Loving Authority Ch 06

Chapter 6 - Imaginary Infidelity

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Emily stirred beside Mark, her movements slow and groggy as she awoke from a deep sleep. Mark watched her, a wondering how she'd feel after drinking enough to sink a ship. As Emily's eyes fluttered open, she offered Mark a sleepy smile despite obvious signs of a hangover.

"Urghh, I feel awful," she volunteered. She rolled over and shut her eyes again, pulling the duvet over her head. Mark waited for her to say something else, desperate for her to bring up the overnight antics.

"How was your night?" he asked casually, as it became apparent she wasn't going to speak. Emily remained silent. He pulled on his dressing gown and padded downstairs to make coffee.

Bringing a mug back up to Emily, he found still cocooned in the covers. He set down the coffee on top of her copy of Bridget Jones Diary, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Despite her headache, Emily flinched when she opened one eye and saw the coffee mug sitting on her book without a coaster. She just

knew

that the mug would leave an imprint from the weight and heat of the drink. "Use a coaster," she mumbled groggily at Mark.

Slowly, gradually, see emerged from the covers and gingerly sat up holding her hand to her head. She inspected her book -- and yes, there was a faint ring marking the previously perfect cover, and the pink text had a slight ripple. She sighed at Mark, pointing to the barely noticeable damage.

"At least it wasn't

Pride and Prejudice

," Emily muttered to herself. She hadn't warmed to

Bridget Jones

, and thought the updated character of 'Mark Darcy' was a pale imitation of 'Fitzwilliam Darcy' in Jane Austen's original.

Mark laughed at her grumpiness and tactfully changed the subject. "So how was your night? You seemed like you had a good time..."

Emily already seemed a little brighter with some fresh air on her face and started to recount the fun they'd had. Her voice became animated as she remembered her evening - her recollection was clear when it came to the drinks and the atmosphere, what each of her friends had been wearing, and the stupid jokes they had laughed over. She updated Mark about everyone's news -- Mary's new boyfriend (James), and Isla's recent one-night stand ("typical Isla," commented Mark with a grin. "Good for her.") Emily grew suddenly quiet as she thought of Lucas -- she could picture him perfectly and smiled to herself as she thought about his cheesy chat-up line and generosity -- but she didn't feel a need to mention that particular part of the story to Mark. Her memory grew a little hazy after the last round of cocktails... She was pretty sure she'd got into a taxi with Mary, but couldn't remember getting home at all. God, how terrible -- she really should be old and wise enough not to do stuff like that anymore.

"I can't even remember how I got home," Emily said with a chuckle, a hand running through her hair in a gesture of bemused resignation. Her laughter was light, but she felt a little unsettled by the gaps in her memory. Mark felt a loss as he realised she had no recall of their evening together. She had behaved so out of character -- so assertively -- and she didn't even know it.

"You were absolutely plastered when you got home!" Mark said, in an attempt to jog her memory. "And may I say, you were a little frisky too... Can't you remember anything that happened when you got back?"

Emily paused, looking up to the ceiling as she tried to recall her journey home. She vaguely remembered struggling to get the door open and stumbling on the stairs. Yes that's right, she did half remember. She had gone to get water from the kitchen and then... oh GOD... did she... what did she do with Mark? A sudden flashback to sitting astride him and fantasising about Lucas filled her mind, and her eyes grew wide with the recollection. She quickly shook her head and tried to make her face the picture of innocence before turning back to Mark.

"No, not really," she shrugged, her face suddenly open and pure. "I was really drunk! I can't remember anything after I left the bar." Even though her coffee was still too hot, she turned away and reached for her cup to break the moment, taking a big swig that burnt her tongue. She set it straight back down on poor Bridget without even noticing.

A sense of uncertainty filled Mark. Was it possible she didn't remember

anything

of what happened? The events of the previous night appeared to be a one-sided memory and he didn't know how to mention it. For Mark, the experiences of the past days had opened a door to a new world. Even though the cage was no longer in place, the mental journey they had embarked on together remained -- his mind continued to be kept under Emily's control, even if his body was free.

