"Don't say anything. Just...don't."
He's quiet for a moment. "Go shower. Get the blood off."
I get up without looking at him, cross to the bathroom. In the mirror, I see the rust-red stains on my skin. Evidence. I'm grateful he kept my nightgown on like he always does. It means Idon't have to face what I've done as long as I keep my eyes away from my bottom half.
I shower until the water runs clear. Until there's no trace of blood or him or what just happened.
When I come out, Saint is in bed, cleaned up. He must have taken his own shower in another room.
I climb into my side, careful not to touch him.
"Gemma."
I don't respond.
"Gemmaaaa." There's a sing-song quality to his voice. He's enjoying this.
"Please stop talking."
He chuckles.
"You liked it. The rough stuff. The danger."
"I said stop."
He does. But I can feel him thinking.
And I realize something that makes my stomach drop.
I gave him something tonight. Something I didn't mean to give. A reaction. A response. Proof that I'm not completely dead inside, that some part of me can still feel, still want.
Now he has more leverage.
He knows how much the monster turns me on. I’ve given him leverage.
And he’s given me some as well…
Because he responded.
He hadn’t been hard when he came into the room. He’d come to scare me, and yet…he wanted me. He fucked me. He gave me pleasure.
Maybe it's not just my weakness.
Maybe it's his too.
I file that information away, a small spark of something in the dark. Not hope. Nothing so optimistic.
But...possibility.
He likes when I respond. He wants me to participate, to enjoy it. And that’s something I can control.
For the first time since this marriage started, I have bargaining power.
My body. Not just as a vessel for his heir, but as something he wants to react. Something that can affect him.
It's not much.
But it's more than I had yesterday.
