Revenge Page 9

  I crossed to grab the brandy I’d left on the table by the couch and took a long sip, my back turned to the man behind me. It was tempting. It really was. To be our kind of superheroes. To play the game that had invigorated me for so long. To finally give Ron a taste of what he deserved. Me with the devil at my side—what could possibly get in our way?

  “I don’t know, Edward,” I said, finally, setting the tumbler down and turning back toward him. “I did those things before, thinking it would help, and it left me cold and unfeeling and terrible. I don’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to live that way anymore.”

  He nodded once, patiently. “It wouldn’t be that way, you understand. Not with the right motive.”

  I threw my hands up. “And vengeance is the right motive? ‘A man who desires revenge should dig two graves.’ ‘Neglect kills injuries, revenge increases them.’ There’s a reason why there are hundreds of quips about the futility of revenge, Edward. It’s not a healthy aspiration, and I’m trying to thrive here.”

  “‘It’s every man’s business to see justice done.’”

  I couldn’t help but smile at his comeback. I hadn’t forgotten he was a worthy rival, still, sometimes he surprised me with the reminder.

  “How about this?” I leaned back to perch on the arm of the sofa. “I don’t care what you want to do to Ron. Have at it. He’s yours. I’m not going to stop you from doing whatever you need to do to get closure on what he did to your family. But it’s for you, not for me. I don’t want this. I don’t need this. I want to focus on healing in other ways, if you don’t mind.”

  There. It was a solid compromise, as far as I was concerned.

  He leaned forward, his elbows propped on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “What if I do mind?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  He stood up and stalked over until he was standing right above me, making me feel caged in without actually surrounding me. “You heard me.”

  Hearing him hadn’t been the problem. “I don’t understand why it matters if I’m involved.”

  “Because I believe you do need this, that you will never be able to fully heal without it, and being a passive observer is not going to deliver the same results as being an active participant. And I care about your well-being very much. In fact, it’s one of my main responsibilities as your husband, as we’ve discussed tonight.”

  I bit the inside of my upper lip. Something bloomed deep in my belly, something wild and beautiful and satisfying. It was unfamiliar to feel so looked after, so protected. As frightening as it was to imagine Edward with blood on his hands, I couldn’t deny how good it felt to believe he’d likely kill for me if he believed it necessary.

  It was the most loved I’d ever felt in my life.

  I reached up and placed my hand on his lapel, over the place where his heart drummed in his chest, and even though I couldn’t feel it through the layers of material in the way, I knew the beat was steady and driven. “I’m grateful. I truly am. But we’re going to have to agree to disagree. It’s still a no from me.”

  The smile that inched onto his lips was ominous. “I could insist, you know. I have that right.”

  My own heart tripped, and while I felt a rush of endorphins at his exertion of alpha attitude, there was also a notable flood of panic. “I don’t like that. Maybe I’m not ready for this whole submission thing after all.”

  He let a heavy span of silence pass before his features softened. “Settle down, bird,” he said, tucking a stray hair behind my ear. “You don’t need to get your feathers ruffled over this. I can drop it—for now—if you agree to at least think more about it.”

  My answer wouldn’t change, but I could give him that. “Okay. I’ll think about it. No promises.”

  “Thank you.”

  But, even with the conversation tabled, he’d made me anxious. “We should still probably talk more in detail about the submitting stuff.”

  “You’re nervous about what I may decide is best for you.”

  “Uh, to put it bluntly—yes.” I dropped my hand to my lap, but he stayed where he was, hovering over me.

  “Let me ask you this—how did it feel today, to wear the clothes I’d picked for you? Performing the tasks I’d instructed you to perform?”

  “I liked it,” I said, honestly. “But—”

  “More specific, please,” he demanded, cutting me off.

  I gave a beat to thinking about exactly what I’d liked about it, then gave up, sticking to the original addendum that he’d interrupted. “But they weren’t important things. If you chose something I didn’t want to wear, it won’t really have bothered me to wear it anyway. The tasks were fine, too, but what happens when you want me to do something I am strongly against?” Like participating in his schemes for justice.

  His arms came around me now, settling on my hips. “Then we discuss it, privately, just as we have tonight. I’m not entirely impossible, as I believe I’ve proven here.”

  That wasn’t any different from any other healthy marriage. I should be able to do that.

  Still, I wanted to be absolutely clear that I was not giving up my autonomy entirely. “I just wouldn’t want to mislead you into thinking I’m easy to boss around. I’m not. I’m probably going to argue a lot.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware.” The low rumble of his voice was panty-drenching. “We’ll get through our disputes as we have so far. Though, I will remind you, there may be repercussions for disagreeing.”

  Again, my heart skipped. “Is there going to be a repercussion for disagreeing with you tonight?”

  He bent in to whisper at my ear. “Oh, yes, Celia. There will be.” His breath on my skin made my own breath quicken. “And you’re going to like it. In fact, I think it will prove just exactly how much you enjoy submitting to me, if you’ll let it.”

  Oh, fuck.

