was dark. She was aware of his body ahead of her, and the keys in his hand clanged and jangled as he found the right one and worked the lock. When he pushed 96
the door open, light slashed into the garage, over their bodies as they moved into the house. She stepped aside as the counterweighted door pulled itself closed and latched.
The next second his body was pressed against hers, sudden and hard, and already her breath was coming fast, too shallow to satisfy. He pushed himself away, held her shoulders at arms' length.
"Vanka," he said, almost panting, "before we get too carried away, I should introduce you to my . . . guest."
"Your . . . guest?" she asked in a small, dry voice.
"My friend's staying with me for a few days. Come on."
Galen took her hand and led her down the hall. Not toward the living room, as she'd expected. And, strangely, not to the guest room, either. A violent nausea rose as they entered Galen's room, then fell away as suddenly. A man rose from the leather armchair in the corner and stepped forward to greet them, and Vanka felt the traces of a hundred wrong thoughts and accusations burning her cheeks.
"Vanka, this is my friend, Khalid. Khalid, this is Vanka."
Though Khalid's existence–not to even mention his presence in Galen's room–
was a complete surprise to Vanka, Galen had said “this is Vanka” as if she'd been much discussed by the two men. Khalid smiled without baring his teeth, and his eyes locked on hers the entire time, took her hand as if he'd shake it, but instead pressed the back of it with his other hand, and held it in the firm, warm embrace of his two smooth palms.
While Khalid kept her hand imprisoned, Galen moved in close behind her, molding the font of his body to the back of hers, cuffing her upper arms in the circles of his hands, and put his lips to her ear.
97
"What do you say, Vanka? Do you like my friend Khalid?"
Khalid was, Vanka had decided almost the moment she'd seen him, the loveliest man she'd ever met. Even at a glance, in the dim light, and despite the folds of the robe—or was it a smoking jacket?—he was wearing, his body was long, lithe, lean. The eyes locked on her were the color of caramel lit from behind by sunlight, and they almost seemed to glow, to shine on her from a perfectly sculpted face with fine cheekbones, smooth skin, and full lips of delicate contours.
Her stomach lurched, as if she'd just missed a step on a staircase.
"Galen. What's going on?"
"I invited Khalid here tonight because I'd like you to let him fuck you. While I watch."
She felt weak. Soft. Like all her bones had melted.
"And," she tried to smooth her bumpy voice, "what if I say 'no'?"
The delicately arched lips inches from her face parted, revealing perfectly white, straight teeth.
"My dear Vanka, I shan't touch so much as a tress of your hair, if you don't want me."
"Galen?" She fought hard to keep the sob in her throat out of her voice. "Am I free to go?"
His fingers remained firmly locked around her arms.
"Yes. Of course."
The moment Galen's grip softened Vanka yanked her hand from between Khalid's palms. Her body brushed against both of theirs as she slipped from between 98
them. Hyperventilating, giddy with panic, she charged down the hall, away from the bedroom, away from Galen and the other man. As the front door came into sight she sped up, terrified she was about to be grabbed from behind, dragged back to the bedroom or simply thrown to the floor, held down, forced by both of them. Her panic tripled as her hand grasped and twisted the doorknob, but the door stood firm as she yanked back. The deadbolt. Fuck. She twisted it with her left hand, never letting go of the doorknob clutched in her right fist. Ready to scream when she felt Galen's inevitable touch, she hurled the door wide open.
There was nothing. No one behind her. Pursuing her. She was alone in the doorway, a breeze cooling her flushed face. Galen was really letting her go. The terror
the door open, light slashed into the garage, over their bodies as they moved into the house. She stepped aside as the counterweighted door pulled itself closed and latched.
The next second his body was pressed against hers, sudden and hard, and already her breath was coming fast, too shallow to satisfy. He pushed himself away, held her shoulders at arms' length.
"Vanka," he said, almost panting, "before we get too carried away, I should introduce you to my . . . guest."
"Your . . . guest?" she asked in a small, dry voice.
"My friend's staying with me for a few days. Come on."
Galen took her hand and led her down the hall. Not toward the living room, as she'd expected. And, strangely, not to the guest room, either. A violent nausea rose as they entered Galen's room, then fell away as suddenly. A man rose from the leather armchair in the corner and stepped forward to greet them, and Vanka felt the traces of a hundred wrong thoughts and accusations burning her cheeks.
"Vanka, this is my friend, Khalid. Khalid, this is Vanka."
Though Khalid's existence–not to even mention his presence in Galen's room–
was a complete surprise to Vanka, Galen had said “this is Vanka” as if she'd been much discussed by the two men. Khalid smiled without baring his teeth, and his eyes locked on hers the entire time, took her hand as if he'd shake it, but instead pressed the back of it with his other hand, and held it in the firm, warm embrace of his two smooth palms.
While Khalid kept her hand imprisoned, Galen moved in close behind her, molding the font of his body to the back of hers, cuffing her upper arms in the circles of his hands, and put his lips to her ear.
97
"What do you say, Vanka? Do you like my friend Khalid?"
Khalid was, Vanka had decided almost the moment she'd seen him, the loveliest man she'd ever met. Even at a glance, in the dim light, and despite the folds of the robe—or was it a smoking jacket?—he was wearing, his body was long, lithe, lean. The eyes locked on her were the color of caramel lit from behind by sunlight, and they almost seemed to glow, to shine on her from a perfectly sculpted face with fine cheekbones, smooth skin, and full lips of delicate contours.
Her stomach lurched, as if she'd just missed a step on a staircase.
"Galen. What's going on?"
"I invited Khalid here tonight because I'd like you to let him fuck you. While I watch."
She felt weak. Soft. Like all her bones had melted.
"And," she tried to smooth her bumpy voice, "what if I say 'no'?"
The delicately arched lips inches from her face parted, revealing perfectly white, straight teeth.
"My dear Vanka, I shan't touch so much as a tress of your hair, if you don't want me."
"Galen?" She fought hard to keep the sob in her throat out of her voice. "Am I free to go?"
His fingers remained firmly locked around her arms.
"Yes. Of course."
The moment Galen's grip softened Vanka yanked her hand from between Khalid's palms. Her body brushed against both of theirs as she slipped from between 98
them. Hyperventilating, giddy with panic, she charged down the hall, away from the bedroom, away from Galen and the other man. As the front door came into sight she sped up, terrified she was about to be grabbed from behind, dragged back to the bedroom or simply thrown to the floor, held down, forced by both of them. Her panic tripled as her hand grasped and twisted the doorknob, but the door stood firm as she yanked back. The deadbolt. Fuck. She twisted it with her left hand, never letting go of the doorknob clutched in her right fist. Ready to scream when she felt Galen's inevitable touch, she hurled the door wide open.
There was nothing. No one behind her. Pursuing her. She was alone in the doorway, a breeze cooling her flushed face. Galen was really letting her go. The terror
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