Page 80 of Sins of Arrogance

I look up at him, my eyes burn­ing again with the need to cry, but I’m not go­ing to. I have lots of ex­pe­ri­ence sup­press­ing my tears.

Even more since go­ing on the hor­mone treat­ment nec­es­sary be­fore har­vest­ing my eggs for IVF. My emo­tions are all over the place.

Is that what this is? Am I over­re­act­ing be­cause of hor­mones?

I sigh. “I’m fine.”

He curses in Gaeilge. “You knew we weren’t done. Why take a shower?”

“Be­cause I wanted to wash you off my body.” I jerk my wrist out of his grasp.

“What the fuck? Why?”

Is he re­ally this dense? “Why not?”

“We both like when you go to sleep smelling like me.”

“I don’t like you an­swer­ing the phone while we’re hav­ing sex. But then it’s not re­ally sex, is it?” Is that why he didn’t ig­nore his phone?

What we do to­gether in bed isn’t as im­por­tant as real sex? Or will it be the same once he can pen­e­trate me?

“Did you come?” he asks, his voice silky with men­ace.

He’s never used that tone with me be­fore. Is he an­gry? I let my­self look at him, but he doesn’t look mad. There’s no emo­tion in his face at all.

“An­swer me, wife.”

“You know I did.” He makes sure of it.

I al­ways come at least once while I’m cuffed, but usu­ally mul­ti­ple times be­fore he jacks off onto some part of my body.

My chest. The mid­dle of my back. My bot­tom. Even my face once. Just nowhere near my vagi­nal open­ing.

“Did I come all over your beau­ti­ful baps?” he de­mands.

“Yes.”

“I may not be fuck­ing your pussy, but it’s sex. I claimed your vir­gin­ity,” he says ar­ro­gantly.

And he claims me all over again with his fin­gers ev­ery time. I want him in­side me though.

“I didn’t know wait­ing un­til af­ter I got preg­nant would be so hard.” That’s eas­ier to ad­mit than how hurt I am about him an­swer­ing the phone while I was naked and bound to our bed.

There’s no point any­way. My feel­ings don’t mat­ter. Not to Mick. Not to my dad. Def­i­nitely not to my grand­fa­ther.

“It’s only un­til you get preg­nant. The im­plan­ta­tion pro­ce­dure is next week.”

“What if I don’t get preg­nant the first try?” Seanathair in­sists on a sin­gle em­bry­onic at­tempt.

He doesn’t want to risk me hav­ing twins be­cause he’s seen that dy­namic de­stroy syn­di­cates when the heir to lead­er­ship is only min­utes older than the brother who will get shunted aside.

“Then we try again.”

“By we you mean me, right? You’re not the one who has to go through the pro­ce­dures.” All he has to do is ejac­u­late in a cup.

I have to get my eggs har­vested and then im­planted with an em­bryo and hope it takes, so I don’t have to do it again. All the re­search I’ve done says the dis­com­fort is min­i­mal, but that’s what they al­ways say about women’s pain.

It’s min­i­mal.