Page 45 of Good As Hell

“Wassup?” Tucking my feet beneath me on the sofa, I ask as if I couldn’t care less. Which is kinda true. There are rumors are swirling around our relationship. Some reports are that the attack was an inside job from the palace. My heart chilled as I read blog after salacious blog stating all the reasons why their most benevolent prince would be well rid of the American usurper.

If there was anything left of my heart to shatter about the betrayal, I would have expired from all the reports.

I can’t stifle the sigh as I wait for his response. His gaze sharpens as he expels his exasperation in a similar manner.

“You will not be going back to volunteer with the earthquake survivors.” He’s standing as I sit, but why does it feel like he’s looking down his nose at me?

“Why?” I demand, adding as I stand to face him, though he still towers over me. “Why am I being punished by someone else’s actions?”

“Your little publicity stunt cost the lives of my men,” he snaps.

My face heats like he’s slapped me. “First of all, it was the queen’s idea. I kept going because I wanted to help people.” I leave out the fact that it was the first thing that I’ve found purpose in outside of being Ayaan’s mom in a long, long while. Performing is my gift, but reaching out and helping the people devastated by this tragedy gave me such an amazing feeling. It’s not for myself but for others that had me going out there every day. It truly made me happy and I think he knew that and for that reason alone wants to take it from me.

“Sure Empress, I saw the social media posts you have your little fan girls posting — Princess Of The People, is it?” He scoff of disdain making his face harden to an almost blank mask.

“What? You’re scared they may like me more than you?” I quip, trying not to let his cruel assertions further mar the work I’ve done.

“Oh no,” he huffs, “I have no fear of that little diva. You need all the help you can get.”

“You sound like a jealous little bitch, Hassan. Why don’t you go back to whatever euro-trash flavor of the week you have waiting for you in your flat in Marrakesh, or is it Rabat? Casablanca?” I shrug, unbothered. “Thank them for me, won’t you? I’m tired of the mediocrity, tink.” Forcing a fake giggle, I flounce away.

Hard fingers curl around my arm, snapping me back to his chest.

“Mediocre, huh?” he growls down at me. “Seems like you need a reminder of how hard I make you come.”

I shiver. Immediately my need to save myself from ruination at his hands kicks in. Swinging wildly, I catch the side of his head.

“Motherfucker—” he swears loudly. I pause all of two seconds, my eyes rounding at the way his ear reddens. I don’t wait, I peel off in the direction of my — our bedroom.

Just as I slam shut, I see his face full of malicious determination charging towards me.

Heart thudding, I back up, anticipating the chaos about to ensure.

No sooner than I clear the door does it come flying off the hinges.

“Are you fucking insane?” I scream as he stalks toward me.

‘Yes. Yes, the fuck I amwife.”His strides eat up the distance. He doesn’t stop, only stoops to pick me up, tossing me on the bed.

“It’s time you learn how to be a proper wife.” He settles on the bed, dragging me over his lap.

“You’re like a fucking child in need of constant discipline.” He growls, pulling my kaftan up over my hips and off my body. Cool air touches my bare bottom.

“No panties?” I can feel the heaviness of his dick pressing against my abdomen as I lay over his lap.

“It’s too warm.” I mumble, feeling heavy hands caress my bottom.

“Huh? Makes things easier. Fuck. You’ve been walking around all this time like this?” He muses, his voice deepening to an almost primitive gutturalness.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.

“Let’s commence with you discipline, shall we?” He’s all business. I’m not so sure I like that.

“Ha—” my words break from me as he begins his punishment with a ruthless determination, giving me no reprieve.

“We. Don’t. Hit.” He says with finishing smacks after what seems like an eon. “Say it.”

“We don’t hit.” I hiccup around the pressure in my chest built up trying to keep from sobbing, or goodness forbid begging him to stop.

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