Home (8 page)

“So you
are
angry?”

He smiles at me, but it’s not a happy smile. It’s an I-can’t-fucking-believe-you’re-so-clueless smile. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Grace?”

“What?”

“Wrong with you,” he repeats.

“I’m not sure how to answer that.”

HIs smile is tight as he stares at me. Not really a smile, but a grimace. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I love you.”

“Good. You keep that in mind.” And then, before I can even understand what’s happening, he whips his tie off and grabs my wrist. I start to pull away, but he yanks me back. “Hold still.”

“What are you doing?”

“You owe me.”

“I owe you what?” I snap at him. But he doesn’t answer. He just ties the length of silk around my wrist and reaches for the other one. “What are you doing?”

He glares down at me as he pulls the knot tight. Tight enough to make me wince. “I’m tying you up.”

“You want to get off on your sexual fantasies? Now?”

“Turn around.” He doesn’t wait for me to even do that. He just twirls me until I’m no longer facing him. “Walk over to the couch.”

He gives my back a push to get me started and I do as I’m told. I start to sit down, but Vaughn grabs my hair and pulls me hard enough to stop that from happening.

“Ow. Goddammit! What are you doing?”

He yanks my hair harder and leads me around to the back of the couch. “Bend over.” He pushes me again and I fall forward. My hands try to brace myself, but he swipes them forward so they drape over the cushion and then bumps his cock against my ass. My face rests on something very plush and soft and I realize it’s a sheepskin rug.

“What are—”

“Shut up.”

What? “Who the fuck—” A hard smack lands on my ass and I jump. It stings all the way through my jeans. “Vaughn!” Another, this one even harder. I yelp and try to wiggle away from his grip. “Stop!”

“Stop? You want me to stop, Grace? We don’t have a safe word, so if you tell me to stop, I’m fucking stopping. But let me tell you this, sweets. You fucking owe me.”

“What is wrong with you?” I whimper.

“Wrong with
me
? Am I the one sleeping all damn day? Am I the one walking around here feeling sorry for myself? Am I the one flying a thousand miles away without telling you where I’m fucking at?”

“I’m sorry for not calling.”

“This isn’t about calling me. I’m not your babysitter. I’m your goddamned husband. I’m not interested in tracking your every move, Grace. I have security for that. And you
know
I have security for that. This is about your lack of commitment. Your lack of enthusiasm. Your lack of respect. And most of all, your lack of… being Grace.”

I huff out a breath. “I’m sorry, OK? And that last part doesn’t even make sense.”

“No?” He huffs out his own breath. “Well, let me make it clear.” Something rattles behind me and then he lets go of my hair. I turn my head a little to try to get a better look at what he’s doing when he kneels down. But it’s no use. “This,” he says as he clamps something around my ankle, “is a spreader bar. To hold your legs”—he slaps the inside of my thigh to make me open wider—“open.”

“So we’re back to your sexual domination?”

He hesitates, like he’s thinking hard about that. A few seconds go by in silence as he attaches the other cuff to my ankle. “The girl I met in the bar a few months ago. You’re not her.”

My heart, which was actually calming down, starts to pick up the pace again. Because I think Vaughn Asher might be done with me. I think Vaughn Asher might want one last kink before he throws me aside.

“That Grace out on the beach was wild and confident. She talked back and had opinions. My Grace was funny and dirty.” He finishes up with the spreader bar and then stands, leaning over the couch alongside of me, and whispers in my ear. “You are not my Grace.”

What’s that even mean? But I don’t want to ask. Because I’m afraid to hear the answer.

“I owe you punishments, sweets. And I’m here to collect. So if you want me to stop—if you want this relationship… this marriage… this everything… to stop—just say the word, babe. And we’ll call it good and move on.”

He’s breaking up with me. I close my eyes to stop the tears.

“Stop? Or go?” he asks. “You choose, Grace. But I’m warning you. If you say go, you’ll get what you deserve.”

Do I want to say stop?

He walks off, not waiting for my answer, and for a few seconds I’m petrified that he took my silence as a no. But then I hear him in the kitchen pulling open a drawer. When he comes back I’m so relieved to have his hands on me again a tear slips out and rolls down my cheek.

He lifts up my shirt, pulls it taut, and begins cutting it in half. I wiggle away out of fear before I can stop myself, but he shoves me back into position and continues until the two sides fall apart. He cuts my bra too. And then he cuts the fabric away from my body completely and tosses it aside.

He moves on to my jeans, slipping the cold scissors inside my waistband and slitting it right down my ass until the denim opens up and exposes my skin, still stinging from the smacks, to the cool night air. The next snip destroys my panties.

He rubs a hand down one cheek and then his palm comes down so hard, the smack echoes off the high ceilings in the living room.

I don’t move this time.

“That’s it, sweets, that’s what I want,” he whispers. His hand rubs the spot he smacked, soothing it. The cutting continues. The scissors slip between my legs and the cold metal shocks me for a moment, making me draw in a gasping breath of air.

“Shhh,” he chastises me as he slits my pant legs open from thigh to ankle on each side. He tosses the ruined fabric aside once again and then takes a few steps back. “I’m gonna make your ass so red you won’t be able to sit tomorrow.”

I start breathing faster. My chest does not have a lot of room since I’m still bent over the couch back, and it takes a lot of effort to draw in air.