  That feeling of fear/excitement flooded over me in a single wave. It was a dual emotion I was becoming quite familiar with. Edward always summoned the two ingredients in equal measure, had since the first time I’d met him, and it wasn’t worth even trying to lie and say that I didn’t find the hybrid as addictive as any drug.

  “Tell me what to do, Edward,” I said, surrendering to him.

  With my capitulation, he took the role of dominant, immediately releasing his hold on me and stepping back. “Turn around.”

  I straightened then turned. The sound of my pantsuit’s zipper accompanied the parting of the material along my backside.

  “Take this off,” he commanded. “Fold it nicely and set it on the sofa. Leave your shoes and underthings on. Come stand before me when you’re done.”

  “Yes, Edward.” I started working myself out of my outfit while he took his empty glass to the wetbar. This wasn’t bad. His punishments in the past had always ended in orgasms. It was like a game, really. Like Simon Says with sexy stuff involved. What wasn’t there to enjoy about that?

  “One more thing,” he said as he poured the cognac. “Tonight, you will call me ‘sir.’”

  I froze. He knew I didn’t like that term. He knew why now, too. “But you said before—”

  “I know what I said. Need I remind you tonight is a punishment? You will do as I ask.”

  My jaw tensed. I’d forgotten somehow that he also had to dole out a certain amount of discomfort in these games.

  I liked that too, in some ways. But that was harder to admit, even to myself.

  “Celia?” he prompted when I hadn’t responded.

  It took a second before I realized what he was waiting for. “Yes, sir,” I said, unable to control the acerbic tone that came when the single syllable crossed my lips.

  He didn’t seem to mind the abrasive response. “Good. Carry on.”

  By the time I’d finished stripping and folding, he’d taken his drink and crossed the room to stand where the hardwood flooring turned into rough tile stone in front of the fireplace.

  I walked over to him, feeling both sexy and
oddly bashful wearing only heels and lingerie. This was the moment I’d thought of as I’d put the white lace items on—the moment when he’d be seeing me in them. Was this what he’d thought of as well when he’d set them out?

  His eyes were dark as he studied me over the rim of his glass. He took a swallow and set it on the mantle. “Turn around for me.”

  I complied, spinning slowly so he could see me from every angle. He let out an appraising hiss that shot lust through my blood, made my skin flush, and almost made me forgive him for requiring me to address him as “sir.”

  Almost.

  * * *

  “You’re beautiful, Celia,” he said when I was facing him again. “All covered up, too—you looked quite regal in that suit—but especially like this, in nothing but the bra and pants I chose for you.”

  Okay, maybe he was forgiven entirely.

  He kept his hands to himself, crossed over his chest, much farther from my body then I would have liked them. Whatever punishment he planned for me, I had a feeling it would also hold rewards, and I was more than ready to discover both.

  My heart sped up with excitement when he suddenly dropped his hands to his sides, but instead of touching me, all he did was remove his jacket. “Hang this over the arm of the sofa,” he instructed. “Give me a show when you do.”

  I did as he asked, practically prancing back to where I’d been, bending with exaggeration to drape the jacket on the couch and giving my hips a little sway as I straightened again. When I strutted back to him, the bashfulness was gone. All I felt was pure seduction.

  “You feel beautiful right now, too, don’t you?” he asked, never missing a beat. “Is it because of what I’m saying to you or because you’re wearing items I picked for you to wear?”

  “Both, sir.”

  “You felt beautiful all day, didn’t you? Wearing items that I’d laid out.”

  “Especially the underwear,” I confessed. “Sir,” I remembered to add a beat late.

  Disapproval knitted his features at my mistake, but it passed quickly. “You enjoyed wearing my underwear because you knew that only I’d see you like this, your nipples peaked and rosy for me.”

  My nipples went even harder at his acknowledgment. “Yes, sir. And also because I knew you chose them for me because you would like seeing me in them.”

  “That’s right. I very much do,” he rasped. “They’re naughty, but you don’t have to take responsibility for that, do you? Because I was the one who picked them.”

  I swallowed, realizing I did like that only as he pointed it out. In the past, when I wore risque underwear, it had usually been because I meant to use them manipulatively later. All the women who wore pretty panties for themselves—I’d never been that girl. I’d been taught early on that everything I did and wore had an effect on the men around me, and that it was my job to be conscientious of that.

  I was so sick of dressing for other people. For thinking of all of my actions as moves in a chess game. It could be argued that this was more of the same because I’d dressed for Edward, but it didn’t feel that way. He had chosen the items that would make the day easiest for me.

  The naughty items underneath were like the compensation he got for taking on that responsibility. I didn’t mind giving that to him in the least.

  And when, with hungry eyes, he said, “Kneel down in front of me,” I didn’t mind that either. Even when my knees hit the hard stone tiles and I understood the reason he’d moved over here.

  Beautiful bastard.

  Reaching around, he pulled my hair from the knot at my nape. “You’re gorgeous like this. On your knees. I should have had you in this position sooner.”

  “You did once, sir,” I said, reminding him of our first session, when he’d very nearly had me go down on him then went down on me instead. “You decided it wasn’t demeaning enough, if I remember correctly.”

  “I decided it wasn’t a fitting punishment at the time, and I was right. You were much too eager. Tonight, I think it will do just fine.”

