One Week Three Hearts: (5 page)

This is a prison without walls.

Matt turned and walked over to the kitchen, then spoke to Mikhel in hushed tones. Rose's mouth dropped open in amazement.

***

I wish I had time to get my hair colored before I came here. More than three months of brown root growth doesn't exactly look good. Is that a gray hair?

Towel drying her hair after an unsuccessful search for a hair dryer, Rose came to grips with the loss of her phone by consoling herself Matt's gesture symbolized his deep concern for her. Forgiving him required the realization that the old phone contained all the disappointing past trials and failures, and maybe its destruction was necessary for her to move forward. Matt didn't tactfully filter any of his opinions, and Rose constantly reminded herself that Matt wanted her here for some purpose beyond admonishment.

I thought I wanted this. Am I being overly sensitive? Is he really being this nasty, or maybe I am simply amplifying everything? Maybe Matt is testing me, and I feel like I am failing all over the place.

A soft knock on the door jamb snapped Rose out of her thoughts, and made her pull the resort-provided oversized bathrobe's belt tighter before turning around. A skinny young Filipino woman carrying a train case stood in the doorway. Looking beyond the mystery woman to the large open area revealed no one else around.

"Oh, they're gone for a while," the woman said as she carried the train case past the king size bed and deposited on the desk in the corner. "Don't worry about them. I'm Malani. Matt asked me to look after you, and get you ready for dinner."

"Matt sent you?" Rose immediately regretted repeating the same thing Malani told her; it was an annoying habit that seemed to resurface whenever she was nervous.

Malani's cheerful intonation rang across the room. "Of course! Do you want your make up done? I'm not a professional cosmetologist or anything, but I watch a lot of YouTube videos, especially the British makeup artists. Love them!" Malani hurriedly motioned to the chair in front of the desk.

Unable to remember the last time someone else applied her makeup, Matt's wish for her to feel pretty warmed her heart. After seating herself in the chair, she asked Malani if there was a hair dryer around. Malani offered to retrieve one from the resort's main lobby tomorrow.
 

"How do you know Matt?" Rose asked as Malani pressed a bottle of what Rose assumed as toner to a cotton pad. A light stinging sensation occurred wherever Malani dabbed the cotton pad on her face. Rose fanned her hands in an attempt to cool her face when Malani turned back to her train case.

"Oh, I met him a few years ago when he first stayed here," Malani replied before shuffling around the train case to locate a moisturizer. Rose wondered if this pseudo-makeup artist was one of Matt's girls, and Malani didn't exactly set her mind at ease explaining she worked for the resort.

Next up was the moisturizer applied with another cotton pad. "Played tennis with him whenever he needed a partner, or made sure his laundry was done," Malani continued. "That kind of stuff. Kinda like a concierge. Matt's a sweetheart, but we both know he's a little quirky. Now, let that sit for a bit while I figure out what to do with your hair."

Commiserating knowledge lit Malani's eyes.

Matt fucked her. The "M+M" is some homage to the tryst she constructed. Oh, it probably started a few years ago when she was barely eighteen, but he fucked her nonetheless.

Jealous pangs bubbled up as Malani used a few clips to fasten Rose's hair in makeshift pin curls away from her face. Envious of Malani's ability to talk about reality television shows as if they were important current events, Rose focused on the makeup sponges and brushes dabbing on her neglected canvas of a face while staring at her own wedding ring that needed a good polishing.

Malani leaned forward to reveal a braless cleavage. Rose hastily averted her eyes while imagining this petite giggling creature sitting on Matt's lap.

Jason's warnings about Matt's constant harem echoed in her head.

When Malani bent down to pick up a fallen brush from the floor, the view provided by absent panties beneath her short skirt repulsed Rose. The surety Malani used when selecting hues from unlabeled black palettes paraded self-confidence.
 

This woman lacked shame, and seemed to revel in the resulting freedom. Rose couldn't discern between all the envious avenues Malani represented, and guilt from acknowledging her personal inadequacies dominated her mind. Malani was younger, perkier, prettier, thinner… the comparatives to the exotic creature applying glittering eye shadow to her tired lids weren't in Rose's favor.

