by Gemma James
The music filtered into the back where Stacey had fawned over me as I’d gotten ready. She left the room and walked down the aisle, followed by Eve. I waited, wringing my fingers and shuffling my feet. The first strains of Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” began, and I stepped outside the sanctuary of my hiding place.
Everyone stood and faced me, their eyes widening as I came into view. Amongst a chorus of “oohhs and aahhs,” I scanned the audience and gave a sigh of relief that Ian was nowhere to be found. Deep down, I feared he’d make an appearance and try to stop the wedding, but he really had given up. The realization caused a pang of sadness in me; I hated how things had ended between us. Mostly, I hated the way I’d hurt him.
I walked over the rose petals Eve sprinkled in her wake, bringing me one, two, three steps closer to him. I sensed the heat of his gaze and finally lifted my eyes to his. Oh God…I’d forgotten how well Gage Channing wore a tux. A shiver ran through me at his expression; it encompassed so many things—smoldering desire, lethal resolve, but above all else, ownership. I was his, and this ceremony was only a technicality to make sure the world realized it too.
That walk was the longest of my life, but when I joined him and we laced our fingers together, the significance of the moment left me in awe. I was being reborn from the ashes he’d created.
The wedding officiator recited his introduction and then the vows began.
“Gage Channing, do you take Kayla Sutton to be your wife, to love, honor, and cherish now and forever more?”
“I do,” he said, his gaze never leaving mine.
He would push me beyond my limits, always demand more than I wanted to give, but damn if he didn’t make me feel alive. I needed him to breathe, and my humiliation and submission were small prices to pay. My body would endure him, because without him it would petrify.
“Kayla Sutton, do you take Gage Channing to be your husband, to love, honor, and obey…”
Obey.
Gage’s mouth curved into a satisfied smile. The man performing the ceremony had no idea the weight that word carried in our relationship. Above all else, I would obey him.
“…now and forever more?”
My heart thumped—a drumming beat that grew louder with every second obey flitted through my mind. Obey and owned. Two little words, both beginning with the same letter but holding so much meaning in the complexity of our union.
Gage waited for my answer, his sapphire eyes alight with absolute confidence. I was his.
His to command. His to set on fire. His to punish.
His.
I cleared my throat, parted my lips, and confirmed in front of God and the world what Gage and I already knew.
“I do.”
His.
Now and forever more.
Prologue
Snip.
The first lock of hair drifted to the tile. I brought the scissors to the left side of my head. Tears rimmed my eyes, threatening to spill over.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
My bare breasts heaved, nipples puckered. I didn’t want to be warm. Warmth let feeling in, and I was suddenly and amazingly numb. Besides, warmth deceived with its inherent comfort, and comfort didn’t exist in my world—not when he wanted me on my knees. Not when he wanted a meek and pliable and obedient robot for a wife.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
The severed strands circled my feet, freeing my shoulders from the weight of the red hair he loved so much. I couldn’t help but recognize the significance in this moment, the symbolism, and it terrified me. It was only hair, but this rebellious act would change the tenuous dynamic we’d settled into for the past year. This very moment was about to fracture our world and expose the guts of our lies.
Narrowing my brows in determination, I faced the reflection of the woman whose eyes lit up with something foreign. Something challenging.
Something he wouldn’t like.
This strange woman from another time—before rules and rituals and Gage Fucking Channing—was reborn as she lifted the shears and cut off the last section of hair.
Movement in the mirror drew my attention. He stood in the open doorway behind me, his posture inflexible as always. My eyes swerved to his before dropping to the belt clasped in his determined fist.
I whirled, crossed my arms, and silently threw down a challenge. A belt wouldn’t cut it this time. I knew it, and now he did too. No, on the eve of our first anniversary, Gage would have to do better than that.
1. The Sound of Silence
One week earlier
I was late. Not in the oh-my-God-I’m-pregnant kind of way, but in the I’m-going-to-get-my-ass-punished-for-this kind of way. As I inserted the key with an unsteady hand, Eve squirmed at my side on the stoop.
