“You listen to me. If you think you’re ever laying hands on me again, you are sadly mistaken. I will not be there at six, I will not be taking punishment from you, and I will not be having dinner with the Grahams. Tonight or any other night.”
“That’s not what our contract says, and this disobedience, this insolence is not helping your case. I’m going to call Jerry to cancel. You should clear your calendar for the next three days because you’re going to be hurting.”
“No. Our contract doesn’t provide for you being a sociopath.”
He laughs. “A sociopath? You’re being a tad dramatic. But you know how I feel about name-calling. That’s another ten. We’re up to fifty. Your ass is going to be the prettiest shade of scarlet.”
“Jesus, are you delusional? I’m not your submissive anymore. I want out, and you have to give it to me. I know that’s in our contract.”
There’s silence on the other end for a few beats. I’ve surprised him for once.
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“They dragged me to a shrink. They wanted to commit me. They’re cutting me off. So it was pretty fucking bad.”
“I am so looking forward to cleaning out your dirty mouth this evening.”
“Hunter!”
“That’s ten more for raising your voice to me. You know as well as I do that you can’t leave,” he scoffs, although his usual rock-solid confidence has deserted him. It’s in his voice.
“I can and I have.”
“But—”
“No, there are no buts. We’re done. What do I have to do, say Beetlejuice three times? We’re over.”
He’s silent, but I can hear the wheels turning. My calculating lover.
“You’re going to have nothing.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You’re going to be a mess. You don’t know how to live like that, you spoiled little bitch.”
Whoa. Hunter hardly ever swears. And never has he sworn at me. Half of me wants to do a victory dance for rattling him so badly he’s resorted to foul language, but the other half wants to take up arms. I’d like to argue that I’m not spoiled, but I’m aware enough to know that, materially, I’ve led a fairytale life. And I have no defense against the charge of bitch. What I do have is a question. “What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”
I’m greeted by more silence. I know exactly what he thought was going to happen. What he was incapable of imagining going down any other way because he’s that cocksure, that arrogant, that pompous. To imagine that’s something I’ve always liked about him, something that’s always turned me on.
He knew my parents would flip their shit. He knows they use money as a weapon and they’d threaten my trust fund like they usually do. I may be pliant with him, but I’m stubborn as hell with them. I’d tell them where to stick it. When I walked out, realizing what I’d done, I’d come running to him and beg for his help. Plead for him to keep me, apologize for our fight, take my punishment like a good girl and give in. But not this time. This isn’t about an extra weeknight. This isn’t about the dress I’m going to wear or precisely how many ways he’s going to fuck me. Those are negotiable. My life is not.
“It’s a privilege to act like you own me, but that’s all it is. An act, a role I shrug on, a game I play because we both like it, we both need it. I did this for you because, until today, I believed you had earned it, that you were deserving. But you’re not the man I thought you were. That man would’ve never ruined my life just to get what he wanted. We could’ve talked about this more, maybe worked out some kind of compromise. That’s what people in relationships do.”
“But you were never going to give me what I wanted.” As if that’s a reason to betray six years of trust from someone you allegedly love.
“No. Not entirely. I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning, and I don’t think I could do that if you were all I had. What would happen to me if you decided you didn’t want me anymore? I know you don’t feel this way right now, but I think my independence is something you’ve always liked about me. It makes me interesting, it makes me a challenge. You’d be so bored with me if I were a sure thing.”
“No, I wouldn’t.” His voice contains no guile at all; it tugs at my heart with its earnestness. “I wouldn’t let you be boring. You’d be perfect. I’d adore you. How could I be bored if I could make you into everything I’ve always wanted?”
“I’m not?”