  I was eager now too. My mouth watered at the opportunity to finally suck him off.

  With my hair down, he threaded his fingers through the strands. “Now, look in front of you. What do you see?”

  I’d already been staring at the bulge currently tenting his trousers. “You’re hard,” I said sounding more thrilled than I’d meant to let on.

  He pulled firmly at the hair in his hand. “What did you say?”

  “Fuck. Sorry, I forgot. You’re hard, sir.”

  “You did that. You made that happen.” He let his words sink in, but I recognized them immediately.

  And I understood what he meant by this now. What this was.

  This was his redo of my first hand job with the chauffeur.

  I’d known this was coming, somewhere inside of me I’d known. Yet somehow I was still surprised. I also discovered it was possible to feel both dread and excitement at the same time because that’s what I was feeling. Like I had both butterflies and stones in my stomach.

  I didn’t want to relive this.

  I also very much wanted to have the memory replaced with Edward.

  “You’re going to take care of it, the way I want you to, aren’t you?” he asked, and I knew what this was too—my chance to back out.

  Not that there was ever really backing out where Edward was concerned. If I refused to face this now, he’d make me face it again sometime else, in some other way.

  There was probably a lesson in that for me about our current disagreement, but I wasn’t able to focus on that at the moment. I had a hard cock to take care of.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, with the trepidation of the child I once was. “Tell me how, please, sir.”

  Anxiety threatened to seize me, but the accompanying bolt of lust was stronger.

  “Undo my buckle and my pants.”

  I did as he said, my pride swelling with his head as it poked out over the band of his boxer briefs.

  “Take out my cock.”

  When it was out, standing stiff and boastful at eye level, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted it in my mouth, and putting it in my mouth differentiated this moment from the one that had preceded it all those years ago. At ten, I hadn’t even conceived of blowjobs, let alone wanted to give one.

  Immediately, Edward flicked the side of my cheek with two fingers. I released him with a gasp at the sting.

  “I didn’t tell you to suck on it. I’m the teacher here.” Just like Ron had been then. And Charles. Teaching me things a child should never need to know.

  The memory sat heavy at the sidelines, refusing to disappear from the present. “What do you want me to do, sir?” I echoed the girl I’d been.

  Like Charles and Ron had been, Edward seemed pleased with my willingness. It was confusing to recognize. As confusing now as it had been in the past. I’d hated what they wanted me to do then, but I’d still glowed in their praise.

  Just as I glowed in Edward’s praise now. “Thank you for asking. I want you to spit on your pretty hand.” He waited for me to do it before going on with his instruction. “Now grab it, just like this.”

  The sight of him holding his cock made me wet. The scent of my arousal drifted up, and I swore Edward caught it, his mouth twitching as though trying to hide a grin.

  I brought my hand up to wrap around his length, stacking it on top of his. The bright pink of my nails against his flesh looked so eerily similar to that day so long ago, I had to close my eyes momentarily to recenter myself.

  I’m here in the present. With Edward. No one else.

  When I opened my eyes again, I recognized the adult size of my hand and how differently it fit around the cock before me than my child hands had fit around Charles. Another gush of arousal pooled between my thighs. “Like this, sir?”

  “Two hands,” he said, letting go to make room for mine. “Yes. Just like that.”

  It made me dizzy, the way my head flipped from past to present to past to present
again. One minute I was still barely clinging on to my innocence, the next I was desperate to be further debased. There was something cathartic about the merging of the memory with the moment. It made me have to choose between who I was then and who I was now. There wasn’t room for me to be both, and there was no way I was going back to that other me.

  Edward wouldn’t let me.

  “Good girl. Such a pretty, good girl.” He anchored me like that, his encouraging tone bringing me back to him every time I started to disappear into another time. “You keep on rubbing it just like that, keep treating it real nice. Because you’re the one who did this to me, didn’t you?”

  You did this to him, Ron’s voice pierced through the fog of lust.

  I shook him away, looking up at Edward’s eyes to remind me where I was. “Yes, sir.”

  “And it’s not nice to leave me hurting, is it?”

  “No, sir.”

  As though sensing the ghosts of other men crowding the space with us, Edward acknowledged them. “I’m the only man you need to worry about, Celia. Anyone else who tells you that you make them hard, that’s not your problem. Do you understand?”

  My hands stuttered at the change in script. “Yes, sir,” I said, absorbing his words.

  “It’s not your job to take care of the men who you make hurt. Say it.”

  I took a breath in then let it out. “It’s not my job to take care of the men who I make hurt.”

  His dick twitched, and my gaze went back to the job in front of me. I put more vigor in the churn of my hands, sensing he was getting close. My pussy throbbed with the anticipation as though it was the genitalia being rubbed. I wanted him to release, not just because I wanted to get past this scene but because I was also fully into it.

  Edward seemed not to be as concerned with coming right away. He grabbed my chin and tilted it up, roughly, to look at him. “And even though I’m hard for you, Celia, even though looking at your gorgeous body and watching you twist and writhe through our discussions tonight made me need to fuck your pretty hands, there’s only one reason you are responsible for taking care of me. Can you tell me what that is?”