"Look up." Malani held a mascara wand between two hot pink fingernails. "You are so lucky to have such amazingly long lashes. I have to use a curler and wear false ones."

The wand glided over her lashes, coating them with thick black mascara. Rose struggled to vocalize her appreciation for the compliment delivered with an accompanying genuine smile. The competitive thought stream tampered as she gazed at Malani's gift of transformation. The mirror above the desk reflected a glowing face surrounded by soft waves; it made Rose realize Matt sent this girl to make her feel good about herself. The dark circles under her eyes vanished, cheekbones strengthened, and smoked eyelids contrasted her sparkling eyes.

Matt's motive wasn't to inject jealousy; it didn't exist between Jason and himself. He wanted her to feel sexy. Needed. Wanted. Maybe this was his way of making up his earlier behavior.

"Oh, don't cry! That mascara isn't waterproof." Malani handed her a tissue, and Rose gratefully accepted the kind token to carefully blot at her tear ducts.

Malani mentioned something about getting dressed in some sort of sarong wrap. Preoccupied with figuring out a way to make things right with Matt, Rose mindlessly complied with Malani's request to remove her robe. Layers of soft linen fabric draped around her neck and hugged her torso, then another large piece wrapped around Rose's waist. Expertly tied knots held everything in place.

The full-length mirror across the room reflected a foreign copy of herself. Something resembling a rubenesque goddess stared back at Rose. The fabric sculpted her body and accentuated her curves into a seductive hourglass arrangement that made her blush.

"He wants you to wear these," Malani said holding out a black box. In response to Rose's questioning look, Malani made a pinching gesture in front of her breasts, then walked towards the bathroom door to give her some privacy.

Nipple clamps. They are nipple clamps. And something else… what is this wire thing with crystals dangling from it?

She'd figure out the mysterious contraption later. The concept to adhere the clamps to her breast seemed simple, but the complexity of emotions required to self-administer pain was a different story entirely. Removing one of the steel rings from the velvet fabric lining of the gift box, she pinched it open between two fingers and brought it to her nipple.

Letting go was an entirely different undertaking. Not only did she have to cause herself pain, but she'd have to repeat it. She pulled her hand away before the oils from her hands made her fingers slip off the device.

Swallowing her pride, she called to Malani for help.

***

The true dinner began when Mikhel left. Silence amplified chopsticks clinking against porcelain plates, and the table-shaking thump whenever Matt replaced the water pitcher after refilling his glass. High tide slapped against the jagged rocks. Rose sneaked furtive glances at him between bites of food. Mikhel's appearance at the table provided a needed break from the uncomfortable atmosphere. He'd return to clean up the kitchen in an hour or so since preparing sushi always made him crave pizza. Matt reassured him they didn't need anything else.

"Rose, remind me again why you like it when I hurt you," Matt said as he carefully dipped a slice of rolled sushi into the small dish containing soy sauce.

The bold request was a perplexing choice to open the conversation, and Rose carefully considered her response. Putting herself at his mercy gave her a sense of freedom she couldn't quite explain. Given the bizarre circumstances and slightly menacing edge to Matt's voice, a simple response he would be familiar with seemed the most appropriate.

"Because the pain feels good."

Matt's mouth's upturning corners softened his high cheekbones. Finding some comfort in his smile, Rose exhaled and the garment's fabric grazed her tender ensnared skin.
 

"What's the real reason?" Matt's gaze traveled downwards from her face as he sipped his water.

Carefully fighting to get the rice to stay on her chopsticks, Rose contemplated how the clamps' initial shock to her nerve eventually dulled to mild discomfort. Subtracting the pain from the equation left her with possession or penance.

"I don't know," Rose said. "I guess I get a release through punishment."

Frustrated with the unmanageable chopsticks, Rose reached for the fork Mikhel laid out on her napkin. Speculating Matt's intentions seemed like a fruitless endeavor; Rose's expectations reversed and turned upside down the moment she arrived. If teaching emotional pain drove his behavior, then she already had the crash course, graduated with honors, and didn't want an additional doctorate degree.

