Twist the Knife - Page 179
“Margot. It’s my decision. I just wanted you to know.”
Is now a good time to mention one of the other ways I earn with the club is through our porn production company? Probably not. All of that’s done electronically. I rarely have to see the girls in person.
“You realize I look at naked bodies all the time too, right?” she asks with a teasing lilt to her lips. “They’re just dead.”
I sit and stare at her, then shudder. “That absolutely never occurred to me until this minute.”
She stares at me, waiting for…something. Does she think I’m judging her? Or that I’m going to bail? “I know you treat them with respect and care, Margot.”
“Thank you.”
“You can always tell me anything.”
She glances at her closet door. “Since you’ve been spending a lot of time here lately, you can leave some things here. If you want.”
“Already left my toothbrush in the bathroom.”
She winces. “Yeah, I had to get you a new one. I caught Gretel gnawing on yours.”
“What?” I laugh for a solid minute. “Glad you caught her before I used it.”
“Anyway,” she says. “Are you a fold stuff and put it in a dresser guy? Or hang everything up?”
“Uh, both?”
She nods once. “I’ll move stuff out of that dresser.” She points to a large multi-drawer piece of furniture across from the foot of the bed. “I have more drawers and stuff in my closet. And I can clear a space for you right inside the door.”
My heart pumps a little faster. I’ve never wanted to share closet space—or any space, really—with a woman before.
She pats my thigh. “Come shower with me?”
“Don’t have to ask me twice.”
Laughing, she hurries out of the bedroom. Maybe she wasn’t kidding about wanting me to chase her down.
“Can you bring me a robe?” Margot calls from the hallway.
“You know I prefer you naked.” And in the spirit of her beautiful nakedness, I snatch a condom off the nightstand in case I get the urge to nail her to the shower wall with my cock.
“It’s in the closet behind the door!” she shouts.
Closet behind the door? My eyes dart to the long, narrow closet she mentioned clearing out for me. I swing the door open, surveying the space, mentally measuring it again.
This house is like a labyrinth, each level occupying space in ways that defy logic, as if the walls themselves are playing tricks. It’s even weirder than the eighteenth century homestead of horrors I grew up in.
The closet’s a long, dark corridor. Above me, a string dangles, and I pull it. Bright yellow light flares, illuminating the space, chasing away the shadows but not making the closet seem any less strange.
Clothes. So many clothes hang from rods and colorful hangers. Different clothes. Lots of black on one side of the closet. All bright colors on the other. Dresses and cardigans. Leggings and sweatshirts. Like each of Margot’s personalities has its own wardrobe. Not sure how she plans to make room for my sad little collection of T-shirts, jeans, sweats, and flannels.
No bathrobe in sight, yet.
I move farther into the long, deep corridor that seems to open up into a wider square at the end. Creating a T-shaped room. What a strange fucking house. No wonder she compared it to the Winchester Mystery House.
Maybe this was originally used as a nursery? A room close to the main bedroom, connected by a hallway, that was then converted into a closet when she had the place remodeled? No, the original builders wouldn’t have placed a main bedroom on the third floor. Would they? What do I know? I’m a biker, not a fucking architect.
I pull another string that illuminates the far end of the closet. Shoes. Enough shoes to fill a damn store. Lots of heels. Lots of urban-style sneakers in a variety of colors. My girl really likes bright colors on her feet.
To the right there’s a desk with a mirror over it and makeup scattered all over the top. Two big ring lights on either side of the desk probably help brighten the space so she doesn’t do her makeup Dr. Frank-N-Furter style. A shelf with a few different styles of wigs. Huh. I can’t picture Margot wearing a wig. Maybe she’s really into dressing up for Halloween?
