Revenge Read online

  He was on the phone and was undoubtedly surprised at my arrival, but he had practiced skill at containing his emotion, and he managed to keep a solemn face and steady tone as I approached him.

  I slapped the printed paper from the real estate site on his desk in front of him. “You promised,” I said, not caring that he was otherwise engaged or that my voice could likely be heard on the other end of his call.

  He hadn’t shown respect for me in this matter. Why should I show any for him?

  Edward only had to glance at the paper to know what it was, a final confirmation that he was indeed behind the bank repossession of the stables. “I’m going to have to call you back,” he said into the receiver then immediately hung up.

  Before he could launch into denials or excuses, I attacked again. “You promised not to interfere, and then you went ahead and did this!” I pointed my finger forcefully at the proof.

  He sat back in his chair, cool as a cucumber except for the darkness in his eyes. “I didn’t promise.”

  “You did! You said…” I trailed off, trying to remember exactly what had transpired in our conversations. The last time we’d talked about it, we’d argued. The time before that, when we’d bathed, I’d asked him to promise not to strike out on my behalf…

  And he’d changed the subject.

  He read my realization in my features. “See? Never promised.”

  His juvenile behavior only fueled my anger. “Fuck you, Edward. This is bullshit. That man has a family! John Holcomb didn’t do anything except succumb to the wiles of a horny young girl. He doesn’t deserve to be punished.”

  He shrugged dismissively. “That’s where we disagree.”

  God, his nonchalance was maddening.

  And I was all anger and rage. I wanted to pound my fists against him. Wanted to bring out my claws.

  I braced both of my hands against his desk so I wouldn’t strike. “How is this justice? He doesn’t even know what he’s being punished for!”

  “He committed a crime.”

  “And how many crimes have you committed?” I leaned toward him, daring him to name them, to recognize his hypocrisy.

  He sat forward, his gaze piercing. “It’s a dog eat dog world, Celia. I’m on top for a reason.”

  He didn’t care. He knew he was a hypocrite, and he didn’t even care.

  “You are narcissistic and self-righteous,” I seethed. A devastatingly attractive devil who cared first and foremost for himself. Was his heart even attainable? I was insane to ever believe it might be mine.

  “Narcissistic and self-righteous? To want to stand up for my wife?” His tone had an edge now, his composure slipping.

  Somehow that felt like progress.

  “I didn’t ask you to. In fact, I expressly asked you not to.” I searched his features to see if I’d gotten through to him at all. But the expression etched there was as determined and unyielding as ever.

  I shook my head, mystified, and stepped away from his desk, suddenly feeling like I needed the space between us, as though my bewilderment needed room. “You know what I don’t understand, Edward, is why. Why did this insignificant stablehand mean anything to you? Was it jealousy?”

  “You can’t seriously need me to explain this to you.”

  I studied his smug expression, trying to figure out what I wasn’t getting, and finding nothing but this answer. Why else did he care enough to invest the energy to go after a nobody in the suburbs of New York? “That’s the only reason I can come up with. You’re so possessive and entitled that you can’t stand that another man was the first to fuck me, is that it?”

  God, if that was really what this was about…

  A horrifying thought occurred to me. “Was that why you recreated that whole ‘pretend-you’re-a-virgin’ night?”

  Edward shot up from his chair and leveled a stern glare in my direction. “You’re trying me now, Celia.”

  He’d reacted too quickly, too defensively. Had I hit the nail on the head?

  It hurt, but I explored the idea further. “It had nothing to do with making my memories better for me. It was all about you claiming a part of me that didn’t belong to you.”

  He stepped out from behind his desk, and, automatically, I took a step back.

  He stopped and pinned me in place instead with his gaze. “That wasn’t the reason I did that, and you fucking know it.”

  “Do I?” I searched my feelings, and yes, in my gut, I did know that. He’d done what he’d done because he’d wanted to erase the bad and replace it with his good. He may have had personal reasons for doing it—he did enjoy breaking people down, after all—but he could have left me like that, broken and ruined, and he hadn’t.

  He took advantage of my pause, traveling several steps in my direction before I noticed. When I did, I put my hand up, as if to stop him. “If not that, then why? Why are you obsessed with being a vigilante with people in my past? It’s over and done. I’ve moved on. You forced me to move on.”

  “And this is the next step in your healing process.” With confident caution, as though he were a lion trying to coax his scared prey, he took another step toward me so that my palm was almost touching his chest.

  He was magnificent like that, when he was a predator. When he was single-minded and primitive. When it felt like he could devour me with a single bite.

  Even angry, I was strongly aware of my heartbeat. It quickened when he was like this. Tripped over itself with anticipation.

  “How the hell is this healing?” I asked, dropping my hand and shaking my head of the wanton thoughts. “It’s unproductive. It’s petty.”

  His jaw set firmly. “It isn’t unproductive at all. Nor is it petty. Taking out your anger on someone who deserves it is a very useful coping method.”

  “This isn’t coping. You aren’t coping. You’re just as fucked up as I ever was.” I threw up my hands, frustration agitating me so completely I couldn’t stay still.

