Page 23 of Gentleman's Anger
“First Corinthians, chapter thirteen, verses four through seven tells us thatlove is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.Please join me in celebrating the love shared between Logan Edward Reynolds and Patience Aria Jayne Winters. Does anyone know of any reason why these two should not be lawfully joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.” She gives a pause and thankfully no one says anything. “Let us pray.”
A little while later, I’m officially Mrs. Logan Reynolds and I couldn’t be happier.
* * *
THREE MONTHS LATER
“Quiet on the set!” I hear a stagehand yell from somewhere just out of my line of sight.
“Action!” Stella Arnett, the director ofThe Debauched Duchessshouts.
This scene has me bent over a saddle. I wait, pretending I’m not nervous as hell about this. Holly has fucked up mind. At least it’s artfully done.
“Duchess?” Logan, aka the Duke of Stoke-On-Trent calls as he comes up behind me. He runs his hands over my ass and squeezes it. There wasn’t much in the way of direction, which is how Stella prefers it to be. She likes a natural and not acted look to love making scenes.
“Yes, Your Grace?” I ask. The premise of the book is that Sinclair and Persephone were forced into this marriage. Neither wants to be in it, so Sin takes it out on his wife. Neither one believes in love. Sin only believes in pain and anger, while Persephone believes in nothing. Their origin story is harrowing, but then they begin to love each other. So much so that it burns brighter and hotter than the fires of Hell. It’s a lot, and Holly might be a sadist for having been a virgin when she wrote the damn book.
“I thought I told you to call me Sinclair?”
“You did, but I…”
“No, but’s duchess mine.” I am prepared for it, but it still stings when his hand comes down on my ass. I could have used an ass-double but I chose to be as authentic as possible.
“Why? Why are you hurting me?” I turn my head to look at Logan, but he’s weirdly good at this for being the second scene he’s shot. He brings his hand down on me again.
“Does it pain you?”
“No,” my character lies.
“Liar,” he says as he brings his hand down again. Fuck, it really does hurt, but that’s a part of the story, so I roll with it. Angrily, I stand and turn toward him, naked as the day I was born. My long blonde wig covering all the important bits.
“I’m not lying. Do it more. Do it until you cannot do it anymore. I will not bow down to you.” At this point the characters have been married for one whole day.
“Is there someone else? Is that it? Is that why you resist me as your lord and master?”
“There is no one else. I resist you because I despise you. I know all about you, Sinclair and none of it good. I do not want to be your wife.” I’m prepared for him grabbing me, but what I am not prepared for is me liking it. His big ass hands grab my upper arms and pulls me toward him.
“Despise me all you like, Persephone. You are my wife and only death will change that.”
“Then you had better kill me now.”
“Perhaps I’ll fuck this attitude out of you. Yes. You would like that. Your pupils are dilated, your skin flushed and pebbled with gooseflesh. You want this cock between your legs. Try and deny it.” He pushes me down on the bed and simulates having his way with me, but fuck I wish all these people weren’t in this room right now. My character is supposed to stay quiet, not enjoying this… yet. “Open for me, Persephone. I shall make it so fucking good for you.”
There’s more and more of that, but eventually we get through the scene and when cut is called, my assistant, Perri, brings me my robe, while Logan’s assistant, Darren, brings him his. Once I am belted into the robe, he all but drags me to our shared trailer.
Once in there, he does have his way with me.
“Remind me to thank Holly,” he says after I’ve come for the third, maybe fourth time.
“What for?”
“Writing that damn book.”
“Can you believe she was a virgin when she wrote it?”
“No, I can’t,” he replies.
“You can’t tell her I said that.”
