his foot in it either verbally or literally. I call him without even listening to the messages – God knows what’s happened, I dread to think.

  He picks up. “Arielle, thank God.”

  I can hear outside sounds – sirens, cars, horns, cries. “Kevin, are you on the street?”

  “I’m getting into a cab.”

  “Oh, where are you going? Shopping? Wait for me, I’m on my way home.”

  “Arielle, I’m catching a flight back to San Francisco. Charles is ill, it’s an emergency.”

  I roll my eyes. Charles did this last time. He is incapable of being without his boyfriend for five minutes. Co-dependency does not even begin to describe their eight-year relationship. “Kevin, you know what a drama queen Charles is.”

  “No, this is an emergency. Seriously. An. Emergency! He’s had an aortic aneurism. Something to do with the heart. He’s in intensive care. Oh my God, I’m like, freaking out, I think he’s going to die,” he wails.

  A wave of guilt washes over me for my dismissive attitude. “He’s not going to die. Calm down – if he’s at the hospital they’ll get him through this. Have faith, Kev. Stay strong. Why are you taking a cab to the airport? Suresh could have driven you there.”

  “He was running errands, I couldn’t wait.”

  I hear the cab door slam and the vehicle screech off. “What can I do to help? Do you want me to come with you? I have money – let me sort out the medical bill.”

  Kevin seems as if he is going to burst into tears. “No and no. There isn’t any point you coming and hanging around at the hospital – there’s nothing you can do. And Charles’s job has great benefits – he has full insurance. Thanks, anyway, Arielle – I appreciate the offer.”

  “Well let me know if there’s anything you need.”

  “I will. Shame, I was having such a ball at Max’s palace. I mean yours and Max’s palace – if only Charles wasn’t afraid of flying and he’d have come too –maybe this would never have happened.”

  “Life happens when you’re busy making plans,” I say.

  “John Lennon said that.”

  “Yes, he did. And that was before he got shot. There’s nothing you could have done, Kevin. Life throws stuff at you sometimes – things that are beyond your control.”

  “Shit happens, huh?”

  “Exactly,” I whisper, thinking of our mom.

  “Listen, I’ve got to go – I need some time to think.”

  “Good luck, Kev. I’m praying for Charles. Call
me later.”

  “Bye Arielle.” The line goes dead.

  I mull over the fragility of our existence. One second everything can be perfect and the next, bam, anything can change, and there’s not a lot you can do about it.

  Except – live each day as if it were your last.

  3

  I NEED SOMEONE TO TALK to. Charles’s aneurism has really knocked the wind out of me. Not that I am a huge Charles fan, but he is everything to my brother, and I can’t bear to see Kevin’s life fall apart. It brings it all gushing back again; my mother’s unexpected death. You’d think the pain would go away, but that feeling of abandonment never leaves your side – the eternal lurking shadow, which accompanies even your happy moods.

  Max is still en route to London, so I can’t talk to him.

  I dial my best friend – poor long-suffering Emma. I say long-suffering because she always talks my problems through with me. That’s just the way she is. Even if I try to discuss her, she somehow swings the conversation back round to me. It’s in her nature, and besides, it’s her job. At least it was before she got married and had a child. She was a full-time counselor/therapist when she lived in London. Now that little Amy’s at school all day, Emma is back working again. Or will be soon. She has set up an office in the maid’s room in her pre-war apartment block. A lot of these old apartments come with small ‘box’ rooms – that once were maids’ quarters in the days when people rang bells for service, had their baths drawn and drinks brought to them. These days, only people like Max live this way. And now me. I still can’t get used to the luxury of my new life and feel guilty every time I see his staff running around for us. It doesn’t seem right. Indecent, almost. But Patricia gets cross with me if I don’t act the complete ‘lady’. She winces when I put plates in the dishwasher or begin to scrub a pan. I need to act more like the princess people expect me to be in my privileged situation.

  Emma picks up on the first ring.

  “Hi Emma, it’s Arielle, are you busy, am I interrupting anything?”

  “Hi, gorgeous. Right now, I need to take care of a few calls, but my eleven o’clock has just cancelled on me, so come over then.”

  “You have appointments already? That’s fantastic!” I cry out.

  “Joel – he’s my charity case, I don’t charge him a penny,” Emma tells me in her British drawl. “Getting back into the swing of things, you know. But I do have my first paid patient, I mean client, coming in next Thursday. Come on over – see my nest-like office. Just got a new couch – it’s a bit squeezed, but I look pretty professional in my new surroundings.”

  “Can’t wait to check it all out. See you at eleven.”

  I grab my gym bag, where I keep my swimsuit, and decide to go for a workout at the pool. I usually do fifty lengths. Gets the lungs working, and the blood pumping – it keeps me in shape. Although Max has installed a gym at his apartment, working out with him is a disaster – I can’t concentrate. Apparently, Barack and Michelle Obama exercise together every morning. Do they work out or just leap on each other? Because when I see Max pumping those biceps, sweat beading on that toned chest of his, his cute, tight buns clenched in action, all I want to do is jump his bones. No, I need a nice peaceful swimming session alone to keep my concentration in check.

  EMMA HAS DONE WONDERS with her tiny space. It’s intimate, but it works. The walls are painted burgundy. I wonder if people will imagine that they are back in their mothers’ wombs – safe, protected. It certainly makes you feel you could tell her any inner thought – although Emma has that effect on people, at least on me. The burgundy clashes with her natural red hair and, as if on purpose, she’s donning an orange dress. Very Autumnal. She has two framed certificates of her diplomas on the wall and a photograph on her desk of her daughter Amy and her husband together in an embrace. There’s a small library of books on a shelf behind; Freud, Carl Jung and titles like Stage Theory of Psychosocial Development and Eponymous Influences in Therapy.

