Page 83 of Edge of Heaven

“I took a shower for you,” I say in what I hope is a sexy voice.

“Why can’t you ever do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it?” he growls, his face darkening.

Ugh.

He’s mad.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I thought freshening up would be nice.”

“When I tell you to wait for me in bed, I don’t expect you to do anything but that.” He strides over to me, grabbing me by the arms.

“Ow!” I yelp. “Stop it.”

“I’ll stop when I feel like stopping.”

Now that he’s up close, I can tell he’s high.

That’s probably why he was gone so long.

Which is a problem in more ways than one. Not only is he ugly when he’s high, if he’s on coke, he can have sex without getting off for hours. And he’s not a fan of lube so I’m in for a pounding.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” He shoves me, sending me sprawling onto the bed. “You know how much you’ve cost me in the last nine months?”

I don’t respond because there’s no point.

“All you do is complain about how mean I am, but I know what you’re doing. I know you plan to leave the second I make that last payment. And I know you’ve been fucking Mick Lips.”

I shake my head. “I haven’t! Yes, we saw each other in New York and hung out between takes during the shoot, but I’m not sleeping with him!”

Not exactly.

I am in love with him, though.

Not that I’ll say any of that out loud.

“Don’t fucking lie to me!” He advances on me angrily, fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m not.” My voice breaks a little and I flinch as he yanks off his belt.

“I told you not to lie to me!” He wraps part of the belt around his fist and then swings the loose part, smacking my thighs.

“Callum, knock it off!” I scramble off the bed.

“I fucking told you to get on the bed.”

“Not if you’re going to hurt me like that.”

“Like this?” He holds up the belt. “You have a lot more to worry about than my belt. Get over here.”

I shake my head, suddenly terrified. He’s always scary when he’s high, but there’s something in his eyes I’ve never seen before today, and my gut tells me this is going to be bad.

“You’re nothing but a greedy little slut,” he says, walking toward me menacingly. “You want the money but you don’t want to be a real partner.”

“What more do you want?” I cry. “We have sex every single day, usually multiple times. I’m with you twenty-four-seven unless I’m traveling, but you’re not going to make me feel bad about wanting to see my son or work so I can bring some money in.”

“The only reason you want to work is so that you can leave. I’m not fucking stupid!” he yells.

“I wouldn’t leave if you’d stop attacking me all the time!” I whisper, tears spoiling down my cheeks. “If you didn’t hit me with a belt. If you didn’t leave bruises on my ass.”

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