********

Several weeks passed, and life for Emily and Mark had settled back into its usual rhythm. The routines of daily life resumed, and the intense couple of nights they had shared began to feel like a distant memory.

The daily grind of work continued, and Mark buried himself deep in a tricky case involving allegations of corporate espionage and nondisclosure agreements. He thrived on the work, making frequent trips into the office and often sitting at his desk late into the evening. The court date was close, and he bust a gut getting his argument ready.

On the other hand, Emily found herself sinking into despair at work. Her boss was becoming increasingly dismissive of her performance, and she felt downtrodden. Every time she offered her opinion on the ward round Prof. Brown would publicly shoot her down, any time she was a few moments slow to answer a question he'd roll his eyes and sigh, and worst of all the other members of the team would turn their faces away and pretend not to notice. The magic she seemed to hold over people faded away under the glare of the Professor -- she had thought these people were her friends, but she realised now that they were nothing more than colleagues.

Emily came home in tears more than once, the sheer frustration of feeling worthless and belittled bursting out of her. Mark consoled her, hugging her close and trying to find the right words, and she would feel a little better until it happened again the next day. She felt so powerless to stand up to the Professor, his bullying undermining her sense of purpose and self-esteem. She still loved her patients and her job, but she longed to rediscover her happiness and pride in herself.

Mark found himself in the role of a supportive listener, offering empathy and encouragement. He felt frustrated on her behalf for the lack of support she was receiving; he offered suggestions and brainstormed alternative ways she might win over her team, or even work around their objections, but as the weeks went by, Emily's enthusiasm began to wane under the weight of continuous opposition.

One night, the damn holding back her tears burst again. She slumped into a chair as soon as she got through the front door and sobbed. "It's so unfair Mark, no one appreciates any of the effort I put in on the ward. I see twice as many patients as anyone else, and he constantly criticises me for tiny things. Like, they're not even mistakes, just a different way of doing things. I'm so fed up, I just feel so unable to change anything."

Mark rubbed her shoulders and made sympathetic noises. "I'm sorry Em, I wish there was something I could do to help. Maybe you could..."

Emily cut him off mid-sentence, her tears immediately stopped and replaced with a sharpness in her voice. "I've tried everything, Mark. Your suggestions never help. I just want to take my mind off it and try and have some fun in my life again." She looked up at him, her eyes demanding a response. "Can we go out tonight? I just want to do something different and forget all about this work crap. I really need to get out."

Mark hesitated. This was bad timing - he had planned to look over a contract tonight, and the case was only a few days away. He didn't really have time to go out. And frankly, she was being a bit unreasonable -- he was only trying to help, and snapping at

him

wasn't OK. He looked down at Emily and recognised the steely look on her face. There would be a massive argument if he said no -- or even worse, if he answered back. Even his hesitation threatened to set her off.

"Sure, that sounds like a nice idea," he replied, hoping his response sounded genuine. He saw her relax a little, the risk of fight abating. He casually glanced at his watch, wondering how much work he could fit in before they had to leave.

Emily stood, making her way out of the room to have some space to herself. She knew she was behaving badly -- it was hardly Mark's fault that she was finding work tough, and acting like a spoilt brat and demanding he take her out when she knew he was busy wasn't really fair. But then, life wasn't fair. Why should she get paid less, to work longer hours, in a more stressful job than Mark? Why did

she

have to work with an unreasonable boss and unsupportive team? She felt a surge of anger as she thought it over. She always left early for work when Mark was still sleeping - he just had to come down the stairs to work, while she had a half-hour commute. She had lives in her hands while he just shuffled papers and defended crooks. He got paid more, for less, and it was bloody

typical

of the patriarchy always putting women in their place! Her face became flushed as she dwelt on the inequity of it all. She flounced up to the bedroom, her frustration growing with each step. Stupid work, irritating boss, unfair life.

Emily took a breath and sought to regain control of her emotions. She thought back to the last time she was really happy -- her birthday, going out with Mark, partying with her friends. She felt a tiny glimmer of happiness re-emerge when she remembered that time and the love of those around her. A flicker of a smile played at the corner of her mouth when she remembered Lucas, and the way she'd used Mark for her own pleasure. She hadn't felt helpless that night...

