Billion Dollar Vengeance

Chapter 6: May Not Say No

Everything I went through last week has started to feel like a fever dream. Did I have sex with Bruce Wayne in his bed? Part of me isn't so sure- I haven't seen him in five days to confirm or deny. It almost feels more real that I got ravaged by the masked vigilante. At least when he was done with me, I had physical reminders of our encounter. There are still a few visible scratches where the worst of the brick scraped along my skin.

But nothing around me changed. There were no physical markers that I had done anything out of the ordinary. Even now, I'm on my hands and knees, scrubbing a hallway in front of a mysteriously locked door on the first floor, flanked by old fashioned sconces. The floor steamer was unable to pick up the impounded layers of dirt and grime. Wayne manor is as it always is- quiet, dark and dusty.

I have not forgotten that first day when Bruce said the girls and I should live here since we make the drive five days a week, and stress grips my heart every time I think about it. Half of me prays he'll have forgotten, even forgotten me, and my other half basks in the idea of sneaking to his bedroom at night, where I expect to find him working at his cluttered desk. I've rode my vibrator more than once thinking of catching him off guard in his house, and putting my mouth to good use around that perfect cock of his.

Putting my strength behind the scrub brush, I grumble at myself internally. I know better than to expect anything more from Bruce Wayne than what he has already given me. A job, and two blissful days of tension and release. He must have had his fill of comfort, and has reverted back to our original relationship of non-contact.

I could let go of Bruce. If he showed his face and acted as though nothing was amiss, I could return to my job without looking over my shoulder every ten minutes. What I can't seem to let go of is the masked man. Vengeance, I snort to myself at the name.

He told me there would be a next time. Every night, I have slipped out the door and taken a slow walk around my block, risking all kinds of harm just to get a glimpse of him, stretching my ears out for sounds of footsteps. My heart pounds in my throat every time the street lights come on. When I walk, my toes itch at me to run. Because that's what he told me. Next time, I'll run. I await it so eagerly. When I return home, I'm exhausted from the fear and sharp focus, but so wet that I can't ignore it and go to sleep. I even keep my blinds open to the small backyard like some perv, hoping that he might be watching like the crazy man he is.

Like the other days this week, I pack up my cleaning supplies at the end of the day, all the optimism I feel in the morning entirely drained. On the drive back into the city, Carly and Stella argue about some TV show they both watch while my mind wanders. That drained emptiness I feel when leaving Wayne manor never lasts for long. When it rains, which is almost always, the sky darkens and the street lights come on early. Of course, this evening is one such night. By the time I've dropped the girls off at their respective homes, and I've parked the van in its locked garage at my office, the sky is done with daytime, and the people who thrive under the darkness start worming out of their holes. A dozen walked blocks is all it takes to get home.

A few hours later, I'm left tired, and cold, and wet from both rain and arousal. The neighborhood is empty of shadows, empty of anything that might indicate he would show up. I saw two men fighting over drops on the curb, but that's hardly a crime worth the attention of anyone, let alone a masked vigilante.

The cycle repeats itself for the rest of the week. I look over my shoulder constantly. For Bruce during the day, and the man who calls himself Vengeance during the dark hours. 

After a Saturday of relaxing, and trying not to think of the two men playing tug-of-war in my mind, I head out in the afternoon rain to buy some groceries. Jenna has been binging on the couch, but I notice she hadn't eaten anything all day. The lights are still on inside when I return with bags of food, which has become normal since last Friday. Jenna hasn't left the townhouse except for work. She's still sitting on the couch, staring at the TV, but this time, I think she may be watching it. But it doesn't stop her from looking entirely too lonely.