“No, India.” His tone drips with derision, as if I’m a fucking moron for imagining he might like me precisely the way I am. “I put up with all your ridiculous nonsense because you’re a hot piece of tail who gets off on being beaten to within an inch of your life and getting fucked in ways most people can’t even imagine. It’s insanity, baby. You need me to tell you how to get dressed in the morning. Do you honestly think you can function at a high enough level to be a professional? You’re going to be a joke. They might ask you to get their coffee because they’ll like watching you walk away and because there’s a better than even chance you’ll blow them when you get back, but only if they rough you up first.”
It’s like he’s taken a knife to my insides. Everything feels shredded and raw. It’s not surprising that my voice comes out as a tortured plea. “Hunter—”
“No, you listen to me. I did this for your own good. Despite the brash dog-and-pony show I know you put on when you’re not with me and that dazzling intellect of yours, you need someone to keep you on a tight leash. You’ll never survive out in the real world because, at your core, you’re a terrified little girl with absolutely no common sense or survival instinct. I did you a favor. Now you don’t even have to make that choice because I made it for you. You can keep your secret, India. I’ll let you pretend this isn’t really what you want, but at the end of the day, you and I both know the truth. You need to be locked in a cage.”
Hunter has said some nasty things to me in the past, but I always thought it was part of our game, some dirty talk to rev himself up. It never did much for me, although I won’t deny when I’m feeling particularly naughty a well-placed “horny little slut” won’t push me over the edge.
But this… I never thought he believed I was incompetent. We are well and truly over. Up until now, despite what I’ve said, I thought there was a shot at reconciliation, a possibility of happily-ever-after. But if he doesn’t respect me, it’s all gone. Any respect I’ve had for him has vanished because he’s made this agreement, lived this life, with someone he believed was fundamentally senseless and therefore incapable of giving truly informed consent. The idea makes bile rise in my throat. If there’s no consent, this is flat-out abuse.
I shut my eyes tightly in hopes it will ward off the nausea long enough to get out what I need to say.
“We’re done here. Have Ben drop off my things. Please don’t contact me again.”
“You’re forgetting something.”
My mind goes blank, and after a split-second, Hunter’s heavy sigh echoes through the phone.
“This is what I’m talking about, why you’re going to be such a goddamn catastrophe. Your fundamental lack of attention to detail. You’re going to be less than useless as an attorney. Our contract specifies that it must be broken in person.”
Fuck. I had forgotten. I signed the stupid thing nearly six years ago.
“Are you seriously going to hold me to that?”
“You’re damn right I am.”
“Now you’re just being a sadistic sonofabitch.”
“Always have been. Don’t know why it’s taken you this long to realize it.”
“Saturday, ten o’clock, your house. Rey is coming. Have my things ready.”
*
Ben greets us at the door, and his look is one of bewilderment. He’s literally never seen me wearing pants. These jeans fit like I painted them on, and I’m wearing an orange top. Hunter hates orange, but I love it. Rey’s put my old training collar on, too. Unlike the orange shirt, I di
dn’t do that to make Hunter angry. It’s a rope between the barn and the house to hold onto so I’ll make it through the ice storm that is Hunter Vaughn.
I didn’t have to come. It’s not like our contract is legally enforceable, and even if it were, his actions had to have annihilated any obligations I had to him. But I just couldn’t bring myself to refuse. Even if those words didn’t mean anything to him, they meant something to me, and I’ll honor them no matter how soul-wrenching it is.
There’s a stack of boxes and luggage in the foyer. My shoulders drop an inch. This might be easier than I’d thought.
“Baby.”
Or not.
After all this time, the effect Hunter’s voice and presence have on me hasn’t lessened. You’d think I’d be immune due to increasing doses over time, but I’m not. If anything, I’m more attuned to him. He still makes me melt, my knees weaken in desire to kneel, and I want nothing more than to go back to the first night I felt his strong grip on my arm.
Rey takes my hand, and it recalls me from my early-days-with-Hunter reveries. I give him a glance and a squeeze of thanks. He squeezes me back. I can do this.
“Hunter.”
