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But was this sudden awareness any better? Stripped of her coping mechanism of denial and acceptance, she felt emotionally naked—shivering with rage, raw with pain and anger. I don’t belong to you, she wanted to scream. I belong to myself. I am my own person. I’m not your fucking obedient wife.
“How’s it going, Kelsey? You making progress? Let me see what you’ve written so far.”
Kelsey jerked in startled surprise, the pen skittering over the page at the sound of James’ voice. He held out his hand for the pad. Kelsey let out a deep, shuddering breath, willing her expression to go blank, terrified he’d see the rebellion on her face. Keeping her head down, reluctantly, Kelsey held out the pad.
James took it, his smile shifting to a frown as he read the only two sentences she’d managed to come up with so far. “That’s it? That’s all you wrote in twenty minutes?”
“I—I’m not used to writing with a pen. I think better with my fingers on a keyboard.” That much was true. But James didn’t trust her to get on his laptop. The internet was only a click away and she might blow the bastard’s cover.
He might try to pretend that what they were doing was consensual, but he had to know better. Even he couldn’t be that fucking deluded.
James read her words aloud, words he’d basically told her to write as an opening. “I am an obedient wife. My husband has been teaching me that to submit and obey are the hallmarks of a truly content and spiritual woman.”
He handed the pad back to her. “It’s not a bad start, but I know you can do better than that. Write about how good it makes you feel when you’ve pleased me. Write about why being punished makes you a better wife, and what steps you have been taking to make sure you keep your husband happy. Put some stuff in there about the sex, too. I want details about how intense your climaxes are within the framework of pleasing your husband. Tell about how grateful you are for the orgasms, but even more grateful for the opportunity to satisfy and serve your husband.”
Why don’t you write the fucking thing yourself?
Kelsey clapped her hand over her mouth, for half a heartbeat terrified she’d spoken those words aloud. James was watching her, a frown on his face. Get a grip, get a grip, Kelsey ordered herself. Don’t let him know anything’s different. Don’t let him think you’ve changed.
She ordered her face to smooth itself into a bland smile, the expression he liked to call “serene”. “Thank you, sir. Those are good suggestions.” She picked up her pen and bent over the pad. She would use his words and make him happy so she could end this particular farce. What had he said? Something about punishment making her a better wife?
Fucking asshole. How does being brutalized, terrorized and half-starved make me a better wife? And I’m not your fucking wife, anyway.
Kelsey realized she’d been writing, her hand moving of its own accord over the paper. She read what she had scrawled: I hate James. I hate James. I hate James.
With a gasp, she grabbed at the page and tore it from the pad, crumpling it into a ball. James looked down at her. “What? What’s the problem?”
“Nothing.” She hid the balled paper behind her back and pushed it beneath her bottom.
“Let me see. I bet it was fine. You need more confidence.” He held out his hand. “Come on. Show me.”
“No!” Oh god, why hadn’t she crossed out those damning words? What was wrong with her? She couldn’t let him see it. No, no, no, no.
James stood, towering over her. “Did you just say no to me?” His voice had taken on that silky, dangerous tone she knew meant trouble.
“Please. It’s—it’s just scribbles. Really. I’m starting over, see?” She held up the blank pad, her heart beating like a drum in her chest, the crumpled paper prickling beneath her still-tender ass.
James reached for her, gripping her forearms and hauling her to her feet. “To quote Shakespeare,” he said with an ugly grin, “the lady doth protest too much.” He pulled her against him and wrapped one strong arm around her torso, while leaning down and grabbing the ball of paper with his other. He let her go and sat down, smoothing the page flat against his computer desk.
Kelsey sprinted away from him, not sure where she was going, but desperate to get there. Though mostly healed, the wound on her leg still slowed her gait, but fear spurred her forward. She ran through the living room to the kitchen and skidded to a stop in front of the silverware drawer. She yanked it open and groped for a sharp knife.
James came thundering into the room behind her. She whirled to face him, the knife clenched in her shaking fist. Blind with fear and fury, she raised the knife and rushed at him, aiming the point at his face.