  “Because I still haven’t gotten the vengeance I need to move on.” He leaned forward as he prowled toward me.

  I hadn’t realized I’d backed up with him until my legs hit the couch, bending me over the backside. Immediately, I straightened, determined not to bow in his wind. “Oh, is that how it works? Anytime you’re mad, anytime you feel slighted, you have to strike back in order to get past it?”

  “Why not?” He was feral, his eyes dilated, his lip curled.

  Ugh, he was so attractive. And so arrogant. And such an asshole.

  What kind of world did he think we lived in? How would anyone be civilized if they were constantly lashing out at every insult? Was that how he expected me to be with everyone? With him?

  “How about this?” I asked, my breaths coming out hard and shallow. “I’m angry at you right now.”

  I hadn’t meant it as a challenge, or maybe I had. Either way, that’s how he took it, and one beat later, his arms were around me, his face angled above me. “Good,” he said, his lips whispering over my lips. “Then it won’t just be me who’s taking out my wrath on you.”

  His mouth crashed against mine, and he kissed me with a forceful and tempestuous kiss. He was greedy and aggressive, his tongue possessing my mouth, the length of him pressing tightly against me so that every inch of my body met with firm, hard Edward Fasbender. It was difficult to think when he invaded me like that. Difficult to remember that I was anything besides blood and lust and hormones, that I was a person who could think for myself rather than just bend and submit.

  Difficult, but not impossible.

  I wrestled my mouth free and leaned away.

  He raised a brow, as though daring me to defy him, and so I did. I raised my palm to push him away, but he grabbed my arm and wrenched it behind my back, which for some stupid reason made my pussy throb.

  I brought my free hand up, not even sure what I meant to do with it, but he caught it in midair.

  “No?” he asked, his eyes dark, the blue rims like thin rings around a plan
et of black.

  No, of course no.

  But my body said differently. My back arched toward him, my skin flushed, my skin broke out in goosebumps.

  And when he shifted to grip my wrists with just one hand and the other ventured under my skirt to rub against the crotch panel of my panties, he found them wet.

  “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop,” he said, his fingers working beneath my material.

  I gasped as his skin made contact with mine, and though I hadn’t yet decided that I wanted this, my legs widened to give him room.

  “You don’t want me to stop, do you?” He traced along my wet seam. “You want to want to, but you don’t actually.”

  “If you’re talking about the shit you pulled on John, you’re wrong. I do want you to stop.”

  “I’m talking about ruling you. You wish that you didn’t love it. You wish that you didn’t need it.”

  I wanted to argue, but just then, he shoved two long fingers inside me, and even if his thrusts hadn’t taken my voice away, I wouldn’t have told him to stop.

  Because he was right. I did love it. I did need it.

  I tilted my chin up, my mouth reaching for his.

  Again, our lips collided. This kiss was bold and ruthless, his fingers mirroring the fervor as they fucked in and out of me with shameless strokes, until I was writhing, until I was a rush of heat and euphoria, until he’d swallowed every last one of my whimpers of pleasure.

  Then we were a flurry of movement, both of us desperate to be connected, to remove anything that stood in the way. My panties were pulled off and tossed to the floor, his jacket joined soon after. His pants were unbuckled and undone and pushed down just far enough to get his cock out. My skirt was pushed up and when I threw my arms around his neck, he lifted me, setting me down on the back of the sofa.

  As he lined himself up at my entrance, I silently congratulated myself for having chosen a low-back couch when I’d redesigned his office before we’d gotten married, and then he was there, inside me, pushing so deeply into my body that I felt more than penetrated. I felt conquered. I felt owned.

  I let my dangling shoe fall off, then bent my knee and brought my foot up to rest on the back beside me, opening myself wider to him, giving him more access. With one arm wrapped firmly around my waist to hold me up, he rammed into me, over and over at a dizzying speed. His pelvis hit against my clit, sending delightful shocks through my body that had me gasping in rhythm to his jabs.

  I was already halfway to an orgasm, already too blissed out to form words when he started talking.

  “You want to know why?” His voice was strained, but he could still speak coherently.

  I could barely remember my name, let alone form an answer, especially not to a question that I didn’t fully understand.

  Thankfully, he clarified. “You want to know why this man? Why righting this wrong was important to me?”

  He didn’t expect me to respond. It was obvious when he cupped his hand around my neck, his thumb stretching across my pulse point, pressing just enough to make speech difficult.

  No, he didn’t need me to say anything.

  He needed me to listen.

  “Because I love you, bird,” he said, his thrusts somehow reaching even deeper. “I fucking love you so much that I can’t separate myself from you anymore. Your pains are my pains. I feel them as if they happened to me, and I can’t let them go unpunished, not because I care about how much these sins hurt me, but because I understand how much they hurt you.”

  Exhilaration shuddered through me, and my pussy tightened around him. He lowered his arm from my waist to my hips, drawing me closer, refusing to let my body push him out.

  He pressed his forehead against mine. “You are mine to care for and protect and fight for. You gave that honor to me. Let me own that. Let me love you right.”

