The cake was actually even more delicious than it looked, the chocolate and coconut-pecan flavors perfectly balanced. It was better than his mother’s, as much as he hated to admit it.

Within three minutes of taking the first bite, he passed out.

38

When Troy awoke sometime later, he was lying on his back on the king-size bed in the master bedroom. He was naked. Flickering candlelight illuminated the room. It was a four-poster bed, and he was bound to each post, at ankles, and wrists, with thick rope.

A towel had been stuffed in his mouth, sealed inside with a strip of duct tape across his lips.

Oh, Jesus, what is this . . .

He struggled against the restraints. The bedframe shook, but he could not get free. He was bound tight.

His chest heaved, air whistling in and out of his nostrils. Where was Monica? He screamed against the tape, shouting for his wife, but it was pointless, his words muffled and incoherent.

How had he wound up here? The last thing he remembered was eating a piece of chocolate cake and watching television. His memory was fractured, as if he’d been drugged.

Perhaps, he realized, the cake had contained more than just butter, sugar, flour, eggs, and chocolate.

Across the room, the bathroom door swung open. Grace strolled out into the candle light. She wore only the black lace lingerie set that he had seen earlier in the guest room closet, and a pair of black stilettos.

What’s she planning to do to me?

Again, he struggled futilely against the ropes.

In spite of his terror, he noticed that her body was impossibly youthful: skin smooth and unblemished, breasts round and full. Not a wrinkle or stretch mark or patch of cellulite to be found.

I’ve got to be dreaming because this is impossible. She’s almost sixty, not thirty.

Grace took a long draw on her cigarette, and then set it upon the ashtray she’d placed atop the dresser.

“It’s time for you to fuck me, doctor.” She smiled. “You’ve been a naughty little man, pawing through my possessions, so this is how we’ve got to do it, my dear. You’re going to give me what I need, your precious seed. I suspect you’ll greatly enjoy the ride regardless of your incapacitation.”

She climbed onto the bed. She knelt in the juncture of his thighs.

Cold sweat oozed from his pores. In other circumstances, this might have been his ultimate fantasy, but everything was wrong about this situation. Horribly, shamefully wrong.

She touched his testicles. Her fingers were ice-cold, and he flinched.

“Touchy, eh?” she asked. “Let’s see how you like this, then.”