Tara
Idon’t say a word when I go back out into the garden after putting myself back together and find Rory sitting in the same spot in the shade looking at his phone. I gather up my tools and get back to work like he’s not there, and I spend the rest of the day ignoring my guards and thinking about the dominating, intense spanking Kellen gave me and trying not to lose my damn mind.
I’m a mess of conflicted feelings. I’m angry I let it happen, pissed he threw me around like that, and desperate for him to do it again. I hate that I’m letting Kellen seduce me and love that I’m finally feeling something for the first time in years. It’s like I can breathe, like I’ve been underwater for years and now I’m only breaking the surface for the first time in my life.
I don’t know what I really want, but I do know that if he bends me over and spanks me and teases me with his fingers again, I won’t try to fight him.
Which is just confusing, because I’m supposed to hate the Hayle family.
I finish work early and put my tools away. Angus switched out for Rory an hour earlier, and he doesn’t follow me into the mansion. I spend the rest of the day getting acclimated to the big house, looking through the rooms, saying hello to the staff, most of whom I know already just from seeing them around. It’s bizarre being on this side of the power dynamic, even though I’m also still sort of an employee, and since I don’t know where I stand, I choose to act like nothing’s different.
I’m exhausted by the time dinner rolls around. The kitchen sends me up a meal, a delicious shrimp and lemon orzo dish with a nice white wine, and when that luxury is done, I spend an hour in the bath.
But Kellen’s still not back.
It’s late when I finally decide to go to bed. I haven’t heard from him since that moment in the pool room—there are exactly four rooms with pool tables in them, since I guess being rich means collecting huge pieces of furniture that never get used, but that makes calling it the pool room somewhat confusing, but whatever—and I’m trying not to worry. Kellen is his own man and he can do whatever he wants. Although apparently that doesn’t extend to me.
I shut out the lights, close my eyes, and try to sleep.
Sleep doesn’t come.
Instead, images of Kellen dance in my brain. His tongue in my mouth. His hands on my skin. His hard, sculpted muscles as he grips me and slides his fingers deep inside my pussy, touching me and treating me like no man’s ever touched and treated me before. I was like a toy for him and he delighted in spanking me, hurting me, and getting me off. Teaching me a lesson, but also showing me what he can do to my skin if he chooses to.
How he can control me and turn me to clay in his hands.
I hear the door open around one in the morning. Footsteps walk down the hall and into the bathroom. The shower turns on and I get gingerly out of bed. I peer out and find Kellen sitting on the edge of the jacuzzi tub in his suit, the white shirt splattered with sweat and blood, his hair slick with the stuff, his face a mask of exhaustion and pain. The buttons are open and the jacket’s on the floor, and he’s cradling a hand against his chest like he’s holding his ribs together.
I gasp, covering my mouth, and he looks up. His eyes are glassy and tired.
“Kellen.” I walk toward him slowly. “What happened?”
He lets out a long sigh. “There was a fight.”
I linger on the threshold of the bathroom, afraid to get closer. “You look bad.”
“I’ve been worse.”
“Are you shot?”
He shakes his head. “Stabbed. Well, cut.” He moves his hands and a long swath of his dress shirt is torn. Beneath it, an ugly wound trickles blood. “I need to bandage it.”
I blink rapidly at the wreck of his body and take another few steps forward until I’m on my knees in front of him. He frowns at me slightly like he’s not sure what I’m doing, but I gently unbutton his shirt and peel it back off him. He winces, grimacing against the pain, but we get it off together and let the bloody clothes fall into the tub. I prod at the cut, but it’s not too deep and not actively bleeding anymore, which is a good sign.
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”
He grunts like he doesn’t know what I’m saying. “Why are you helping me?”
“Because you’re my husband.” I walk to the vanity and look in the cabinets until I find a first aid kit. “And because you’re hurt. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?”
“Of course I would.”
“Then don’t be so surprised.” I find some alcohol and pour it onto a large cotton swab and use that to clean the wound the best I can. He grimaces the whole time, but it doesn’t start bleeding again, which means he won’t need stitches at least. “We should get you in the shower.”
He nods and stands with some effort. Slowly, he unbuckles his belt, and starts to take off his pants.
I back away, blushing. “Maybe you can wait until I’m not here.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He strips them off and kicks them aside before taking off his boxer briefs. I shouldn’t be so embarrassed right now—Kellen looks like he got run over by a truck—but I can’t help it. I’ve never been a man strip naked before, much less a man like Kellen.