JACK OF DIAMONDS

Chap 3 -Pt 2 (WHILE PARTNERS WON AND PARTNERS LOST...)

ii

She could hear the door open and held her breath, trying to steady her breathing, anticipating his arrival, so unexpected as it was. Roger wasn’t trying to be quiet and she could sense him standing at the foot of the bed looking down at her. For a moment, she wondered what Artie was thinking, seeing the man she'd professed to hating earlier, watching her as she pretended to sleep. She peeked through half-closed eyelids, barely able to discern his figure in the soft moonlight spilling through the French doors; unable to see the small, clipped moustache and receding hair; watching him as he slowly removed his jacket and tie.

“Are you awake, Darling? You’d better be,” he added, the threat in his voice almost imminent.

“You’re drunk,” she said.

She pulled herself onto one elbow and looked at him, a capricious smile playing on her lips at the memory of Artie staring down at her, watching her as she coaxed his seed from him--the memory all but forgotten in the excitement of what was about to happen. She could see his eyes dancing in the moonlight, his face gleaming with a sheen of sweat where his hairline used to be. She could also see Artie’s silhouette out on the balcony, standing close to the open doors, listening, his shadow a smear on the lace curtains blowing in the gentle breeze.

“I’d given up expecting you tonight,” she said absently. “I thought for certain that you’d be staying in London tonight, with her,” she added. “Where’s Simco?”

“I gave him the night off,” Roger said with a grin. “I don’t need him to help me undress. I’ve been doing it on my own, long before he came along. And as for her, there is no her. She’s simply someone you’ve made up in your over-active imagination.”

“A gentleman always has a mistress somewhere,” she said softly.

“Maybe, but I’m not much of a gentleman,am I?”

He was starting to raise his voice, and she found herself sinking back in anticipation of what was to come.

What game is he about to play tonight, she wondered?

“Maybe not, but I never said that, you did.”

“What? That I’m not a gentleman? You don’t have to. Your whole family feels that way about me, and you know it. Your father’s the one who insisted I have Simco as my man. Interviewed him himself, he did. If I’d have wanted a valet, you’d think I’d be the one doing the interviewing, wouldn’t you?”

“I’m certain that was not his intent,” she replied, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

“No? You think not, is that it?” he said, kicking his shoes off as he slipped his braces off his shoulders and dropped his trousers. “Your mind is playing tricks on you again. You think the worst of me.”

“I said nothing of the sort. If Simco fails to meet your expectations—”

“The only one I have expectations from, is you,” he said, standing naked in front of the bed, his pudgy figure a soft sculpture in the dull light. He looked down at his nakedness, fondling himself to life.

“You cannot think—” she began to protest.

“Yes! I can, and I do! You’re my wife, goddamnit!”

“And you’re drunk,” she repeated.

“My wife! And as such, I expect you to do your duty.”

“Please, keep your voice down,” she said softly, laughing at his outrageous demand.

“Why? Who’s going to save you? No one's here,” he was quick to point out, walking to the head of the bed and standing beside her, teasing her with his erection.

She reached a tentative hand out from under the blankets and grasped it, squeezing it and smiling up at him.

“Why do you think I need to be saved?” she asked, leaning over to kiss the bulbous head.

“God!”

He pulled the blankets down with one quick movement, and then reached for her negligee, pulling it up from the hem and ripping it in the process.

“Stop it. You’ll ruin it,” she said, almost angry, except for the excitement she felt building within her. It's what he wanted, she knew, but she was determined to make him work for it. She tried pulling the negligee down, but he grabbed her arms and ripped at it again.

“Take this goddamn thing off! I want to see your tits,” he said, climbing on the bed and leering down at her.

“I’m not in the mood for anything tonight. Not now; not with you drunk!”

She reached for the blankets in an effort to cover herself.

He grabbed her hands, pinning her arms over her head and looking down at her near naked body. It was full and voluptuous in the soft light of the moon coming through the lace curtains. She could see the lust in his eyes, and felt the burning passion she always felt when he demanded she do her duty. It was a game they played, part of a role she shared, and she felt herself succumbing to his needs. Her nipples were erect—though she knew it wasn’t from the cold air—and her breathing came faster as she thought about Artie watching from the shadows.

“Now lay back, and open yourself to me.”

“I will not,” she said directly, defiant.

“You will, or I’ll tell Mommy our little secret.”

He shifted his weight on the bed, forcing her thighs open as he bent down over her, biting her breasts. She moaned in pleasure at the sudden pain; she could feel his erection pushing up against her, and tried shifting away from him--teasing him. He pulled her underneath him, forcing her arms down to her sides.

“Lay still, you slatternly little slut!” he hissed, and she let herself fall under his spell.

Is that the game he wants to play? she wondered.

It was what she’d come to expect from him; what she needed. She didn’t know any other way, and didn’t want to. She knew theirs would never be a relationship of tenderness, or compassion, not with Roger being Roger, not as she imagined it might be with other men. It was the unpredictability she’d found herself seeking out in a strange, perverted way; the games he always insisted they play—Pirate and captive Duchess; Sheik and Harem Girl—the women he sometimes brought into their bed. Still, he’d forced himself on her that first time, thinking it was the only way she’d have him, and now, three years later, she found herself wanting the rough passion he’d promised, needing the anticipation of threatened violence; the violation itself; the brutal savagery she found herself craving; the pseudo-rape by the midnight intruder.

He bit at her breasts again until she cried out in pain, struggling against him until she laughed, and then, taking his hand, reached down for her crotch. It was the moment she’d been waiting for, the anticipation of his penetrating her and forcing his seed into her, his need against her desire.

Suddenly, a hand reached out and grabbed a handful of Roger’s hair and she screamed at the swiftness of it.

Artie, she thought with some degree of anticipation.

Roger screamed out, as much in surprise as in pain, she supposed. A fist in the ribs and she could hear the sound of Roger trying to catch his breath, asking herself if maybe a rib had been broken. His body was being pulled off of her and onto the floor. She scrambled out of the way, trying to hold Artie’s arm as another fist hit Roger in the face, followed by another.

Roger finally rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a groan. He was trying to get to his hands and knees and crawl away; there was blood. She could smell it. A vicious kick to the ribs and Roger fell on his side, holding his ribcage as Artie sat on his chest, looking down at the man before he turning to look up at her.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” he said, and she could hear the violence in his voice.

Watching with a morbid sense of fascination, she saw how the moon's soft light caught the small studs on Artie’s gloves. She tried to close her mind to the sounds of Artie’s fists smashing into Roger's face, and imagined the blood would be seeping into the carpet. She told herself this was not what she thought would happen; then reached down to her crotch and felt the wetness of her arousal.