Beauty in the Broken

She sits up straighter. “You did? Thank you.”

“Installation will take place tomorrow. Think you can oversee it?”

She beams. “Of course.”

“Leave it to Andries,” Zane says. “The garden is his responsibility.”

Lina doesn’t reply, but there’s something in her silence that says more than words. It bugs me. Why isn’t she giving Zane the obstinacy she thrives on giving me? I study my wife closely as she finishes her salad and reaches for the serving tray of fish.

“By the way,” Zane continues, “I have meal plans from Jana to sign off. I need you to have a look at the budget.”

“Give it to Lina.”

She looks at me quickly, surprise flaring in her deepest of blue eyes.

“You can handle that, can’t you?” I ask her.

The softness that settles over her features is a bigger reward I could’ve hoped for.

“I don’t think—” Zane starts.

“That’s settled, then,” I say, not looking away from Lina.

She breaks eye contact first. “Anne, about your clothes.” She clears her throat. “I’m afraid I damaged them. I’ll replace them.” She seems to catch herself. “I’m sure Damian will replace them.”

“Gladly,” I say.

Anne waves a hand. “Forgot about it. I didn’t expect them back, anyway.”

The rest of the meal progresses with a quietly brooding Zane and Anne who talks too much to compensate for the uncomfortable silence. I’ll have to have a word with Zane about Lina’s responsibilities in the house. No matter how it happened, she is my wife. I’m not sure how she sees that forced role, but it won’t hurt to try out a few duties that’ll occupy her mind and keep her from unhealthy boredom. Boredom is the devil’s breeding ground. Boredom is too conducive to dangerous thoughts and self-harming actions.

Lina

As soon as lunch is over, Damian announces he wants to see me in the study. My stomach lurches. The study has become an uncertain place for me, a place where he pushes my boundaries and kicks my feet out from under me.

I walk ahead of him, dreading each step that brings me closer to the door. Even Russell shoots me a sympathetic look as we pass. It’s the first shred of kindness he’s shown me since the torturing incident.

My whole body jerks when Damian closes the study door. Panic starts to rush in, but he hasn’t locked the door. If I turn the handle, it’ll open. I’m still repeating the calming notion in my mind when he dumps a pillow from the sofa on the floor.

Walking around me, he stops at my back. “Kneel.”

Kneel means too many things. To kneel will put me on eyelevel with his erection. To kneel means to submit. When I don’t move, he doesn’t tell me a second time. He pushes me down with a warm hand on my shoulder until my knees hit the cushion. I glance over my shoulder to read his facial expression so I know what to expect. The tender encouragement I find on his hard, handsome face scares me. It makes heat travel over my skin and sweat break out under my armpits. Whatever he’s planning is going to be bad.

There’s a rough edge to his deep voice. “On your hands and knees.”

I hear his darkness and see his tight control in the way he focuses on me with exclusive concentration. Punishment. This is what it is. It’s going to be worse than bad. He’s hard, and men like Damian get harder from a woman’s pain than her pleasure. Despite the command, I don’t move. I can’t. I’m frozen in fear. This time, he’s really going to hurt me. I sense it in the way the air thickens until it’s hard to drag in a breath.

At my disobedience, he places the toe of his shoe on my upper back, applying soft but steady force until my body bends forward, and I have to extend my arms to catch my weight. He keeps his foot there for a moment, a silent message to stay. When he lets up the pressure between my shoulder blades, I’m not self-destructive enough to defy him.

His fist finds purchase in my hair, twisting it around his fingers before arranging it forward over my shoulder. He smooths a palm down my back and stops just before my crack. Holding my breath, I wait for the worst. It comes soon enough.

Bunching the fabric of my skirt into his hands, he pulls it up, exposing my naked lower body. A flush coming from deep within my abdomen burns my skin. The heat crawls over me, inch by inch, igniting goose bumps in its wake. He’s seen me like this before, but I still feel vulnerable. Will he spank me? Will he make me touch myself again? Both thoughts make my folds swell and turn slick. What an easy, twisted slut I am. Embarrassment crashes through me, but the sound of his footsteps cut off my train of thought.