Page 4 of Broken Discipline
“Why are you submitting to this?” the man asked.
His voice was deep and hoarse. Emotion simmered under the surface, like he was burying it inside of a protective barrier. I lifted my shoulders, my wrists still bound in rope behind my back.
“I don’t have a choice,” I said.
He kneeled down beside me, heat coming off of his body, his musky, roasted scent enveloping me. I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the worst, but his hands touched my rope bindings, his fingertips skimming my skin and sending electric surges through me.But why?I hadn’t reacted like this with my husband’s cousin. So whyhim?
Maybe my body was numb. Maybe I was trying to survive by giving into it all. Letting this strange man’s presence wash over me.
The ropes fell from my wrists, dropping to the ground. The man stood up, his presence massive as he towered over me. He was muscular, bulky and intimidating in a militaristic way, like a man who knew how important it was to be fit and aggressive. Wavy black hair topped his head, the sides neatly tapered and close to his skull. His thick bottom lip puffed out of his groomed beard. But those bright gray eyes held me, piercing my soul, bringing me back to another time. Anotherlife.When my choices weren’t as bad as I thought they were. When things were simple. And for a moment, looking into his eyes, it felt like they werestillsimple.
His jaw ticked, the veins and tendons in his face taut. Fury and lust warred in his expression. His tongue flicked across his bottom lip. His chest visibly tightened, his pectorals flexing the griffin, the inked creature ready to fight.
This strange man could rip me in half if he wanted. Part of me was drawn to that, though I didn’t understand why.
My husband’s cousin had already smashed my face with the club, then penetrated me with the handle. I covered my stomach, trying to brace myself for what the man was about to do. Would it be worse than before?
“The door is right there,” he said.
Nervous heat coursed through me. I had tried to run away before when my husband and his cousin were still here, but now it seemed like a trap. The man was giving me a choice, showing me that I did have power. I could stand up. Twist the knob. Leave the room. It almost seemed like he was giving me safety, somehow, by seeing me as someone with agency. Bruce, my husband, so rarely gave me that respect.
Was it a trap? Did he want to see me run?
Instead, I froze in place, like a deer in headlights waiting to be slaughtered by an oncoming semi-truck. But instinct compelled me: this man wasn’t going to kill me. Not yet.
“Hands behind your back,” he said.
Instantly, I did as I was told, angry with myself for not resisting. But if I disobeyed, my husband might take a privilege away from the twins, and I couldn’t stand that.
But maybe it was for another reason now. Maybe I felt safe with this man. Protected somehow.
He didn’t see a sacrifice; he saw me.
He crouched down in front of me, examining my stomach. Instinctively, I covered myself again. Ripples of light pink stretch marks crisscrossed my stomach like the loose weave of a basket. He pulled my hands away from my stomach, forcing me to expose myself.
“Where are your children?” he asked.
I let out a breath. It must have been obvious what the pink scars were from the pregnancy.
“With the nanny,” I mumbled.
“Does the nanny raise them?”
“No.She only works when Bruce needs me to attend an event with him like this,” I explained, my tone more defensive than I expected. But even marrying a billionaire, I had never intended to let a nannyraisemy children. I had given up so much for their futures, but I wasnevergoing to let that go too. Her position was temporary, and Iinsistedon that.
The man touched the scar on my upper arm and a shock wave tore through me, my hands dropping to my sides, my fists curled.
“And that?” he asked.
“Curling iron,” I lied. It was from my husband’s failed attempt at getting himself off. But I didn’t want this stranger’s pity. I didn’t even know him.
“Does your husband hurt you?” he asked.
“No,” I said instantly.
“Just the cousin?” I bowed my head. He already saw the damage; why was he making me say it aloud? “One day, I’ll take care of that. Now, hands behind your back.”
My skin flushed as I quickly fixed myself. But why did I care whether or not I followed his instructions? It didn’t make any sense, and yet my obedience was instinctual in a way I hadn’t felt with my husband or his cousin. Like Iwantedto surrender to him. “If you can’t follow a simple order, I’ll have to punish you until you remember. Now, on your feet.”
