Page 54 of Graciously His

I pull her from the bed, not caring that she’s suddenly uncovered. Grace hisses, raising a hand as if to fend me off.

“You going to hit me, little girl?” I ask, using the new nickname deliberately. “Go on, then. Hit me. If you think I was rough on you before, you have no idea what I’ve got in store for you next.”

Next is aftercare no matter what.

But Grace doesn’t realise that. And she’s angry, almost beside herself. She takes a breath, then another.

“I’m—I’m done, okay?” Her voice is tight with forced calm. “I just want to sleep.”

“No.” I take her wrist again. “You want to throw a little-girl tantrum because you let your husband take you in ways you’re ashamed of. And it’s not your fault. You’re all filled up with adrenaline and endorphins that have nowhere to go, and you’ve got all those submissive feelings turning into violence. So,” I let my smile widen, “let’s see what you’ve got, Grace. Let’s see you smack the big bad wolf.”

For just a few seconds, I believe she’ll do it. In her eyes, I see the terrified knowledge that I’ve unleashed parts of her she’s neglected for so long they’ve turned monstrous. It’s all here, a shadowy landscape I can’t wait to explore with her.

Then Grace looks away, lets out a shaky breath, and takes a single step towards me.

“Excellent,” I murmur. “Is my gracious girl ready to be cared for? Or does she need more reminding of her place?”

Her brows draw down, and I know my phrasing caught her attention. Her place. She is learning. The next lesson will probably be even harsher; for tonight, I’m content.

Grace lets me lead her to the bathroom. I give her a minute to herself, remembering her specifications about privacy, and I’m almost absurdly pleased when she either forgets or decides not to bother locking the door. As a reward, I knock and listen for an answer before I enter.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, seeing that she’s wrapped herself in a towel, her hair cascading around her shoulders.

She gives me a carefully blank look. “What do you mean?”

“Your backside—how is it?”

“It’s… I don’t know.” She looks away, biting her lip.

“Well, what we want after anal play is for you to feel completely normal or, if we’ve pushed things a little harder, for you to feel a bit tender. Outright pain is not our goal. So, understanding that, how are you feeling, Grace?”

“A little sore, I guess. But only when I think about it.”

“That’s perfect,” I say, then I gesture to the tub. “Let’s get you into a nice warm bath.”

I can almost feel her warring with herself while I prepare the bath, but I ignore her. I put some mineral salts in the water and light a lavender-scented candle on the windowsill. Turning off the overhead lights, I offer Grace my hand. She lets me help her into the tub, sighing as the water closes around her. It’s a deep tub, big enough for two, but I let her have it to herself for now.

I leave the bathroom to set the bedroom to rights. Grace was clean, as I figured she would be, but I’m already considering which items we'll need to assuage her anxieties around anal play. Grabbing my phone, I put together an order from my favourite adult shop and hit the expedited shipping option, already smiling at the idea of presenting the brand new goodies to my blushing girl.

I can’t stop thinking of her submission tonight, her beautiful act of invitation. She was angelic. Gorgeous. Perfect. Speaking of whom…

I hear a splash from the bathroom, the sound of someone enjoying her well-deserved bath. I pretend it’s an invitation, and go join my wife.

Chapter 22

Grace

Iwake in Nate’s arms, the sound of the sea in my ears, morning sun pouring through a gap in the curtains. We’re both naked under the sheets. The fire is long out, the room is cold, but my skin is hot. I sense it’s early, just like yesterday morning. Like yesterday, I could sneak off if I wanted. Instead, I peer at Nate in the half-light. His face is clenched in lines that explain why he looks so much older than Nick. Even in sleep, he’s tense and frowning.

I could leave him now. Considering everything he’s done, I should. But when I take an accounting of my body, I feel zero pain. Lungs, stomach, joints—all fine. Even my backside is no more than a bit tender when I tense it experimentally. A reminder of exactly how much I enjoyed what happened last night.

I loved it. And that’s a problem. Part of me wanted to get away from him after what he did. After he spat on me, then proceeded to prove that everything I thought I knew about my own sexual limitations was wrong. By the end, though, I was exposed and exhausted and ashamed.

My wife gets up and lets herself be cared for.

When he came to check on me in the bathtub, I welcomed him into the water, settled against him, and accepted all the praise he whispered into my ear, the sweet words, the love. That love lingers, even as Nate frowns in his sleep when I shift experimentally, confirming to myself he won’t wake should I slip away. I trace the line of his collarbone, strong and smooth, then I press my palm to his heart, feeling the slow, heavy rhythm. It’s been so long since I woke up to a restful bed. Yesterday, I slipped away from Nate to explore the house. The day before, Nick slipped away from me. Now, I can picture an entire day beginning here.

It should scare me. It’s too early to feel this comfortable. But I lean in closer to see what Nate smells like early in the morning. Warm skin, clean sweat, and just a hint of something wilder.