21. Twenty-One

Twenty-One

T he dimly lit room is large and all grey. At one end stands a bed with black sheets, and at the other is a big, dark wooden cupboard. Over to the far right is a door and a black leather armchair. In the middle of the room sits a padded bench with leather straps. Other than the strange-looking bench thing, it could pass as a hotel room.

I anxiously eye the bench, thinking back to what Art said in the car. I glance at him. He puts a finger to his lips and points at the cupboard.

There's no time for chit-chat.

I cross the room and pull open the cupboard doors. My eyes widen. Two rows of leather restraints, floggers, blindfolds, and God knows what else are hanging up. This is a Dom/sub's toy box. I drag my eyes away from a ball gag at the sound of my name being whispered.

Get in, Art mouths .

I haven't got time to freak out now.

I quietly slip inside the cupboard and leave the doors open a fraction so that I can see into the room. I shift my position slightly to get a clear view through the crack in the doors, suddenly aware of a set of metal handcuffs decorated with black feathers dangling near my face.

I hear the sound of a door closing and peer through the gap to get a better look. Tara stands by the door, wearing a plunging black silk robe that skims her buttocks and ties at the waist.

She puts her hands on her hips. "You're back."

I take a deep breath to try and settle my nerves. The shit's about to go down.

Art slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Of course."

I feel sick.

She sashays towards him on her high heels and flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder. Her bright pink nails sink into his hair as she grabs the back of his head and sticks her tongue down his throat.

I swallow down the bile rising from my stomach and drag my eyes away.

Fuck. This is harder than I anticipated.

I glance back through the gap in the doors and see Art's holding her wrists and pulling her away from him, but she remains pressed tight against him.

"What's the rush? We've got all night," he says smoothly.

Her pink lips twist into a smug smile. "You're right. We do." She grazes her fingernails down his cheek. "I knew you'd come back to me. All this time, you've denied it, but I knew you were hiding your true feelings. I knew what we had was special."

His jaw works. "It was."

My stomach turns with nausea as she slides her hand down his chest and interlaces her fingers with his.

"I knew you didn't mean it when you cut me off. It was all that bitch's fault, wasn't it?"

He nods slowly. "I was a fool. She convinced me it was the right thing to do. "

"So, what went on with Pollyanna? I want to know exactly what happened between you and Miss Self-Fucking-Righteous."

"She just wasn't right for me."

"I knew she wouldn't be. She was far too fucking prim. I bet she was a boring fuck as well."

When Art doesn't answer, she glides her palms up his chest and snakes her hands into his hair again, pressing herself against him. "Well? Did she turn you on like I do, baby? Because no one makes me come like you do."

Fucking hell.

He juts out his chin and shakes his head, as if I were nothing. "She didn't come close. In fact, I'm already bored of talking about her."

Tara's cackle sears through me as she runs her hands back down his stomach. "We can't have that. We've got lots of catching up to do." She swooshes her blonde hair over her shoulder and begins unfastening his jeans.

She can't … he can't.

I dig my fingernails into the arms of my jacket, and I close my eyes. I'm hating every moment of this.

"Have I given permission for you to touch me?"

My eyes snap open. Art's tone was as hard as the look in his eyes. I'm transported back to the other night as his dominant masks slips into place.

The dynamic in the room shifts.

Tara bats her eyelashes, clearly loving it. "No," she mutters breathlessly.

"On your knees."

She obediently kneels and looks up at him expectantly, waiting for her next order.

"I've heard a few rumours." Art folds his arms and walks around her. "I've heard you've been seeing a guy here. Theo."

She looks confused by the question.

"Well, have you?"

She nods. "Yes."

"How did you meet him? "

"I was drinking in the bar one night, and he came in and started chatting me up."

"How long have you been seeing him?"

"The last month." Her eyes light up. "Are you jealous?"

Art gives her a stern look. "You know the score, Tara. I ask the questions. Do you understand?"

She bows her head and sticks out her bottom lip, sulking. "Yes."