His small laugh and quick head shake kicked the nervous butterflies into high gear. "Move your chair out a few inches toward the kitchen, and open your legs," he said.

Mindless compliance seemed a faster route through this than playing a chastity game. Rose brushed aside the light fabric layers of fabric, watching Matt's eyes hungrily drift downwards to where the jewelry was. Matt raised one eyebrow and let out a barely audible whistle.

"See, that's hot," Matt said when she closed her legs. "That's the difference between the two answers you gave me. Smacking you does nothing for me if I have to do it to correct your behavior or way of thinking. I'm into making you feel like a whore, not a child."

Flinching internally at the word "whore" used as a reference to herself, Rose resolved it as an accurate description of both her past behavior and motive for coming here. The label flashed like a neon sign in her mind until Matt told her to come over to his side of the table and sit on his lap.

Relieved Matt finally offered affection, Rose tepidly walked over to position herself on his thigh. His arm provided support when her weight awkwardly shifted. A crisp soap scent mixed with the salty ocean air tickled her nose; the Bvlgari had the night off.

Still experiencing difficulty reading what lay beneath Matt's controlled exterior, Rose suspected he didn't experience the same challenge. She could easily lean forward against the hard thigh muscles restrained by khaki canvas, the stone tile scraping her knees as she raised her rear end to meet the promise of a stinging hand. His cheek's dark shadow would brush against her thighs as teeth sank into the soft flesh — all as a reward for her endurance.

"I know what you want," he continued. "I'm not giving it to you until you stop insulting my intelligence with this notion I'm going to cure depression through sex."

Oh, now the real reason behind his attitude comes out. Great.

The lemon slice weaved through the floating ice cubes when his middle finger dipped into the glass of ice water. Until his finger resumed its normal temperature, it numbed and soothed her nipple encased in the clamp. The sensation increased the heat radiating between her legs; Rose could only focus on Matt's touch, and not his words.

"You don't want to explore that line where pain becomes pleasure anymore," Matt said. The feather light touch on her breasts increased her arousal. "I loved that curiosity you had, and now that's gone from you."

The comment widened her eyes, and Rose insisted that what he referred to didn't disappear.

Matt's relentless scolding continued after ignoring her response. "You are supposed to get off on this — not get some bizarre affirmation that it is okay to destroy yourself and your relationships with Jason or myself."

A flare up of self-preservation competed with the physical gratification she sought. Matt's serious words didn't match his playful actions, and Rose tried to figure out a way to defend herself without setting him off further. This was a different kind of pain he inflicted on her, and she certainly wasn't getting any pleasure out of anything besides that teasing finger on her artificially pinched nipple.

What can I say to make you stop talking like this?

"We don't have much time before Jason gets here, and honestly, he's seen enough of this." Matt's dark eyes glared at her. "He certainly doesn't deserve you going off the deep end. We're going to make our limited time alone productive. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she replied.

The ingrained guilt of being alone with another man not her husband remained a powerful haunt. Jason's assurances and pleadings were enough to get her to the airport, but none of it felt real until she saw Matt get out of the Jeep. A desperate desire for his touch fought with needing his approval. That drove her crazy; especially now that she sat in his lap.
 

"Good," he said as he reached for his chopsticks. "Let's start with the jewelry you are wearing. What did it feel like when you put the clamps on?"

"It hurt." Matt's hand disappeared from her breast, and his facial expression turn into one of reluctant disapproval.

Shit.

"Wait! Malani put the clamps on me," she admitted. "I couldn't do it."

Matt disapproving sigh represented a giant red stop sign. "Go back over to your dinner and finish it please."

The denying words cut through her. Fed up with his infuriating mind games, Rose stood up and walked back to the opposite side of the table. There was no way she could resume eating after yanking the chair out from under the table.

"Really Matt, what's going on?" she asked. "I thought all of this was a game of yours."

His mocking laugh made her feel worse. "Rose, you're someone who absolutely loves nipple torture. It's bizarre to think you couldn't even put them on by yourself. But you have no problem emotionally torturing yourself instead."