An idea began to form in Emily's mind. An hour later, she called down to Mark.

"You'd better come and get ready Mark, I've booked a table for 8 o'clock." There were a few seconds of quiet -- and she was sure she heard a sigh -- before she heard the scrape of his chair on the floor.

"OK, coming..." Mark blew out his cheeks and exhaled, the enormous mound of work still to do playing on his mind. Maybe he could get some more done when they got home. He climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom. There, standing before him in her tightest dress, stood Emily, the chastity cage dangling from one finger.

"I thought you should wear this tonight," she said confidently, self-assurance oozing from her as she stood silhouetted by the window behind her.

She walked over to him, wrapped her arms around his neck and locked lips. All too soon she pulled away, taking stock of his surprised expression. "Better get it on while you still can," she said, reaching down to his trousers and feeling through the material for his growing erection. Without waiting for a reply, she left the room.

"Women," thought Mark, "are an utter nightmare." But his interest had been piqued, and a wave of hormones was already coursing through his veins.

Emily had picked out a shirt and trousers for Mark to wear and left them on the bed for him - a simple but handsome outfit that complemented the colours of her top. Exactly seven minutes later, he was back down the stairs by her side.

"So is it on?" Emily asked, glancing down at his groin.

Mark nodded. "Your wish is my command," he replied with a smile. The idea of doing more work this evening was rapidly fading in his mind.

*******

Emily drove them both to another new restaurant in town, a Greek place they had been meaning to try for months. They were shown to their table and settled down, Mark allowing to Emily to choose her seat facing out into the restaurant before he sat in the other chair, his back to the bar. After checking the menu, Emily raised a finger towards to waitress to order their drinks -- a glass of Merlot for Mark, a daiquiri for her ("I didn't know you were into daiquiris," commented Mark).

They settled into their environment, glancing at the other people seated around them. With her superior spot for people watching, Emily could look out into the restaurant with ease. In the corner of her eye, she noticed a new customer standing at the reception desk. She watched as he was shown to the bar, where he ordered a drink and set his coat down. From her seat, she could get a good look at him without him realising he was an object of her curiosity.

She didn't know what had first attracted her attention to this particular guy -- he was nothing out of the ordinary. Reasonably good-looking, nice shirt, a little short perhaps, but decent physique. But it almost didn't matter. He was simply a tool she needed to get the job done, a prop in her planned performance to show Mark what power really looked like.

Facing the other way, Mark couldn't see anyone except Emily and their immediate neighbours, and he didn't seem to notice the regular flicks of Emily's eyes as she looked over his shoulder to study the man at the bar.

Mark's conversation wasn't half as good as their previous night out, and he was so absorbed in his case that he barely noticed Emily's attention wandering. "It's a really interesting one, Em, as it all hinges on whether they obtained an unfair advantage by stealing the data, or whether they worked it out through their own research." Mark's conversation droned on, and a sense of boredom nagged at Emily.

Fifteen minutes later, Emily reviewed her target. The man was still sitting alone -- this was good, the perfect quarry. He had finished his drink, but hadn't made a move to order any food. Mark continued to blather away, encouraged by the occasional "umm hmm," and "OK, yeah," from Emily. Patience ebbing, she finally cut him off.

"Do you trust me, Mark?"

Mark stopped, his face a picture of confusion and his sentence dying in his mouth. "Of course I do, Em. What's up?"

Emily held her hands under the table and wriggled her engagement and wedding rings off her finger. Lifting her hands, she held the rings in her fingertips and showed them to Mark, before reaching across the table to drop them into the top pocket of his shirt. Mark looked down at the small lump that they formed in the material before looking back to her, his confusion growing.

"Watch this." Emily stood and walked over to the bar, sitting on an empty stool near the man.

Mark was caught so off guard he didn't speak. He turned his head to see her walk away and sit down before reaching for a cocktail menu. "Why does she want another drink already?" he wondered. "She already has a cocktail here, which she's hardly touched." Mark scooted around the table and positioned himself in her seat to get a better view.