"How many times have you seen him?"

"Four."

"What do you know about him?"

Tara pulls a face. "He's quite a talker. Most of the time, we fuck, but last time, he was a bit weird and just wanted to talk."

"What do you talk about?"

She rolls her eyes at the memory. "His ex mainly."

I hold my breath.

Art rubs a hand across his jaw, considering what to say next. "Do you know his ex?"

Tara suspiciously narrows her eyes and scans him up and down. "What's going on, Art? Do you want to fuck me, or have you just come to talk as well?"

"Do you know his ex?"

She gets to her feet. "If I remember rightly, we didn't do much talking at all when we used to come here."

"Tara. Do you know Theo's ex?" he demands.

She folds her arms, pushing her cleavage up, and huffs in frustration. "Bloody hell. Why the sudden interest in Theo? I've no bloody clue who his sodding ex is, and quite frankly, I couldn't give a shit. Whoever she is, he's clearly not over her."

I briefly close my eyes as the full extent of her words sinks in. Tara doesn't know I'm his ex. She hasn't made the link between me and Theo. We've got it wrong.

Shit.

Art glances in the direction of the cupboard, where I'm hidden. He realises something's amiss too. "Why do you say that? "

Tara winds a long strand of hair around her finger and arches an eyebrow in disgust. "Well, apart from the fact that he doesn't shut up talking about her, he sometimes says her name when he fucks me."

I feel sick.

Art tenses and bunches his hand through his hair. He turns and paces over to the other side of the room. I don't need to see his face to know he's seething.

Tara studies his reaction and looks perplexed. "Sophie," she mutters, remembering. "That's the name he calls out." She frowns in confusion. "That's Pollyanna's name, isn't it? What the fuck's going on?"

The game's up.

I push open the cupboard doors and step into the room.

Tara looks at me, aghast. "What the fuck is she doing here?"

Art steps in between us. "I arranged to meet you tonight because I needed to get information from you, not for anything else, Tara. I'm sorry. I knew after how I left things with you, you wouldn't agree to see me otherwise."

Tara's eyes dart from me to Art as the penny drops. "You two are still together, aren't you?"

He looks at me. "Very much so."

She jabs a finger at me. "You're Sophie. You're Theo's ex."

"Yes, I am."

She glares at Art as reality hits her. "I don't fucking believe this. You bastard."

"I wouldn't have done this if there were any other way. I'm sorry, but Theo's suddenly turned up, and he's causing trouble. He knows things about my past that only a handful of people know."

"And you thought I'd told him." Her eyes swing to me. "And you thought I was trying to stir up trouble."

"It wouldn't be the first time," I snap, unable to help myself.

Tara rolls her eyes. "Well, sorry to disappoint, Art, but I don't know anything about your bloody past other than the fact that you used to come here."

And despite all of the trouble she's caused, I believe her .

And so does Art. He jams his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and heaves a frustrated sigh, pacing across the room.

It's over. Everything we thought we knew, we don't. We were wrong. Tara's not the one behind this.

But before we leave, there's something I need to ask. "What's Theo said about me?"

Tara tilts her head to the side, a thin smile creeping across her lips. She's clearly enjoying the fact that she's got the upper hand here. She has information I want. "If he didn't buy all my drinks the nights we met up here, I wouldn't bother with him. He's a fucking bore, to be honest."

After tonight, my patience is as brittle as a twig, and she's stringing this out to wind me up. I know it.

"What's he said?" I snap.

She purses her lips. "He just goes on and on about you and how good you were together." Her eyes slide to Art, standing across the other side of the room with his back to us. She breaks into an evil smile. "He moans your name when he comes. ‘Oh, Sophie, Sophie,'" she mimics.

Art's shoulders tense at her goading.

"How does it make you feel, Art?" she calls. "To know another guy's thinking of Pollyanna as he gets his rocks off?"

He slowly turns round to face her, his jaw clenched. "How does it make you feel? To know a guy's thinking of another woman as he fucks you because you don't do it for him?"

