The Black Door (7 page)

SLEEP ESCAPED
Ariel, and she tossed and turned all night after returning home from The Black Door. Her dreams were a series of sexual vignettes, starring the man in the black mask whom she encountered on the stairs. In one scene, they were on display behind the one-way glass, fucking and sucking for a ravenous crowd. The thrill of being watched was like an enticing aphrodisiac, causing her to shed all of her inhibitions. In the dream, Ariel maneuvered her body in positions only a gymnast could master, her knees stretching behind her ears like a gold medalist during a floor mat exercise. Her nerve endings were like live wires, and his touch was the conduit that grounded her.

In the next sequence, Ariel watched as the masked man privately danced for her, slowly stripping away his clothes until he was cloaked only in a thin layer of sweat. The sight of his muscular naked body made her salivate with an insatiable desire. After his seductive striptease, he strutted over to her while gripping his erect penis, gently opened her mouth with his hand, and eased his hard cock inside. She sucked fast and hard on his thick dick, like a hungry baby feeding on a wet nurse.

Ariel squirmed and twitched until she woke up panting in a heated frenzy. The sheets were moist with perspiration and twisted in a heap around her body. A pillow was wedged between her legs in an attempt to snuff out the fire raging in her loins. She wiped the sweat from her forehead.
Damn. I don’t even know this man and he’s giving me wet dreams,
she thought.

The thought of fantasizing about a strange man disturbed Ariel. She had been in his presence all of sixty seconds. But in that minute, he had affected her; it was like he had cast some kind of spell on her and she longed to feel his energy again.

“This is crazy!” She angrily tore the sheet from her body with one hard snatch. “I didn’t even see his face, and I’m ready to become his love slave.” Ariel had a thing for a handsome man, and though she couldn’t see his entire face, she could tell by his sexy full lips and sculpted body that he was just the type of man who could melt her panties right off her ass.

The phone rang as Ariel was rehashing the previous night. “Hello?”

“Hey, baby.” It was Mrs. Grant, her foster mom. “I just called your office, and JoAnne said that you were taking the morning off. Are you sick?”

“No, Mom. I don’t have any pressing business at work, so I decided to go in late,” she explained. She hated to lie to her foster mom, but she wouldn’t dare tell her the real reason that she was still in bed was because she was out late at a sex club.

“Oh. I didn’t want anything. I haven’t talked to you in a while and just wanted to know how you’ve been getting along.”

“I’m fine. How have you been?”

“I’m good, but more important, how are you and the judge doing?”

Ariel should have known that her foster mother had ulterior motives for calling. Lately, her sole focus seemed to be Ariel’s relationship with Preston.

“We’re doing fine,” Ariel said, giving her the short answer.

“Just fine?” she asked, still prying.

Ariel was beginning to feel irritated. She didn’t feel like talking about her relationship, especially now that her thoughts were preoccupied with another man. “Yes, Mom.”

“Look, baby, I know I’m being a meddling old woman, but I want to see you married before I leave this earth. And the judge can give you the family you never had,” she said sympathetically.

Hearing her words, Ariel began to feel guilty. Her mom was right. Preston was one of the good guys, and though he was busy, deep down Ariel knew that he loved her. Suddenly she needed to feel Preston’s arms around her before she went back to The Black Door and did something she would regret. “You right, Mom. Don’t worry, I won’t let him get away. Look, I gotta run. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Okay, baby, take care of yourself.”

After showering, she dressed in a black pantsuit and V-neck sweater, and called Preston’s office. “Hi, Anna, its Ariel,” she said to his longtime secretary, “how have you been?”

“Oh, hello Ariel, it’s so good to hear your voice,” said the older woman. She took a liking to Ariel when she was an inquisitive young clerk, and admired how smart she was then
and
now. “I’ve been doing well, thank you; and let me just say congratulations on your appointment to partner. Judge Hendricks told me all about the good news.”

“Thanks so much, Anna.”

“I know you didn’t call here to talk to me, but the judge is working at home today since he doesn’t have any court cases, so try him there,” she suggested.

“Thank you, Anna, I will. Take care and I’ll talk to you soon.”

Ariel threw on a trench coat, grabbed her purse, and headed downstairs. She didn’t want to take the time to get her car out of the garage, so she stood curbside and hailed a cab. “University Place and Fifth,” she told the taxi driver. She hadn’t spoken to him since she left D.C., and wanted to explain the reason for her abrupt departure.

Preston lived in the Gold Coast, an area of Manhattan near historic Washington Square Park, with pricey, pristine, prewar town houses on tree-lined streets.

As the driver pulled in front of Preston’s redbrick, four-story house, her heart began to beat faster.
Maybe I should’ve
called first,
she thought.

After paying the driver, she reassured herself.
Preston and I are well beyond the “call before you come over” phase,
she reminded herself, and rang the bell. Though they had been dating for years, she and Preston never exchanged keys to each other’s homes. Growing up, Ariel had never truly had a home of her own, and now that she did, she was a bit territorial.

“Ariel?” Preston looked surprised when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?” He sounded annoyed at the interruption.

It wasn’t the greeting that she had expected. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” she asked.

He reached out and engulfed her in a warm bear hug. “I’m always glad to see you, honey.” He released her and quickly looked over his shoulder. “It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you to drop by today. Why aren’t you at work?”

“Because I took the morning off to visit you. Well . . .” She waited a few seconds for him to invite her inside, but he just stood there with a blank expression on his face. Watching his vacant expression made her angry and her sweet tone vanished. “Aren’t you going to invite me in? Or are we just going to stand in the doorway and chat?”

“Oh, of course, I’m going to invite you in, don’t be silly.” He stepped aside.