He watched as Emily read the menu, before leaning over to a man sitting nearby to point something out to him, saying something inaudible and laughing. The man laughed too, and pointed further down the page at something else. Even from the other side of the room, he heard Emily's giggle in reply to whatever had been said.

Mark studied the man. Fairly good-looking -- a bit short perhaps, but wearing a decent shirt. He was pretty sure he recognised an Omega watch on his wrist, but who knew if it was even real? The conversation seemed to be flowing easily between them, and Mark watched intrigued as Emily ordered another drink (was that a cosmopolitan this time?). She made no attempt to look over to him, and it was clear from the manner of her departing that she wanted him to stay out of whatever this was. But what

was

this?

Having delivered the drink, the barman held up the card reader to Emily. Mark saw the man on the bar stool raise his hand and hold out his own card, obviously insisting that he bought it for her. "Bloody typical," thought Mark. "That woman could charm the birds out of the trees." He leant back in his chair, totally absorbed by the scene unfolding in front of him.

The minutes began to tick by, and there was still no sign of Emily returning, or even looking in his direction. The waitress came to the table, asking if they would be ordering food. "Just another glass of wine, please," came Mark's reply. He watched as Emily flicked her hair out of her face, the man animatedly gesturing as he said something that made Emily laugh. Mark wondered if he saw her raise her eyes back towards the table as she did so, but the moment quickly passed. Mark's eyes followed Emily's every movement as she exuded a confidence and allure that was wholly familiar and yet, in this setting, totally out of place. It was as if he was viewing a different side of Emily -- a teasing sexuality that he knew existed, and had even had the pleasure of experiencing himself -- but one that he had never witnessed in use for someone else's benefit and in such a public manner. Her posture radiated a seductive charm and the sight of her engaging another man in conversation, her laughter ringing clear across the distance, was captivating.

Emily and the man finished their drinks, and another round was soon in their hands. Emily felt the drink coursing through her veins, boosting her confidence and minimising any reticence she may have felt about teasing Mark like this. She'd really not been too bothered about who this man was, but the more she spoke to him, the more engaging he became. Max was confident and a little loud (but funny), Emily found herself enjoying the conversation and his company -- he was

so

arrogant, but the certainty and composure that came with it were seductive. She was amazed to feel her mood lifting as she spoke to someone new -- talking to someone totally uninvolved in her life felt like a builder discovering ballet for the first time. She glanced over at Mark once or twice and noticed he'd sat in her chair to watch. She was desperate to know what he felt.

Mark continued to watch as the man at the bar touched Emily's knee, and she leaned in close to him. He felt a jolt of reality -- this could go further than he was comfortable with. Relieved, he saw the man stand soon after and walk away from the bar. Emily waited for him to turn the corner towards the toilets before she rushed over to the table, her face beaming. She couldn't find the words to express herself, and simply spread her hands out in front of her and burst out laughing by way of explanation.

"He's just gone to the loo, he'll be back in a moment so I've got to be quick. You OK?" Emily asked in a hushed voice so as not to arouse the suspicions of the neighbouring diners.

Mark felt a surge of relief. So she wasn't trying to torture him -- it was just part of their sport. "Yep, all fine here," he lied. "You're a sly one, Emily Hargreaves. I don't know what I should do with you."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "I think tonight is about what

I

should do to

you

," she retorted. "Look, he's going to be back in a minute, I've got to go. Just trust me, OK?"

Mark nodded. He

did

trust her. She'd never done anything but show him love and affection since they'd been together, and he knew she wouldn't do anything to jeopardise their relationship. He almost felt sorry for the man at the bar -- he was simply a 'useful idiot' being used as a pawn in their game. After a few moments, the man came back to the bar to collect his coat. Mark watched as he saw the man continuing to chat to Emily as he stood by her side, their conversation no less energetic now that he seemed to be making moves to leave. He laughed, and Emily lightly rested her fingers on the top of his arm as he did so. Mark felt a pang of jealousy.