Page 45 of Graciously His

“I’m going to bed,” she says, voice low but determined.

“Yeah,” I walk towards her, “we are going to bed—after you agree to my terms.”

She throws her hands up. “What are you even talking about, Nate? I’m here, aren’t I? I haven’t left, even when I had the chance to. I’ve done everything you’ve told me to do!” She steps back towards the bathroom when I draw close. “What more do you want?”

“I’ve already told you, Grace. I want everything.”

“Well, too bad,” fire ignites in her eyes, even as she swipes an angry tear away, “because I have fuck-all left to give!”

“Watch your mouth—keep those f-bombs for when I’m fucking you.”

I wait, my eyes on her. Grace telegraphs every move before she makes it, confessing the sin before it’s committed. Her body shifts into readiness and she tries to make a dash for the bathroom, probably to lock herself in again. I grab her shoulders and use her own momentum to push her up against the wall, my body caging hers. It’s a posture that’s starting to feel wonderfully familiar, and I revel in it, my cock hardening.

“Let go of me!”

“So you can lock yourself away?” I catch her wrists in one hand; with the other, I pet her hair, soothing her even as I work her down. “You do realise I could get that door open in about two seconds, right? You make me do that, Grace, and I’ll remove it from its hinges—permanently. So, if you don’t want a door to exist between me and your basic bodily functions, then keep fucking fighting me.”

Her rigid posture slackens and I release her wrists. She’s staring down at my chest, her own heaving. I let her catch her breath.

“You are beyond insane,” she whispers.

“Is it insane to take care of my wife?”

“How is obsessing over my every living moment taking care of me?”

I smile, pleased that we’re coming to the point. “You’ve been perfectly cared for since the moment I arrived at that police station. Thank you for admitting it.”

“Cared for by whose measure?” She wedges her elbows between us to cross her arms, clearly trying to make herself feel less uneasy.

I decide to drop all pretense, going right to the facts, which are indisputable.

“How has your pain been, Grace? I know you’ve had some air hunger today, but I also know your joints and stomach are better since you’ve been under my care.”

She tries to push away from me. “We have one day of data, which is completely useless since I’m a grieving widow who’s been kidnapped by her brother-in-law. You’ve managed to lower my pain levels in the midst of all that—does that mean I have to give you access to everything?”

“Yes.” I take her hand, pulling her towards the bed. “That’s exactly right. You give me what I ask for, and I give you the care you’ve needed for decades.”

“And where does it end? You get to see my bullet journal and my medical files. You get to have my—my body. Where does it end? Are you going to demand access to my phone, too?”

“No need,” I say, letting the words drop between us.

I release her as her eyes sharpen, readying myself. I could hide the spyware until she puts it all together, realising every tendril of control I’ve spun around her life. But that’s not what I want our marriage to be. I want her to give me everything—even if I’ve already taken it.

“You knew my mother called,” she whispers, staring up at me, “you knew the moment her call came through. You lied to me! You said you didn’t even turn on my phone—and you, what?—installed some kind of spying program on it?”

“All I did,” I answer slowly, “was let you come up with your own truth in a moment when you needed to calm down.”

She steps away, panic pulling her spine into a rigid curve. “That’s fucked up, Nate, even for you! You forced me to let you handle my mother on the phone—then you made me believe a lie so I'd talk to the doctor. And now, what, you want to confess?”

“Now you know exactly where things stand. I copied your bullet journal. I put spyware on your phone. I arranged our marriage to be legally binding. Sit down and tell me what you want, Grace, and we can find a middle ground. I told you that everything is negotiable, and I meant it.”

She hovers, eyes darting from me to the sliding door, then to the bathroom. “I-I don’t want to negotiate.”

“Poor love. I know it’s a lot, but we need to talk this through so that we can get to where we need to be by the time you go to sleep tonight.”

Her brow knits, her eyes coming back to me. “And where is that?”

“In agreement with one another.” I lean forward, blocking her access to everything but the bed. “And with me so deep inside you, you can’t think of anything else.”