Vaughn grabs my hair and pulls me up. “Breathe, Grace. No hyperventilating on my time.”

Asshole. I fight him a little to let him know I’m annoyed but he just laughs.

He presses his mouth up to my ear and whispers, “I’m waiting.”

“For what?” I growl back at him.

“Go. Or stop.”

His hand dips between my legs and strokes the slit of my pussy. I moan, I can’t help it. We’ve had plenty of sex lately. More and more as the weeks go by. But there’s not been any rough play since… well, the night I signed the NDA.

“You like to submit, Grace. You know you do.”

I take a deep breath and try to turn my head, but he yanks on my hair again.

“You like this. And it has nothing to do with the past. You like this because I’m your fucking prince, remember? You like this because I’ll make you scream with pleasure.”

He leans down in my ear. His breath comes slowly. Totally in control. “Grace,” he says softly. “You like this because you want to be controlled and fucked hard, but you know you’re safe with me. So…” He pulls my hair so hard this time, I squeeze my eyes closed and have to arch my back to try to relieve the tension. When I open my eyes, I’m looking straight up at his face.

“I want what you owe me, sweets. I told you back on the beach I was adding them up. Your list is long. Your penance will be difficult. But…” He sweeps his fingers along my slit again and this time even I feel the wetness because it drips down my leg. One finger dips inside me and he chuckles. Because he knows I want this as much as he does. “But if you’re very good,” he continues, “you won’t care.” He whispers the last part, alternating between the cold, dominating man I want and the soft, tender man I need. “You won’t care because your screams will not be from the pain. They’ll be from the pleasure. So which is it, Mrs. Asher? Stop? Or go?”

Chapter Nine

#MomentsOfTruth

S
HE
needs to trust me. Fuck, she trusted me more out on that beach than she does now. And I’m sick of it. I’ve done nothing but support her. I’ve been there for everything. I held her hand and made her feel loved and welcome.

And maybe that was the wrong way to go. Because that’s what everyone else did the first time she came home. Maybe what my Grace needs is unwavering dominance.

So that’s what I’m giving her tonight.

She wants to waste her life away in bed feeling sad? Or mope around this house oblivious to the decay? I mean, holy fuck. Felicity was a pig. She made a mess just walking through a room. But eventually she picked up after herself.

Grace has disappeared. I’m not sure if it was the injury, the kidnapping, or the baby that pushed her over, but that hardly matters now. She’s there. She’s crossed the line of sad and moved right into depressed.

And I’m not gonna let this happen to us. I might not be able to make her get better, but I can make her choose. Either she wants us or she doesn’t.

“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Grace. Say stop and we stop. You can go back to Denver and do whatever it is that will make you happy. Because clearly, I do not make you happy.

“Or say go, and I take over from here on out. You submit to me and do as you’re told until I say otherwise. Because you have no idea what’s good for you right now, Grace. You’re in give-up mode. And for the record, I didn’t put myself through twenty-seven years of Hollywood bullshit to give up. I’m not a goddamned quitter.”

She struggles hard against my hold, but I keep her pressed into the couch cushion. “I’m not a quitter, either. Your life is stupid.”

I laugh. “So what? I’m the first to admit my life is stupid. I didn’t choose to be born to this family. It was my birthright.”

“Your birthright is stupid too. You think you’ve had it hard, Vaughn? You have no idea what hard is.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo. I do realize your tragedy trumps anything I can come up with. No, my life is not one long string of fear like yours, but it’s had its challenges.”

“You don’t even know the meaning of the word survive.”

“Apparently, neither do you.”

“Fuck you. I’m here because I survived.”

“You’re not here, Grace.” I lean down and pull her hair at the same time, making her head tilt back. “You’re still there, sweets.” She doesn’t say anything to that. But that’s her MO, right? Silence. “You refuse to go to therapy. You refuse to talk to people. You refuse to accept help. And whatever. That’s your choice. But marriage is a partnership, Grace. If you want to be married, then you owe me. So what’s it going to be? Stop or go?”

“Go,” she snarls. “If that will make you feel better, then just do it.”

“It will,” I assure her. “It will.”

She opens her mouth to spout off something sarcastic, but my hand comes down on her ass cheek so hard she jumps. “Holy fuck, Asher! What the—”

I smack her again, five times in a row without stopping. Five hard, flat smacks across her bare ass.

“Ow! That fucking hurts!”

I kiss her neck and then turn my mouth to her ear and whisper, “It’s supposed to, Kinsella. I told you, you’re gonna cry...”

“Why does this make you happy?” she asks. Her voice is already betraying her. She’s losing control very fast right now. “Why does hurting me make you happy?”

“I don’t like hurting you, Grace. I told you back on the island that none of this is about violence.”

“Well, it sure feels like violence to me.”

“That’s because you’re unable or unwilling to give in. Did it ever occur to you to ask me what I wanted?”

She stiffens but says nothing.

“No.” I answer for her. “You have never once asked me what I want.”

“So you’re punishing me for being a selfish cunt?”

“No again. I’m punishing you for not trusting me.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“Why
shouldn’t
you trust me? I think that’s a far better question.”

She stays silent again. Only this time I’m not going to answer for her. The negotiations are over. “I’m going to let go of your hair and you’re going to stay right where you are. Do you understand?”