Devil In The Waters, Book 3, Chapter 2a (partial)

Back in the Mercedes, Devlin asked her: “Whatever happened with your baskets?”

The cloudless sky beyond the windshield was a brilliant blue, gulls swooping above the geometric anti-arcology of multi-colored cargo containers stacked all around them in streets and narrows, tall as apartment buildings. The Mercedes sat in the cool blue shade of the enormous Jourlet Maersk, a Triple-E container ship coming in from Africa.

She said, “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

They’d just come from a congenial and friendly meeting with Eddie Chang and a woman who was his lawyer and translator. Devlin’d wanted her to study Eddie, assess whether the translator was accurate and to look for what Eddie’s intent may be. 

“Alright, go ahead,” Devlin said. “What do you think?”

She said, “The translator was accurate, in my opinion.”

“And what about Eddie’s intent?”

“The terms are reasonable.”

Devlin nodded. “For him or for me?”

“I don’t know. It’s a middle ground . . . beneficial for both of you.” She frowned, contemplating. “Tell me what you want.”

“My lawyer, naked in bed, begging me for round two.”

She chuckled—she’d been wondering when this Devlin would make an appearance. He’d been well-behaved all morning. She said, “Very clever,” rubbed her neck, looking up at the Jourlet, watching then as Eddie and his lawyer pulled away in his red Audi, on to their next appointment, looking for someone with well-greased connections to move braided steel from northern Ontario back to China. “I don’t think he’s trying to fuck you.”

Now Devlin chuckled, his head rolling her way. They looked at each other. He said, “Very clever.”

“Two can play at that game,” she said.

He kept her gaze and didn’t look away.

At last he said, “What do you say we meet up one night this week.”

“For work?”

He smiled warmly, eyes narrow and devilish. “You know what I mean.”

She sighed, rubbed her neck again. “I’m not sure, Devlin.”

He made a disappointed sound. “Couple of weeks apart and you’ve forgotten about me.”

“It’s not that.”

He raised his eyebrows like he was intrigued. “What is it then?”

She looked up at the gulls, let out a long exhausted sigh. “You asked about the baskets . . . I finished all my orders, completed them. The Katt Basket shop is closed. Josh helped me. Took days of his own time, two whole weekends with his sleeves rolled up—you should see his hands. They’re all scratched up.”

“Josh is a nice guy. I know Josh is a nice guy.”

She stared out the window, deliberating. “He really is. I don’t . . . think I can do that. Would you be mad?”

Devlin said, “Mad, no. Heartbroken.”

In her periphery she could see him clutch a hand to his chest.

She rolled her eyes saying, “Oh, come on.”

“Are you saying no?”

She shrugged, shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Devlin nodded, hand smoothing his tie. “I took too long.”

She said, “Maybe you did.”

Devlin sighed, touched the Merc’s start button, big engine roaring to life. “Well, we could have been good.”

With the car brought to life it was like their conversation was over and she didn't think it was. Devlin was going to move on without her and that was for the best, but she couldn’t escape a cold sinking feeling, like being left behind. She said, “I’m not saying no.” Then hated that she said it, hugging her arms, looking to get her seatbelt.

Devlin shut off the car, the cabin going quiet again. He said, “Take a walk with me.”

***

The erection was unexpected and sudden. At his desk after lunch, planning a team meeting for the next morning, making notes, his mind wandered . . . and then . . .? Strange and dirty possibilities wavered before him like passing street signs in a dense fog.

What was Kimmy doing right now? Two in the afternoon, working for Devlin . . . what was her day like? The horrors of misinterpretation and betrayal stabbed out of the brume. You’re wrong about Kimmy. She only took the job to be close to Devlin. She wants him. She wants to cheat but she’s scared. Then a clear image of his beloved Kimmy on her back on her desk, all the items cleared off in one swipe, and between her legs Devlin loomed, his mouth sucking on hers, only she’s pulling away, gasping for breath, squeaking in pain as Devlin pushes his huge cock inside her—her nails tear his back . . . and then he’s at home, Kimmy’s in the kitchen like nothing happened, he’s sitting on the couch and the taunting texts return, a message from Devlin saying Kimmy was too tight and he’d have to work her in, the only way it was possible to fuck her, Joshy, old Double-A, was how fucking wet your wife’s pussy gets for me . . . 

