Adultery Who Watches The Watchmen (continued)

[samgreenvalley]

He walked her backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving hers. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she fell onto the rose petals, the velvet dress pooling around her thighs.
 
"Beautiful," Dara whispered, looking down at her. "You are so beautiful."
 
He knelt beside her on the bed, his hands tracing the edges of her dress, the strings at her back, the curve of her hips. She arched into his touch, her body remembering every moment they had shared—the roof, the shack, the dining table, the hospital bed.
 
"Tonight," Dara said, his voice low, "I want you to be honest with me."
 
"About what?"
 
"About Sharma."
 
Menaka's body went still. "What about him?"
 
"I know you've been with him. I know he got me this promotion because of you." His fingers tightened on her waist. "I know you spread your legs for a fat old man who treats you like a servant, and I know you did it for me."
 
Menaka said nothing. She simply looked up at him, her eyes unreadable.
 
"And I want to know," Dara continued, his voice cracking, "did you enjoy it?"
 
The question hung in the air like smoke.
 
"Yes," Menaka whispered. "I enjoyed it."
 
Dara's jaw clenched. His hands moved to her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse flutter beneath his palms.
 
"Tell me," he said. "Tell me everything."
 
Menaka took a breath. And then she began.
 
"He's clumsy," she said. "His hands are soft, like he's never done a day of work in his life. He doesn't know where to touch, how to touch. I had to guide him."
 
Dara's thumbs traced her collarbone.
 
"He kissed me like a teenager—too much tongue, too much spit. His mustache scratched my face. But there was something about him, Dara. Something about the way he looked at me. Like I was the most precious thing he'd ever seen."
 
"And when he fucked you?"
 
Menaka closed her eyes. "He was fast. Too fast. Barely two minutes. I didn't even have time to get wet. But I pretended. I moaned for him. I told him he was amazing. And he believed me."
 
"Why?"
 
"Because men always believe what they want to believe." She opened her eyes and looked at Dara. "Just like you believed I was yours."
 
Dara's face contorted—anger, jealousy, desire, all fighting for dominance. He pulled her up by the throat, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to make a point.
 
"You are mine," he growled. "Here, in this room, you are mine."
 
"Then prove it," she challenged.
 
He did.