“Joan’s put out some coffee in the library. Please.” He gestures politely as if we’re here for high fucking tea. Always the consummate host. The consummate host who’s had Joan put out refreshments in the library to make it harder for me to leave.
It’s all I can do to not drop to my knees once we get into the dark wood-paneled room. I don’t remember the last time I was on my feet in here for more than thirty seconds, but Rey clasps my hand harder and I stay upright. When Hunter says, “Come here,” it’s Rey’s grip that stops me from kneeling by Hunter and resting my head on his thigh. It’s only been a few days, but I already miss the mindless ease Hunter’s always given me.
I want to feel my bare knees on the carpet. I ache for his elegant hand to stroke my hair. I yearn to taste the strawberries and scones he’d feed me from his fingers. I long for him to tell me in his silky voice all the depraved things he’s going to do to me later and how much I’m going to like it. I want “yes, sir” to drop from my lips as easily as it always has with the same breathless anticipation it’s always brought.
“Don’t be an ass, Hunter,” Rey admonishes.
Hunter’s sculpted brow shoots up, but it’s quickly marshaled, just like everything else under his purview.
“Isn’t that your rule number one, Rey? She never has to do anything she doesn’t want to do? What if she doesn’t want to be sitting on that couch with you? What if she wants to be kneeling naked with her head in my lap? Would you stop her?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, baby, what do you say?”
I squeeze Rey’s hand so hard his copper skin goes pale. Anyone else would yelp in pain, but he doesn’t say anything. “Please, Hunter.”
“Please what? You’ve always had such nice manners.”
“Please don’t make this any harder. Let’s get this over with and you can find someone who’s going to make you happy.”
Yes, good, appeal to his self-interest. Don’t say it’s because he’s hurting me, trying to tear away the submissive half of me twined into the sinews and muscles and molecules of my body.
“But I want you, India.”
“Not in a way I’m willing to give you.”
Hunter’s cool cracks like an ice cube dropped in hot liquid. “Why are you such a stubborn bitch? Now I know what your mother’s been complaining about all these years. You’re an obdurate little cunt, aren’t you? You’ve always been a half-assed submissive, never given yourself to me completely.”
“Yes, sir.” My sinuses burn, and tears well in my eyes. Not just because he’s so furious that he’s swearing at me but because it’s true. I might give myself over to him for large swaths of time, but never completely. There’s always been a rope ladder to climb out of the well, the barest of nets to keep me from dying if I fall from this tightrope. “But you’re just as pig-headed as I am and can’t let me keep a drop of myself. I would’ve been yours every second I was here, but that’s not good enough for you. I’m not good enough for you.”
“No, you’re not. And good luck finding someone who’ll put up with your crap the way I have, you schizo slut.”
I usually savor making Hunter lose control, but not like this. No, never like this. The name-calling, the insults, the disdain—they make me sick to my stomach.
“Enough with the name-calling, Hunter.” Rey’s affecting boredom, but underneath he’s seething. “Are we about done here? I’ve got a client in the city in a couple of hours.”
“Give me a minute alone with her and we’ll be finished.”
Rey opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “It’s okay, Rey. Tell Ben to put my things in the car. I’ll be right out.”
He looks dubious but leans in. “Did I ever tell you rule number forty-seven?”
I shake my head, my brows knitting. I remember all of Rey’s rules; we never got to forty-seven.
“It’s totally permissible to kick your Dom in the nuts if he’s being a big enough douchebag. Hunter’s made the grade a thousand times over, so if he gets fresh with you…”
I stifle a giggle behind my hand. That’s not what I thought Rey was going to say. Hunter’s eyes widen in surprise. That’s not the reaction he was expecting from me, either. A hint of the jealousy I remember from before I’d signed my contract flashes in his eyes.