  “What d’you think?” she asks proudly.

  “I think you’ll have a line of people clamoring down your door.”

  “Really? I feel so insecure, you know, I’ve been out of the picture for ages, but Amy’s just turned five, is at school all day now, and I need to get my independence back.”

  I lean back on her couch. “My father once gave me a great piece of advice. He said, ‘Arielle, whatever happens, whatever you do, even if you end up with someone wealthy, you always need to have your own ‘fuck-you’ money. Money that’s just yours that you can do what you like with. Women need to have their own fuck-you money at all times. You never know when you’ll need to catch a plane or treat yourself to something special.’ ”

  Emma laughs and throws her curly head back and swivels in her therapist’s chair. “That’s brilliant and so true. That’s why I’m doing this! I need ‘fuck-you’ money, too. I mean, Johnny’s very generous and earns enough for us all, but if I want to go on a wild underwear splurge at Victoria’s Secret or pig out at the gourmet bakery at Dean & DeLuca, that’s my prerogative, right? I don’t want to feel guilty about it. ‘Fuck-you’ money, I love it! What about your ‘fuck-you’ money, Arielle? Do you feel as if Max is being too controlling, still? A couple of weeks ago it seemed to be really bugging you. Is he still pushing you about getting pregnant ASAP?”

  “Yes, but it hasn’t happened so we’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. The truth is, though, I’m relieved I’m not pregnant right now. It would all be too much going on at once.”

  “What about the wedding date?”

  “Max’s cooled off a bit about that but just can’t understand why I need a bit more time. And he gave in about the company. As far as money goes, I get a generous director’s salary from Finders Keepers Enterprises, plus a percentage of any future projects that I orchestrate. It’s all been drawn up legally with lawyers. I refused to be given a stake in the company, much to his irritation. If at a later date my projects go well then I can buy in. I want to know I deserve the money I earn.”

  “Wise. What about your apartment? Are you keeping that on? Still paying rent?”

  “No, I’m subletting. Till after the wedding. You never know. Just in case I have to take off running!” I joke.

  “Good girl. Smart move. You need to keep your autonomy.”

  “Exactly,” I agree. “And I don’t want hand-outs. I’ve always earned my own living. Kevin thinks I’m nuts, though.”

  “Yes, well – he would. I know Kevin’s your brother, but he’s such a wanker. Why are you always so forgiving with him? You’ve got to face it, he really is pretty cruel to you Arielle.”

  “I know. He doesn’t really mean it though.”

  Emma arranges some papers on her desk. “There you go again – always defending him. Do you ever tell him to F off? I wouldn’t stand for such continual negativity.”

  “We had a huge fight once, and I did, I told him to get out of my life. Well, guess what? I’ve never told anyone this, Emma, but...well, he attempted suicide...took a load of pills, so you can imagine how I felt. It wasn’t because of me that he did it, but still.”

  “Oh, shit. How long ago was this?”

  “About six months after John died. So you know, John died of an overdose, my mom died of cancer, I hardly see my dad so...”

  “I see. Guilt and fear. Guilt is powerful.”

  “Kevin is incorrigible. He thinks I should ‘snap up Max before he realizes what’s happened’ – those were his very words. Oh, and become a ‘trophy wife’. Don’t you have to be stunningly beautiful to be a trophy wife?”

  “You are stunningly beautiful, Arielle, believe me. With intelligence to boot. Plus you seem so much more self-possessed lately, not so needy.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Well when you first met Max you were practically wetting your knickers over him – sorry I didn’t mean that,” she bursts out into a cascade of giggles. “No – but I mean you were behaving as if you were the lucky
one, completely dismissing the fact that he, too, was getting a great deal.”

  I put my hand on hers. “Oh, sweetie, you think I’m a great deal?”

  “I think you’re a bargain and he should be bloody grateful. Just because he’s loaded and gorgeous doesn’t make him more special than you are. And you need to be aware of that. The truth is, Arielle, you were behaving like a teenager. I can tell you now because you seem to be pretty much back to normal, but I was a little worried for a while. I mean, I know you basically hadn’t had any decent sex and never thought you’d meet anyone special, so I do understand why you went so gaga over him, but still, he really had you under his thumb.”

  Little does she know, I think, and find myself humming Under My Thumb again, remembering what Max did with his magic touch. Is still doing with his magic touch.

  “Yes, but he wasn’t aware of my Jell-O insides,” I say. “Luckily, because of your wise advice of acting ‘cool, calm and collected’ he wasn’t party to my self-doubting, internal fear of abandonment dialogue, or I think he would have dumped me.”

  Emma arches her delicate eyebrows. “You worry about that a lot, don’t you? Desertion. Being dumped...left in the lurch?”

  I tell Emma about the whole Charles saga, how I fear for Kevin, and how it has triggered the dread of abandonment and loneliness – memories of my mother’s sudden death. Then I add, “I don’t want to go into this marriage for the wrong reasons. I want Max to really know me and love me for me – the good the bad and the ugly.”

  To my amazement, Emma takes Kevin’s side on this topic and warns, “Be careful, Arielle. I’m speaking as your friend, you understand – professionally I’d probably urge you to be completely honest, but you’re not my client, you’re my best mate. Men can be jealous and possessive. I would really, really think twice about coming clean about divulging sexual history et cetera or any MeToo issues. There are some things better left unsaid.”