“I’m past wanting you, Grace. I have you. Or at least I thought I did. And now everything is up in the air. I just want to settle. I’m tired of juggling life. I’m tired of coming home to an empty house.”
“You’ve been coming home to me for almost three months. That’s not empty.”
“No,” he says sharply. “How do you not see that you’re not here? This place is a fucking mess. You don’t do anything but mope. It’s a goddamned miracle that you came to see me at the studio this week. And to be perfectly honest, after the flight coordinator called to let me know you scheduled the jet, the more I thought about it, the better I felt. I was happy that you took an interest in something. But you went about your life. All fucking day. And never once thought about me. I don’t matter to you.”
“That’s not true. I…” I what? What am I trying to say?
“You can’t even say it. You can’t even admit you love me. You chased me for three years online, telling the whole world your feelings and your desires. You’ve fucked me in public. You married me. And right now, you can’t even say you love me.”
“I love you, Vaughn. I do. That’s not why I’m hesitating.”
“Then what is it?” His voice booms through the movie room and I startle backwards a few inches. “Why are you not here? Why are you unsure? What the fuck do you want from me?”
“Untie me.” I hold out my wrists. He looks down at them, then up at my eyes. I can see the pain in there. The uncertainty I’m causing him. I hate that I’m making him feel this way. “Untie me,” I say again.
He shakes his head, sighing a long breath of air that lets me know he’s beyond pissed. And then swiftly releases the knots that bind my hands. “There. You’re free.” He balls up the silk tie and throws it across the room.
I lay my chest across his lap and place my face alongside the cushions. My back is slightly arched and my ass is in the air like an invitation.
“What are you doing?” he asks, still very irritated.
“Making a decision,” I reply. “I want to be yours. Spank me.”
“Oh my God. You drive me insane, woman.” I chance a peek up at him and he’s rubbing his hand down his face, like he really is exasperated.
“Spank me for being bad.”
“Jesus, Grace. Why? Why are you doing this?”
I turn on my side so I can really look at him. And for the first time in years, maybe ten or more years… I’m honest. “Because I want to cry.”
He just stares at me, a wave of horror flashing across his face.
“I want you to spank me so I can cry. And then I want you to fuck me and make it better.”
His first smack is loud and hard. It stings. I lower my head back to the cushions and prepare for the next one. It comes swiftly. Then the next and the next. The stings become burns and then there’s no distinguishing one from the next. The sharp pain from each smack runs together until I begin to sob. They are soft at first. When they are just from the pain of his hands on my bottom, they are soft.
But then I forget where I am and the memories take over. I feel the guilt of living. I feel the pain of knowing I am alone. That my family is dead. That my brother never got a chance to be there for me when I needed him. For my parents, who were as nonexistent at my own wedding as I was. For all the family members who turned their backs on me.
I feel the shame. Shame for allowing that monster to take me and keep me and make me into someone I didn’t even recognize.
It’s not the pain or the fear that undoes me.
It’s the shame.
I cry hard. I gasp for air and sob uncontrollably. And I have no idea how long I do this before I realize Vaughn has stopped spanking me and he’s holding me to his chest. His hands sweeping down my back as he whispers in my ear. “It’s OK, Grace. It’s OK.”
Aside from that small breakdown in the hospital when I told Vaughn I was sad about the baby, this is the first time I’ve really felt anything in over ten years. “It’s not OK.” I tell him back. “It’s not OK. He took everything from me. I have nothing left. Not even myself.” For a second I fear that Vaughn will be offended at that statement, but he holds me tighter.
“I know,” he says. So unpredictable, this man. “I know. He killed your parents. He killed your brother. He took you away from your life and twisted your mind. He fucked up your whole life, Grace. You’re allowed to be pissed off and sad.”
My crying becomes ugly as the feelings flood in. But my gratitude is so overwhelming. Vaughn gets it. Of all the people who have tried to help me, this man—this self-centered, egotistical asshole—gets it.
None of this has anything to do with him.
It’s about me.
Chapter Eleven
#DayOneDoOver
“SWEETS,” Vaughn says in my ear. “It’s morning, babe. I have to go to work, will you be OK?”
I stir in his arms and realize I’m still naked and we are still in the movie room. “Yes,” I say automatically. I know he has to work. I want to throw a tantrum and tell him to call in sick, but I can’t. Not after he held me all night long and let me get it out of my system. Not after he was so patient with me.
“I’ll be home at eight. We only have three days of filming this week. I can’t wait for the long weekend.” And then he kisses me and he’s off.
What long weekend?