The sound of the engine pierced my ears, overwhelming me with its monotony. Only the occasional sound of a siren from some angry driver in the distance broke through, but none of that could distract me from the current situation. I squirmed in the trunk of the car, trying to find at least a seemingly comfortable position. It wasn't easy. Although he had been kind enough to empty the trunk this morning, it still felt like a luggage compartment, not a place where an entire person could fit.
The disgusting black fabric that covered it scratched my bare skin, each movement bringing additional discomfort.
"I hate being naked," I thought, while my mind wandered to his words that he often repeated: "There's no better aphrodisiac than your naked body." While such comments flattered me, I had always been a fan of fine black lace lingerie or a leather corset.
**
I couldn't shake his gaze from my mind the moment Andrew approached our table. It was just an ordinary conversation, or at least I thought so. Andrew, his college friend, was charming, with that overly confident smile that would be appealing to any woman. At that moment, with a glass of wine in hand and even more of it in my bloodstream, I felt an unusual sense of freedom around him.
Probably not by chance, he sat down next to me. I smiled, maybe a little too much, and played with a strand of hair while responding to his jokes, which became increasingly lascivious as the evening wore on.
When we left the restaurant, my husband didn't say anything right away. He simply opened the car door and waited for me to get in. His silence was worse than any words he could have spoken. I sat next to him while he drove, and the tension in the car was almost palpable.
"What does all this mean?" he finally asked quietly, through clenched teeth, nearly slicing through the air.
"What?" I tried to sound innocent in hopes of masking the tremor in my voice.
Such a tone and demeanor couldn't mean anything good.
"You know exactly what," he said without taking his eyes off the road ahead. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and his jaw was clenched as if he were fighting to stay composed. "Andrew."
I rolled my eyes and leaned deeper into my seat, trying to appear relaxed.
"Oh please!" I laughed in an attempt to hide how nervous I was. "It was nothing."
The alcohol was slowly evaporating from me, and I began to realize what kind of mess I had gotten myself into.
His laughter was short and devoid of any humor, cynical.
"Nothing?" he repeated as if testing the weight of that word on his tongue. "Maybe you think it's nothing."
"Well it is," I insisted now more firmly. "We were just talking."
"Just talking," he echoed quietly, almost to himself, staring straight ahead at the dimly lit road.
"You think I'm sleeping around behind your back, huh?!", frustration took over me and I couldn't suppress the anger his words provoked, "Am I whoring around like some cheap slut?!"
For a moment he looked at me with a heated, piercing gaze that silenced me instantly.
"Maybe," he said after a moment of silence, "And I know how to check on that, don't worry."
There were no more words, just silence that suffocated me as we continued driving.
The next day he told me something I didn't expect: "We're going on a little trip." His tone left no room for negotiation.
"A trip? Where? When..."
He grabbed my shirt and roughly tore it off.
"You don't have the right to ask questions," he said as he opened the trunk of the car. "And you don't deserve to ride normally. Take everything off and get in!"
**
The trunk doors swung open suddenly, and cold air splashed against my skin. I blinked several times to adjust to the blinding light coming from outside. He stood over me, a silhouette against the headlights of the car.
He was tall and strong, with a solid build that he carried effortlessly but with quiet confidence. His blue eyes were sharp like knives but not cold, rather filled with interest that penetrated deep into your being as he studied you. He had been sporting a short beard for some time now which added seriousness to his demeanor, perhaps even a few extra years. He wore black leather pants, his old biker ones, that were worn out at the knees, a black shirt that framed his shoulders and chest nicely, and a cap that shaded part of his face.
"Get up," he said in a voice that was neither loud nor harssh.
I swallowed hard while trying to maintain a calm expression on my face.
"Here." I said quietly, attempting to sound cooperative as I slowly extracted my legs from the trunk.
I felt his gaze closely following me and it made my heart double its pace. I had the feeling that I couldn't breathe properly; so I slowed down for a moment. He clearly didn't have enough patience for that, so he grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him before I could fully exit. His grip was firm and unwavering.
I stumbled slightly forward as my foot caught on the edge of the trunk before instinctively jerking my hand back toward myself.