"Fuck you," she spits.

I press a hand to my forehead. I've had enough. Of tonight and being here and this whole fucking situation.

"Stop it!" I cry. "This isn't a game. Theo's suddenly turned back up in my life after three years. He's troubled, Tara. He said he's had help for his problems, but I'm not sure whether he has. I don't think he's as well as he thinks he is. "

She inspects the pink fingernails of her right hand, bored with listening to me. "I couldn't give a shit about what went on between the two of you. All I know is that he's very generous with his cash even if he is shit in bed."

She's not listening.

"Theo's not well, Tara. He can be … volatile," I warn.

"Volatile?" She cackles in disbelief. "He's a fucking accountant. How volatile could he possibly be?"

"He raped me."

Silence fills the room.

The evil smile dissolves from Tara's face as she looks from me to Art in stunned silence, like she can't quite believe it.

"That's enough." He holds my hand. "We're leaving. Tara, I'm sorry for misleading you, but as you've heard, there's an important reason for it. I'm in love with Sophie"—he squeezes my hand—"and I'm going to do all I can to protect her."

By the time I return to the car, I'm deflated and more confused than ever. All the planning that went into tonight, and we've nothing to show for it. Back to the drawing board.

I stare out the window, my mind running through what happened this evening.

Art pushes his head back into the headrest. "Are you okay?"

I watch the first drops of rain splatter against the window and realise something important. "That's the first time I've said it out loud," I say quietly. "That's the first time I've said what he did … that he raped me."

Warm fingers link through mine, and I look down at them in my lap.

"I've never been able to bring myself to say it before. It's silly, isn't it? "

Art's watching me carefully. "Not at all. You loved and trusted him, and he broke that trust in the worst way imaginable. You're not going to get over something like that quickly. And you carried it all around inside you for years." He fixes me with a firm look. "All the bad things he said and did to you, it was all down to him and his fucked up issues, which he took out on you. It wasn't any reflection on you; it wasn't your fault. You know that, don't you?"

I turn back to the window. "At first, I didn't. I kept thinking it was something I was doing to make him do what he did to me, and he just reinforced it by telling me everything was my fault. It took me a while, but I now know it wasn't me; it was him."

Art's love has helped shatter any misconception or screwed-up thoughts I had about myself, thoughts that were still hanging about in my head from my relationship with Theo. And tonight, I'm tired of giving him headspace.

I shake my head. "Let' not talk about him anymore. We need to figure out who's behind this stuff. If it's not Tara, who is it?"

Art raps his fingers against the steering wheel in frustration. "I've no fucking clue, but I'm going to find out." He looks at me. "I know tonight probably raked up a whole load of shit for you, but are you okay with the stuff that was said and done back there?"

"I'm fine." I give him a sideways glance and stifle a smile. "Although I wasn't sure about all of that equipment in the room. Or being locked in the cupboard of horror."

He chuckles softly. "Some people get off, using that stuff."

"Have you ever?

"No. Most of it's too extreme."

"You said you'd think about it," I throw, deciding to strike when he least expects it.

"Think about what?"

"About me being in control in the bedroom for a change."

His frown tells me he's still not sold on the idea. "Hmm. Control isn't something I relinquish easily. "

That's an understatement.

"How about if ever?"

"Correct."

"Not even with me?" I push.

His mouth twitches in amusement, and he fights the urge to smile. "I know what you're doing."

"What?"

"You're trying to make me feel guilty."

I've had enough of this. "Are you totally against the idea?"

"No, I'm not totally against it."

"So, you would consider it."

"Of course. It just goes against the grain to let someone else control me in that way."

"I'll just have to catch you unawares then," I tease.

He laughs at my optimism. "How are you ever going to catch me unawares? And even if you did, what would you do?"

"I have my ways, Mr Black."

And my new secret weapon.

He starts the car and eyes me suspiciously with a smile. "Come on. Let' head home. This playing detective lark's tiring stuff."