“Mommy,” she whined. “I gotta pee.”
“Okay, just a sec.”
Gage’s car isn’t in the driveway.
I kept repeating that phrase in my head, trying to calm my nerves, but that wouldn’t happen until this stubborn door opened. As I cursed under my breath and jiggled the key, my heart thundered at the thought that he could pull into the driveway any second and realize I was fifteen minutes late. The lock clicked over, and I shoved the door so hard it banged against the wall.
“Hurry up and use the potty, baby. I need to start dinner.”
Fifteen damn minutes.
If I didn’t act fast, Gage would learn of my tardiness, and then he might take away the key to my car. Heck, that wasn’t even my biggest problem at the moment. As I set my purse on the entryway table, a text notification sounded from my cell.
Almost like an omen reflecting my thoughts.
I pulled the phone out of my purse and read the message.
I just want to talk. Think about it, ok?
That was the problem. I was thinking about it. I’d thought of nothing else since I’d run into him at the hospital.
It’s not a good idea, I replied.
Neither was marrying him.
Ouch. He sure wasn’t holding back the punches. Gnawing on my lip, I fired off another text, doing my best to ignore the time as it ticked away.
That’s exactly why it’s not a good idea. I don’t want to fight.
A car approached, the whine of the engine muffled through the door. I peeked through the small window in the foyer and slumped in relief. Just a neighbor. Another text sounded, making me jump.
I don’t want to fight either, Kayla. I just want to talk.
My thumbs hovered over the screen, ready to type no. But somewhere between thought and action, the no became a yes.
Ok, tomorrow.
I took a deep breath. Oh my God. What was I doing? I honestly didn’t know, yet my fingers tapped the screen, telling him when and where to meet me. Telling him not to text again. Because him texting was dangerous. No, it was just plain reckless. Gage searched my phone at random.
I deleted the messages, shrugged out of my coat, and hung it in the closet. As I headed into the kitchen, I told myself to calm down. Otherwise, Gage would take one look at me and know something was up.
My hands were still trembling as I turned on the oven and slid the casserole I’d prepared that morning onto the rack. Next, I worked to set the stage with a wine glass sitting on the breakfast bar, half full as if it had been there a while. Hopefully, Gage wouldn’t take a sip because the Pinot Gris was too cold to have been poured fifteen minutes ago when I should have been home.
“I’m hungry,” Eve said, appearing at my side as I fretted over the preheat beep going off.
Please go off before he gets home.
“Dinner will be ready soon. Did you put your things away?”
Eve nodded, pride in her eyes because she was a big girl now. “Can I watch TV?”
“Sure, but just until dinner.”
Five minutes later, the oven sounded its preheated status, and Gage walked in. Sipping my wine, I relaxed my face into an expression of serenity, but my foot itched to tap against the leg of the bar stool.
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“Sorry I’m late,” he said, embracing me from behind. He looped an arm across my abdomen, turned my face toward his, and planted his mouth on mine. We might have kissed for an hour because I lost track of time as our tongues mated.
Sighing into his kiss, I brought my fingers to the spot below his ear and ran the length of his jaw, loving the prickle of his five o’clock shadow.
He drew back, leaving my head spinning from the intoxication that was purely him. “How was yoga today?” he asked.
“It was…” I blinked, recovering from his heated greeting. “Relaxing.”
He nudged my neck with his nose. “Did you talk to any men today?”
“Of course not.” Right then, I’d never been more grateful that he couldn’t see my eyes and the lie in them.
“Good girl.” He gingerly nibbled the side of my throat, right where my pulse throbbed.
“Hungry?” I asked, breathless.
“Mmm-hmm. Depends on what we’re talking about.”
Despite my frazzled nerves, I laughed. “Food, you pervert. Dinner will be ready soon.”
