Chapter 8: What Are The Rules?
"Chris?"
Roxanne’s voice was soft, almost playful, as she watched him finish getting dressed for work. A flicker of mischief glinted in her eyes as she sat against the headboard, her phone resting loosely in her hand.
"Hmm," he grunted in response, his eyes utterly fixed on his own reflection as he meticulously worked a silk tie into a flawless double Windsor.
Roxanne tilted her head slightly. "What exactly are the rules of this open marriage of ours?" she asked casually.
Christian’s fingers froze instantly on the silk knot. For a second, his reflection met hers in the mirror, then he shrugged and continued fixing it. "There are no rules," he replied. "That’s the point."
Roxanne nodded slowly, lowering her gaze to the message still glowing on her phone screen before looking back at him. "So you’re entirely fine with another man being between my legs, then?"
Christian whirled around to face her, his features twisting somewhere between annoyance and disbelief. "Duh," he said bluntly. "That’s literally what an open marriage is."
He grabbed his watch from the dresser and fastened it around his wrist. "Although," he added with a careless shrug, "I don’t think any man would actually want to go there, so honestly, I don’t care what you do. You’re free to do whatever you want."
The insult should have hurt. The casual cruelty of his words would have shattered her as usual. Instead, Roxanne almost smiled because Christian sounded so sure of himself. Yet he was so blind. Completely unaware that another man already wanted her desperately enough to wait for her.
Her thumb brushed lightly over the message on her screen again, heat curling low in her stomach as memories of the masked stranger flooded her mind. His voice. His hands. The way he had looked at her like she was something worth unraveling slowly.
"Thank you for clarifying," she murmured.
Then, without hesitation this time, she lowered her gaze to her phone and began typing.
I want to see you tonight. And this time, there will be nothing stopping us. I want you to show me everything.
She took one deep, liberating breath and tapped Send. The second it delivered, a thrill rushed through her body so suddenly it almost startled her.
Roxanne slowly rose from the bed, a small smile playing at her lips as she walked past Christian toward the bathroom. The sudden, confident sway of her hips actually made him pause, his eyes following her.
"There is one rule, though," he called out just as her hand hit the brass doorknob.
Roxanne paused, her shoulders tensing slightly as her brows drew tight. She turned back to look at him, a sudden dread clipping her wings. "There is?"
Christian pointed a stern finger at her, his expression turning strangely rigid. "You are not allowed to fall in love."
For a second, Roxanne just stared at him. Then, she gave a nonchalant shrug. "Don’t worry about that, Chris. I know very well the harm it causes."
With that, she stepped inside and shut the door.
—
Hours later.
6:00 p.m.
Roxanne’s pulse fluttered with nervous excitement as she stepped out of the elevator and into the private lounge hallway once again.
The addictive memory of the masked man had haunted her all afternoon. She had spent the entire day practically vibrating with anticipation, occasionally pressing her thighs tight together at her desk just to soothe the sudden, aching heat his texts provoked.
And tonight? Tonight she wasn’t running away. Tonight she wanted him. That realization itself sent another rush of warmth through her body.
She had dressed differently for him too. Tonight’s outfit was a sleek, midnight-black gown, the neckline dipping lower than anything she normally wore, showcasing the swell of her breasts, while the high slit revealed flashes of her toned thigh with every step she took.
She moved with an elegant confidence she hadn’t felt in years. For once, she didn’t want to hide. She wanted to be seen, wanted him to look at her and lose control.
As she approached the private lounge doors, she reached for the mask already waiting on the silver tray outside. The black lace felt cool against her fingertips as she lifted it to her face. Then she picked up the black access card beside it and slid it through the lock.
The door clicked open slowly, and Roxanne took a cautious step forward.
The room felt significantly darker tonight, illuminated only by the faint, amber glow of recessed lighting that cast long shadows across the floor. The space was entirely empty, save for him sitting alone on a dark three-seater loveseat positioned in the center of the dimly lit room, one arm resting lazily along the backrest.
The golden lighting was lower tonight, casting deep shadows across the sharp lines of his body and the black mask concealing his face.
The atmosphere felt more intimate.
Roxanne swallowed hard as she slowly walked toward him, her chest already heaving beneath her plunging neckline as she stepped toward the center of the room.
He didn’t move. He simply watched her approach. Even behind the mask, she could feel the intensity of his gaze on her body, slow and deliberate enough to make heat crawl beneath her skin. She had rehearsed what to say all afternoon, but every word disappeared the moment she saw him.
"Why have you come here?" his deep baritone vibrated through the quiet.
The question caught her off guard.
She paused, inhaling a shaky breath, her fingers tightening slightly around her purse. Her lips parted slowly. "Because." She swallowed hard. "I want you to make me feel alive again," she whispered, the raw honesty of her confession hanging heavy in the air.
Slowly, the man uncrossed his legs and rose to his feet, his massive frame instantly dominating the space as he walked toward her without breaking eye contact.
"Good. I was beginning to think you’d never stop running," he murmured, his deep voice sending a shiver straight down her spine.
When he stopped in front of her, the tension between them became unbearable. Roxanne could barely breathe.
For a moment, he simply looked at her, as though he was taking her in fully tonight. The low neckline of her dress, the exposed skin of her thigh beneath the slit, the nervous rise and fall of her chest. The hunger in his eyes was so potent that her nipples instantly hardened into tight, aching points beneath the thin silk of her dress.
Roxanne licked her dry lips softly. "What are you waiting for?" she whispered.
