Frustration rises in my voice. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you better than you think. In some ways better than you do yourself.”
“How…”
“Jenna, like I said, you’re very submissive. And very transparent in your way of showing it. I’ll know when the time is right.”
I want to protest, but knowing it’s no use, I stay quiet.
After a minute of tense silence, Ian says, “Tomorrow, I’ll let Killian take part in our piano lesson. You’ll just play together. Nothing will happen. Not tomorrow. I simply want you to get used to being around him.” He gets up and rounds the table tostand behind me. Gathering my hair, he smooths it behind my neck, then places his hands on my shoulders. “Can you be a good girl and play with Killian without a fuss tomorrow?”
My eyes fall shut as a wealth of fear and hopelessness coalesces inside me. But there’s also a twinge of something else. An undeniable urge to obey. I want to shut it down, trample on it and banish it for good. But I can’t. It’s stuck deep in my chest, and when Ian squeezes my shoulders tenderly, I’m done for. “Yes,” I say, hating and craving the way he effortlessly bends me to his will.
“Good girl. Now go change into your pajamas, and then we’ll watch some TV before I tuck you in.”
My belly twists, my muscles constricting, as I go to change. I’m tempted to stay in the bedroom and accept whatever consequence it will incur. Going back to Ian and accepting his order seems like a deep cut to my self-respect. But once I return to the living room and he pulls me into his arms on the couch, the tension slowly drains from my body. There’s no denying it. Even though I fear Ian and despise the things he intends to subject me to, I also feel safe with him. More than I have anywhere for years.
22
The Idea
Ian
I’m surprised when I return from grocery shopping Saturday at noon—a week after Jenna accepted our terms—and hear punching sounds and heavy grunting from upstairs. I didn’t think Killian would actually take me up on my suggestion of using the punching bag.
I close the front door quietly and set the bags down, just listening for a few minutes. When my gaze drifts to the grocery bags, I get the thought that maybe I should follow Killian’s suggestions as well and get a maid who can cook and do the grocery shopping.
I consider it forone second before shaking the idea out of my head. I don’t like having people here who don’t belong in my house. Having a maid come and clean once a week is more than enough. I can never truly relax when she’s here. Besides, I enjoy the mundane tasks of shopping and cooking.
The grunting gradually gets louder, and when I go into the kitchen to unpack, I hear the faint sounds of “Argh” and “Fuck” seeping through the floor. Killian sounds pissed, and it makes me smile. Because I know for a fact that heispissed,and he needs a more aggressive outlet than the piano and his weightlifting.
His frustration has been palpable during the week, but he has kept himself in check and stayed away from Jenna. Even in the piano lessons I’ve included him in, he hasn’t spoken much, just accepted his passive role, even though I could tell he was itching to do more. Jenna has also been taking it well, gradually getting used to being close to him. Yesterday, when I had her play with him in the evening, her shoulders were only bunched up tight for the first few minutes before she sank into the routine of simply playing.
But sitting quietly beside him on a piano bench is not enough. She needs to get a taste of the things he’ll do to her—in a safe environment. She needs to know that she’s ultimately under my protection. As much as her trust in me has grown with surprising ease, she needs to know that she can trust me where Killian is concerned as well—that I won’t let him cross a line.
An idea pops into my mind.
I want to go upstairs and run it by Killian immediately, but I wait a while, not wanting to interrupt his boxing. In fact, I’m not even going to let him know that I heard. It might just deter him from doing it again. Dealing with his anger issues is a sore subject.
When I finally go upstairs, Killian is in his room, hair wet from a shower, grabbing a white dress shirt from his closet.
“I’d like all three of us to have dinner together tonight,” I say.
“I’m not really in the mood.” He doesn’t look at me, just puts on the shirt and starts buttoning it.
“Notjustto eat.”
His eyes dart to me.
“I want to try a little play,” I explain. “Not much. Something like what we did in my office last Saturday.”
Surprise widens his eyes. “Really?”
“And I want you to push her. Close to her limit.”
An angry shadow passes over his face. “Don’t mess with me. Not about this.”
“I’m not. I don’t want you to go all the way there, just close. Then I’ll stop you.”