Two in the afternoon, plenty of work to do, and he’s sitting at his desk now with a full and throbbing erection straining at the fly of his suit pants. Thoughts of his wife with Devlin were inescapable, and his cock ached with need. Hard as steel, straight and upright he palmed it hoping to ease the ache.

He muttered, “What the hell . . .?” rising up hunched over then creeping to his office door and closing it.

When he returned to his chair, he leaned back with fingers laced behind his head, staring up at the florescent lights. He peeked down, looked at his bulge and pondered. Why in the middle of the day would this happen to him? Just the mere thought of Kimmy with Devlin was arousing him, and that truth was frightening. Because there was nothing else that had prompted it other than thinking of Kimmy and Devlin. Just like Devlin had said in the tent. And what if, as he suspected, the thing in the tent never even really happened? You’re going to have to address this . . . If Devlin didn’t appear in the tent—and it was crazy to believe he did—that meant the whole scenario was prompted from within your own mind, Josh. You were the one who made the story up. But was it horror? Was it nightmare? What was it in him that would conjure such a devilish scenario as his high school bully taking advantage of his wife and his wife letting it happen? Did it arouse him?

“What do you think?” he said to his empty office, sitting more upright, palming the humped belly of the erection in his pants. There’s your proof.

Then he was moving before thinking, bringing over his phone, bypassing texting, straight to dialing. The phone rang and rang and his heart sank, squeezing his eyes shut at the horrible but lubricious image of Kimmy now with her hands on the bathroom sink of Devlin’s office, squeaking and gasping as Devlin with his suit pants around his ankles pummeled her hard from behind, Kimmy’s thighs shaking—

“Hello?” Kimmy sounding upbeat and outside, definitely not engaged in sex from behind with Devlin in a bathroom.

“Where are you?” There was the sound of heavy equipment, banging and clanging.

“What’s going on, Josh?”

“Just thinking of you and I wanted to call you—” and now he felt stupid, coming up with a reason to call, saying, “—make plans with you for tonight . . .”

She said loudly over the din: “What did you want to do?”

He said, “Where are you?”

“Hold on,” she said, and he could hear clicking heels on concrete, picturing her now with one hand cupped over the opposite ear, trying to listen, getting somewhere quiet. She said, “I’m at the docks.”

“The docks? Where?”

“Hamilton. Port Authority.”

“You’re all the way in Hamilton?” It gave him a cold desperate feeling, his wife so far away . . . 

“Yeah, we’re down here for a meeting.”

“Who’s we?”

Pause. “Devlin,” she said.

“You’re with Devlin?” And just like that something cold slithered around his heart. God, and the erection just wouldn’t go away. He squeezed his thighs together.

Kimmy changed the subject. “What did you want to do tonight?”

He said, “I don’t want to bug you—if you’re working, if you’re busy, I’ll—”

“Our meeting’s over, we’re just taking a tour of the docks right now.”

Taking a tour of the docks? There was something date-like about it, and he could picture Devlin walking with her, showing her the sights, maybe the two of them holding hands . . . He said, “Is Devlin right there?”

“Yeah, he’s right here.”

And then he shushed her—afraid Devlin would overhear Josh talking about him. “Don’t say that near him . . .”

“He’s not listening, Josh—what do you want to do tonight?”

And now she sounded irritated (or was it his imagination?).

He said, “When are you going to be home?”

“I think I’ll be home regular time. We’re heading back soon.”

“Let’s do something fun. I want to spend time with you . . .” And then he had an image, the lure of family again, thinking now they would go see a movie, something PG, bring Meyer and Sophie . . .