Hunter’s done a lot of things for me. I’m a stronger, more sophisticated person because of him, and—much to his chagrin I’m sure—more true to myself than I was when I met him. A lot of it is Rey, of course, but I’ll give Hunter credit where credit is due. Hunter’s never had much of a sense of humor, though, and that’s what the spark of envy is about. Make me smile with charm or flattery, make me forget there’s a world outside the two of us by beating or sexing me stupid, make my stomach flutter and get me horny as hell with a few words, sure. But giggle? Not his strong suit.
Rey kisses the top of my head and gives a tug at the lock on my collar on his way out, saying without words, I’ll always be thinking of you, you’re my responsibility.
When the door’s latched, Hunter beckons to me. “Come here, baby.”
This time, I go to him. I kneel beside him with my hands folded in my lap, almost like old times. But it’s not the same with my knees encased in denim, my hair tied up, and another man’s collar around my throat. It’s not supposed to be.
“I should say I’m sorry.”
I lay my head against the wool of his impeccably pressed trousers and gaze at his immaculately shined shoes. I’ll never see this again. I try to memorize the fine weave of the fabric, the gleam of the muted lights off the leather, the thick pile of the carpet, the smell of the books.
“No, you shouldn’t. You wouldn’t mean it. You’d do the same thing tomorrow if you thought it would get you what you wanted.”
He doesn’t argue, can’t, but lays a hand on the back of my neck. I sigh and the tears rise. Even though I’d like to rip his fucking face off, I’d also like him to take me in his lap and then in hand and make me forget all this fucked-up shit. How I’ve lost everything. He’d be able to do it, too.
“I didn’t mean for it to end like this.”
I don’t reply because my throat’s choked with unshed tears. I know, Hunter, I know. Me either. We just fit together wrong, wanted such different things, and it took us far too long to figure it out.
Looking back at our relationship, it seems inevitable that we would end this way. If only we would’ve realized it before we’d become so entwined with each other, maybe it could’ve ended with a clean, swift cut instead of this soul-shredding amputation. I give myself another five minutes of this strangely comfortable purgatory before I step straight into hell. I stand, not asking permission for the first time in over five years, and walk out the door.
Chapter Nineteen
‡<
br />
Year Seven
I’m sitting in the terminal with Rey, waiting for our flight to board. I’ve got my earbuds in, and I’m reading some hippy-dippy book everyone went gaga over. I just want to punch the protagonist in the face.
Rey squeezes my arm and stands, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder. I smile to see it lay against his grey suit. Normally I prefer Rey in black—navy, a close second—but the black leather contrasts nicely with the summer weight wool. Rey is so goddamn handsome. And I’m glad he likes his present. Such a small, stupid way to say thank you for everything he’s done for me, but he’s impossible to shop for. The man wants for nothing.
But he’s complained more than once about finding a carry-on that would fit all of the things he’d like to keep with him during the flights he takes far more frequently now. I try to tell myself he relocated to the West Coast for his own reasons, but I suspect one of the reasons at the top of that list would be me.
He’s been flying back and forth from New York to San Francisco just about weekly for the past three months. His stockpiling of frequent flyer miles is ostensibly to close up shop and tie up loose ends here, but again, I have my suspicions that his spotty presence has really had to do with keeping an eye on yours truly.
I’m better now, after over a year. I get through days at a time without crying, some days without calling him at all, but he’s still my backstop. My first call when things go wrong, when life starts to be too much for me. It’s when I’m with Rey that I can relax, let go, like I am now.
I’d paid the barest amount of attention checking our bags, going through security, making our way through the bustling terminal. Rey’s got everything under control. After the stress of finishing up classes and before the disquiet of heading into the unknown, I have a week that I have no control over. I can’t wait. I’ve been looking forward to this since Rey informed me it would be happening a few months ago.
Rey reaches out a hand, and I take it, not bothering to unplug from my headphones. He steers me to the jetway and leads me down the narrow hall, nudging me when we reach our first-class seats. He spoils me so.
Uncharted Territory (The Compass Series Book 3) Page 15
