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dinner. He glanced over as he drove, a look of concern on his face.
    She sighed. “Michael, I told you, I’m fine.”
    Uncertainty shone out from his eyes, but he turned his attention back to the road. “If you felt ill, you could have told me. I wouldn’t have made you go out.”
    “You didn’t make me go out. I wanted to go out. I’m fine.”
    Shame swamped her as she thought about the coat room and the doctor. Maybe he wasn’t even a doctor. He hadn’t answered her question in the affirmative.
    Maybe Dr. Lindsay Smith was a woman, and that man had merely taken over her office. Maybe she only kept office hours Monday through Thursday. The lavender cards and walls, the orchids, the name. Didn’t that all scream female?
    The feeling between her legs intensified. All she wanted right now was an orgasm. Her eyes shifted to her husband.
    On top of violating her, the doctor had gotten her revved up without satisfaction. She should have been
    more upset that he’d touched her but found she was upset he’d stopped. What the fuck is wrong with me?
    Michael was right. She needed a therapist. She needed to be doped up on something that would bring her back around to something resembling sane. She couldn’t enjoy sex with her own husband. Yet two handsome strangers had their hands on her in the space of a day, and like some writhing whore, she wanted to come.
    She stared out the window as the lights of the city flitted past, thankful her husband had gone silent so she could think. Michael had been her first. Her only.
    Did she resent him for that? Was she upset she hadn’t had more experience, more lovers? Was she punishing him?
    She began setting up columns in her brain. One column was labeled: violated , the other: willing participant . Under the violated column she considered Anton had intended to touch her with or without her capitulation. And he’d locked her in with him. He’d blackmailed her. There was nothing about the exchange that said consent.
    And yet, hadn’t he freed her to do something she might have done otherwise? In another set of circumstances? If she’d had another life? The thought made bile rise in her throat. Why was she reframing this? Was it self-preservation? What he’d done was wrong. Pure, and simple. There was no gray about it.
    Anton and the doctor, or whoever the male posing as Dr. Lindsay Smith was, what they’d done was a crime. She should report them. Fuck the video.
    The willing participant column stayed blank. Except for the pulsing between her legs.
    When they arrived home, Michael settled her in bed and brought her a cup of hot tea with ginger. “It’ll calm your stomach,” he said.
    She accepted the brew with a weak smile.
    “I’m going to sleep in the guest bedroom, so you can get better rest.”
    She nodded, still feeling guilty for what had happened earlier that day. All the rationalizing in the world couldn’t make her feel like she wasn’t somehow cheating. After all, wasn’t she going back to see Anton on Tuesday?
    Her body hummed with both fear and anticipation over what might happen in that room with him. Would it be the same as today? Would it scare her more or less? Would she come just as hard anyway?
    “Do you need anything else?”
    She looked up to find Michael still hovering. “No. I’m fine.”
    “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.” When the door clicked shut, she brought her hand between her legs.
    Vivian’s mind flashed to the coat room with the doctor. His hands were so warm and solid. So smooth. And yet the smoothness didn’t detract from his masculinity. Something about the softness of his hand, slippery with her juices, caused a warmth to flare out from her core.
    She thought of Anton whispering threats in her ear, telling her she was powerless to resist the pleasure he would deliver. Then suddenly both Anton and the doctor were there, touching, stroking, observing her as she squirmed on the massage table, her legs spread wide for