Still, I have to try one last time.
"If you don’t care about me, why did you tie me up and fuck me?"
He blinks. Clearly, he didn’t expect me to ask him that outright. Well, too bad.
I’m not going to shove things under a carpet and pretend I didn’t see what I did all those times he made love to me. I’m not a coward. I can name things, even if he can’t.
Hiding and pretending the emotions we feel don’t exist makes for miscommunication, and I’m keen to avoid it.
"I tied you up…because you were my very own Christmas present to unwrap.”
“Oh.” My insides quiver. My pussy throbs. My skin tingles with memories of how I felt when he tightened those silken ropes around my limbs.
“And because that’s the kind of kink I enjoy—when the woman I’m fucking is tied up and helpless and submits to me. So I can do what I want with her body."
I swallow. It’s so erotic, having him talk about his preferences with that emotionless face. The contradiction between the eroticismof his words and the straightlaced features makes me all hot and bothered.
I’m in a lot of trouble if my husband talking has me so turned on.
But there’s something he hasn’t taken into consideration. Something I can read between the lines. Something I can see in how he rakes his gaze over me. And how his fingers tremble to touch me. How his muscles bunch as he holds himself back. How his body wants to protectively lean over me.
I tip up my chin. "If you’d tied up anyone else, it wouldn’t have affected you so much."
He seems to reel back at that. His eyes widen. He firms his lips, but the tendons standing out at his neck tell me my words have hit home.
"It’s because I'm your wife that my submitting to you in bed had such an impact on you," I murmur in a steady voice.
Inside, I’m melting, both from the lust that crackles in the air between us, and because it’s the first time I’ve said aloud that I submitted to him. And hearing myself admit it brings home the gravity of what happened between us. He must recognize it too, for his features soften. He takes a few steps forward, until he stands in front of me.
"I’m grateful you trusted me enough to tie you up. I’ll never forget that you let me pleasure your body and take from you what I needed to satisfy myself. But you must understand it can’t happen again."
His stubbornness is so annoying.
I throw up my hands. "You’re kidding right?”
But no. There’s no mistaking the resolution in his features. Or the way he holds himself erect. There’s a certain finality in his stance that makes my heart sink. Oh no. He’s going to brush aside whatever he feels for me. He’s going to pretend it doesn’t matter. That it’s fleeting and doesn’t mean anything.
"Don’t do this." I swallow.
But before he glances away, I know my appeals are not going to be heard.
Thanks to the incident on the helicopter, when he realized whathe feels for me, he’s running scared. First despair, then anger grips me.
You know what? Fuck him.
If he can’t face his emotions, then there’s nothing I can do. I’m not going to spend my time moping. I’m not going to try to convince him otherwise. This is something he has to realize on his own.
Meanwhile, I’m not going to mope around his house. Except, sleeping in his room, in his bed, which smells of him, is going to make it all worse.
I draw myself up to my full height and tip up my chin. "Fine. You do what’s best for you.”
He seems taken aback then recovers. "I will.”
His features are smooth. Every shred of feeling locked away behind that mask. Someone give this man an Oscar. He’s perfected this role of someone who’s shut down all feelings.
He heads for his suitcase and rolls it down the hall. Then stops. "I’ll meet you in the home office in twenty minutes to start the handover for your new position."
The door closes behind him.