  I was overtaken with rapture, rapture that exploded from my center, up through my belly and my chest until it was everywhere in my body, until I was shaking and sobbing and moaning out Edward’s name. Until I was shattered by the euphoria. Until I was nothing but blissful radiating energy.

  And then immediately, as the spots before my eyes disappeared, while he was still plunging into me, chasing his own release, my thoughts cleared and awareness seeped in.

  This had been a valid argument, a subject that we clearly needed to resolve, and instead of fighting it to the end, I’d let him distract me with sex.

  Again.

  If this was how every disagreement was going to end up, I was literally fucked.

  Which meant I had to find another way to fight.

  But how could I fight him on this? When he truly believed that he was right. When he wouldn’t listen to reason.

  When he was this obsessed with his end goal.

  My husband was like an addict, addicted to the rush of dispensing retribution. He said he sought justice, but his motives were wrong. Justice was best doled out with impartiality. There shouldn’t be emotions involved, and he was completely wrapped up in his feelings. That made him dangerous. How far had he gone? How far would he go?

  How far would I let him go?

  A voice of reason chirped in the back of my head, warning me to walk away. Take what he’d given me, the new person that I was, and leave. Find a better way in the world without him.

  But I fucking loved him too.

  And I was selfish with that love. With his love. I wanted to be cared for and protected and fought for. No one had taken that role before. Hudson had come the closest, teaching me how to be what I’d thought I needed to be to survive. Edward had been and done so much more, and I didn’t know how to give it up.

  If he was addicted to vengeance, I was addicted to him. Walking away was not an option I could choose easily. I had to stay. I wanted to stay.

  But that didn’t mean I had to give in.

  He wanted my submission, and I could give him that to an extent. I could still push back when I needed to. I could stand up for what I believed was right. I could fight for my own wants.

  Yes, that’s what I’d do.

  If this marriage had any chance at all, it was time I made my own demands.

  Fourteen

  Edward

  I tucked myself inside my pants and glanced over at my wife as she straightened her skirt. “Nice outfit. I’d rather it was the dress I picked out, but this one proved easy to work around.”

  Honestly, I didn’t care what she was wearing at the moment. She was ruffled and flushed from fucking, and, as far as I was concerned, she’d never been more beautiful.

  She bent to retrieve her underwear. “I was making a statement.”

  Her voice was terse. Apparently the physical activity had done little to alleviate her rancor. It had sure helped relieve mine.

  Not that her ire wasn’t justified. I would have expected her to be angry about my actions with the Holcomb estate. I just had never expected her to find out.

  There was nothing to do now but tread lightly. “Message received,” I said, an attempt to smooth her feathers.

  She paused, her pants halfway up one leg. “Was it?”

  This wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d hoped. Dealing with her was certainly different than dealing with Marion. When she protested to something I’d done, she most often didn’t voice it, and on the rare occasion that she did, she was generally soothed with domination and a round of rough sex.

  My old tactics weren’t going to work, and I had yet to figure out what would.

  I sighed, sitting on the arm of one of the chairs she’d chosen for my office. “I am who I am, Celia. You might not have known who that was when you married me, but you certainly have learned since then. You chose to stay.”

  Her rigid stance eased. She finished dressing then came around the couch to face me. “You’re right. I did. I didn’t expect that you’d change, but I also didn’t expect you’d be completely unreasonable. Marriage is supposed to be about compromise.”

  “Y
ou’ve been married before, then?” It was a knee-jerk reaction. Definitely a dick statement.

  “I’ve never been divorced,” she countered.

  I couldn’t hold back a smile at that. “Touché.”

  Perhaps neither of us were an expert in marriage, but I had both success and experience in business and negotiation. She and I had negotiated our partnership. We had our roles.

  I stood to retrieve my jacket that had ended up on the floor in our earlier haste. “It certainly would be easier to navigate this relationship if you would just submit to my authority, like you agreed that you would.”

  “You knew who I was when you married me. You chose to stay.” She was infuriatingly smug, having thrown my own words back at me.

  “I thought I’d broken you down after that.”

  “I agreed to elements of submission. I never said I’d be docile.” Her brow creased, and her voice softened. “Is that really what you want from me?”

  I already knew the answer, but I thought about it for a moment anyway, remembering what life had been like with Marion, how unfulfilling her obedience became over time.

  “No,” I said, as I buttoned my jacket. “I much prefer you like this.” Challenging, perhaps, but never boring.

  She crossed to me. “This isn’t fair either, though,” she said, straightening my tie. “You like me to fight you because it turns you on, or whatever, but you still expect to always win. I’m only supposed to think I have a chance at getting what I want. Eventually, I’m going to realize it’s futile, and I’ll…” Her palm smoothed down my chest, pausing above my heart, which pounded against my rib cage, anxious about where her train of thought had been headed.

  “You’ll...what? You’ll leave?”

  She shook her head and smiled. “I was going to say I’d stop fighting. Because what would be the point?”

  I wasn’t sure that would be any better than her leaving.

  “I don’t always expect to win,” I said, taking her hands in mine.