Eve bounded into the kitchen, and Gage let me go so he could greet her. He swung her into his arms and asked her about her day.
“Ms. Sherman teached us the letter M,” she said.
Gage glanced my way, debauchery in his eyes, and that intense stare stripped me of my defenses from across the kitchen. M for Master. We were both thinking it.
“It makes a sound like moo,” she said with a giggle.
Gage set her back on her feet, laughing as he mussed her hair. “You’re getting too smart for your britches, princess.”
“Am I as smart as you now?”
“Way smarter than me.”
She giggled again before racing out of the kitchen, her little feet pounding the hardwood.
He returned to me at the breakfast bar, and his hands landed on my shoulders, massaging some of the tension away, making me relax into him. Until he spoke. “I’m taking away your yoga privileges next week.”
My eyes widened. “Why?”
“I have other plans for you.”
Heartbeat rising to a furious staccato, I slid off the bar stool, needing distance. Some space to decipher what he was up to. “What kind of plans?”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see.” His tone gave nothing away, and I had no idea if these plans were good or bad.
Having this discussion with him would be easier if I had a reason to keep my hands busy, my attention focused on something other than him. I crossed the kitchen and pulled salad makings from the fridge.
“Simone will be disappointed,” I said, rinsing a tomato.
“Your friends have no bearing on my decisions, Kayla.”
I bit my tongue. Last thing I wanted was to give him another reason to harp on my choice of friends. He didn’t like her, and it had taken a lot of effort on my part to get him to allow our friendship. His high-handed attitude was starting to burrow into my skin a little more each day. I sliced into the tomato with extra oomph, slamming the knife onto the cutting board with a loud chop.
“I agreed to your yoga classes as long as you didn’t forget your place.” He leaned toward me, his long and slender fingers curling around the edge of the granite counter. Granite just like his expression. “Do you need a harsher reminder tonight?”
I dropped the knife and tried not to glower at him. “That isn’t necessary.”
“Glad to hear it.” He picked up the discarded knife and took over, moving on to peel and chop a cucumber. “After next week, we’ll revisit your yoga classes with Simone.”
And right then I knew this wasn’t about yoga at all. He didn’t like Simone. Clearly, he was trying to put a wedge between our friendship.
“Gage, please. It’s only twice a week.”
“I don’t care. I want you here and available. Can I trust you to obey me, or do I need to work from home next week to make sure you stay put?” His sideway glance tingled down my spine. I studied the profile of his gorgeous face, searching for signs that he knew.
“That was a question, Kayla.”
I tamped down rising panic. “There’s no need for you to do that. I’ll talk to Simone and let her know I’m not free.”
Damn it.
“Good, then it’s settled.”
Neither of us spoke until we sat down with Eve at the dinner table. Gage and Eve chatted easily like they always did, but my mind wandered to next week and my new dilemma.
“Are you excited about the slumber party next weekend?” Gage asked Eve.
I picked at the chicken broccoli casserole on my plate, my stomach twisting into knots over my half-discussion half-argument with him. Even worse, my lie ate away at me more than ever.
“Leah said it’s a pajama party, Daddy.”
Gage’s sapphire eyes sparkled with meaning, not only because she’d called him Daddy—something she didn’t do very often—but the slumber party was a reminder of our anniversary next weekend. Knowing Gage the way I did, I figured his plans included something equally diabolical and romantic.
After dinner, I cleared the table and gave Eve a bath. Our nightly routine of chores, bedtime stories, and at least five kisses and tuck-ins before she settled underneath her princess comforter passed quietly.
This was our life. We sat down for dinner every evening, and on Mondays we played board games as a family. Wednesdays were movie and popcorn night. Fridays…Fridays ended late, long after we said goodnight to Eve since Gage had decided a month ago that I needed a weekly session with his belt to remind me that I belonged to him. That Friday ritual had started after he’d given me access to my purse, keys, and phone. It had started after I’d begun using yoga classes as a cover.