The interior of Preston’s town house was warm and inviting. The decor was a mix of Art Deco, blended perfectly with turn-of-the-century antiques, priceless oil paintings in gilded frames, and exquisite hand-woven Tibetan rugs strewn across high-gloss cherrywood floors. The living-room walls were painted a calming saffron color, which complemented the crystal chandelier that hung overhead.

“So what brings you by?” he asked, quickly getting to the reason for her visit.

“Preston, we need to talk,” she said, settling down on the sofa.

“I agree, Ariel, but now’s not the right time. I have a conference call with the senator and a former member of the Judiciary Committee in about fifteen minutes, and then I have another meeting after that. Why don’t we have dinner one day this week?” he offered, and began to walk toward the front door, indicating that she should leave.

“Wait.” She quickly stood up. “What I have to say won’t take long. I just want to say that I’m sor—”

“Preston, here are your notes for the conference call.” It was Michele, walking out of his private office.

Ariel took one look at Michele’s outfit and a knot formed in the pit of her stomach. If she didn’t know any better, she would swear that little Ms. Perfect Assistant was trying to seduce her man. Michele was wearing a white sheer blouse with a matching sheer bra, which gave a braless effect. Though she wore an open blazer, Ariel could clearly see her breasts jiggling from side to side as she walked into the room. Her nipples were pronounced and inviting, making Ariel wonder if Preston had been sucking on them. Maybe Michele was the reason why he wasn’t interested in making love to her anymore. Suddenly paranoia reared its ugly head. She hadn’t felt this paranoid in years.

A few bad relationships in college, coupled with the fact that she was adopted, had made her extremely paranoid. It took years of therapy to convince Ariel that she was good enough to be loved. The therapist drilled into her head over and over that just because her mother put her up for adoption, it didn’t mean that she was unlovable. After hundreds of hours on the couch, Ariel finally got the point, but deep in the recesses of her mind, paranoia lurked like a jealous lover waiting for the most inopportune time to attack.

“Are you
fucking
her?” Ariel blurted out, unable to contain her thoughts any longer.

Michele stopped dead in her tracks and Preston’s jaw dropped. Both looked stunned and neither said a word.

Ariel approached Preston, shouting, “Well?”

Preston turned to Michele and said calmly, “Can you please give us a moment?” Once Michele was gone from the room, he faced Ariel. “What’s gotten into you?” he asked sternly, but didn’t wait for an answer. “First you leave me in Washington when I wouldn’t drop everything and have sex with you on command.” He sighed deeply in frustration. “Now you come here unannounced, accusing me of having an affair with a girl half my age.” He threw his hands in the air and raised his voice. “Do you know how ridiculous and paranoid you sound?”

“I may sound paranoid, but you still haven’t answered my question,” she said between clinched teeth. She was still fuming and could feel the vein bulging in the center of her forehead. “And don’t give me that shit about her being half your age. I was her age when we met.” She put her hands on her hips. “Remember?”

Preston shook his head in frustration; he didn’t know what to say. He exhaled and began to speak in measured tones. “Ariel, that was nearly ten years ago, and we were both younger. Remember?” he asked, tossing the same question back at her. “Besides, how many times do I have to tell you that the nomination is my priority? I barely have time for you, so tell me how can I make time for an affair?”

Ariel wouldn’t relent. “Well, it’s not like you have to fit
her
into your schedule, since she’s always around.”

“Obviously there’s no reasoning with you, since you’re going to believe what you want. And to be quite honest, I don’t have the time or energy to try and convince you otherwise. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a conference call to make,” he said, turning to exit the room.

Ariel snatched her purse from the sofa and stormed toward the door without saying a word. She knew that she was overreacting, but she couldn’t help herself. She understood that Preston’s political ambitions were important, but hell, he hadn’t even gotten the nomination yet. She shuddered to think what would become of their relationship if he actually became a Supreme Court justice. If he didn’t have time for her now, he surely wouldn’t have time for her in the future. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes and were flowing freely down her cheeks by the time she reached the door.

“Uh, hi,” said a strikingly handsome man standing on the other side of the front door, with his finger on the bell.

He looked slightly familiar, but Ariel didn’t immediately recognize him. She wiped her tears. “Excuse me,” she said, pushing past him.

He touched her elbow as she passed. “Are you okay?” he asked with concern.

“I’m fine,” she sniffled, and rushed down the stairs to the street.

PRESTON APPEARED AT
the door. “Come on in, son.”

“Who was that?” He pointed in Ariel’s direction.

“A double shot of Johnny Walker straight,” Preston said jokingly.

“What?”

“That was Ariel. I swear that woman’s going to drive me to drink
more.”
He sighed.

“
That
was Ariel? I didn’t even recognize her. I haven’t seen her since I was in college. Why was she crying?”

“It’s a long story, which I don’t have time to get into right now. I have to get on this conference call. It shouldn’t take long, and then we’ll go over those papers you came to pick up. Make yourself at home.” Preston patted the younger man on the shoulder and led him inside. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Over the years, Preston’s relationship with his son had been strained. The divorce drove a wedge between them, with Preston’s ex-wife filling their son’s head with stories about his alleged affairs, causing him to drop his father’s surname and use her maiden name.

Michele appeared in the doorway of the study and checked out the younger man from behind. His wore ripped jeans, a striped shirt, and a tweed blazer, which hugged his broad shoulders. His hair was cut extremely close, giving a five-o’clock-shadow effect. The rear view was enticing and she was dying to see his face. She cleared her throat, and when he turned around, her knees nearly buckled. His skin was as smooth as liquid chocolate, his eyes were narrow, sexy slits, and his lips were full and inviting. He smiled at her, showing off an identical pair of piercing dimples. He looked familiar; then it struck her that he was the spitting image of Preston,