Each week since, when the sharp bite of his belt flamed my ass, I fretted over the idea that he knew. Considering the tension between us tonight…I hated that today was Friday.
I switched off the lights in the kitchen, grabbed a raunchy romance from the bookshelf in the living room, and headed toward the hall. Gage had retreated to his office and would probably be in there for a while dealing with the pile of paperwork on his desk. I expected him to be at least an hour, giving me a short reprieve from his Friday ritual, so I was surprised to find him blocking my way to our bedroom. The novel slipped from my fingers.
We didn’t need words as he took my hand and ushered me into our bedroom. The door shut with a soft click, followed by the turn of a lock. As he unbuckled his belt, I crossed to the bed and bent over the mattress.
I widened my stance, willing my four-inch stilettos to support me. Willing my legs to stop quivering. Silence blared through the room, a disquiet that brought the thump-thump-thump of blood rushing through my veins to the forefront, amplifying everything.
The chill in the room, drifting over my skin and causing gooseflesh. The slow and deliberate way he slid the belt from his pant loops. The soft but insistent pad of his shoes on the floor as he neared me.
Despite the phantom echo of pain roaring along my nerve endings, I’d never felt so sexy, bent over the way I was with my hair splayed on the mattress, one cheek pressed to the comforter. Vulnerable to his every whim.
I gripped the hem of my skirt and waited for his command. Seconds ticked by until a full minute passed. I bit my lip to keep from squirming, to remain quiet as he expected. I knew he waited behind me with that strap of leather looped in his fist. This preamble was part of the thrill for him, part of the ritual. He enjoyed making me wait with my breath suspended. Fear crept in during this time like it had last week and the week before. Fear that he knew, and this was his way of punishing me for it.
“Lift your skirt.”
Pound. Pound. Pound.
How could he not hear my heartbeat? It throbbed in my ears as I pulled up my skirt, sliding the silky material over an ass left bare for his pleasure.
Always bare. Always ready for him.
I sucked in a breath, let it shudder out, and gripped my
skirt so tightly my fingers ached. We entered another unbearable period of waiting, and I shook with knowing that when his belt did strike my ass for the first time, it would come as a surprise.
Like the week before, and the week before that.
That first lash would steal my breath and make my eyes burn, would cramp my legs and—
Thwack!
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
“One,” he said because I wasn’t allowed to speak during these weekly reminders.
I blinked several times to hold back tears, and my deception wrapped around my throat, cinching until it nearly choked me. Another lick of fire streaked across my ass, followed by his hoarse voice.
“Two.”
Eighteen more to go.
The strikes were few compared to his usual allotment, but they were three times the strength. On number eleven, I almost pleaded for him to stop. But like the week before, and the week before that, I pressed my lips together and endured the next one in quiet anguish.
It wasn’t so much that it hurt. Wasn’t that it was degrading. This new ritual of his was…
Confusing.
And if I spoke and fractured our unspoken code of silence, I was scared of what would come out. Would I show my weakness by begging and crying? Would I confess? Would he utter the words I dreaded most?
I know your secret.
I didn’t want to find out, so I took the beating. Week after week, our ritual settled into something that just was, something that transpired between Master and slave in unnerving silence.
“Twenty.”
Finality rang in my ears, bounced around my mind. His belt clattered to the floor, and the sound of his zipper stabbed at my control, primed me to tremble under the firm pressure of his palms on my stinging ass.
I wanted to moan.
I wanted to push my ass toward him in invitation.
God, I wanted.
And he knew it, tortured me with it, had me wrapped long before his cock nudged the center of my depravity. My breath hitched, stalling in my lungs until the edges of my vision grew fuzzy.
Until my world narrowed only to him.
To him dangling me over the precipice with his strong hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he rocked into me. To the stillness of our interlocked bodies and the rush of adrenaline begging me to move against him. Begging me to beg him.
