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I snap, "Of course it wasn't!"
"Then tell me how you're upholding your vow," he challenges.
I can't form any words to answer. We stare at each other in the soft darkness. The sound of the wind whipping against the window gets louder, making the glass colder, a stark contrast to the warmth of my husband's body.
His face changes, and the control I usually see in it returns. The deep-seated need to be his, to obey his commands and submit to him without thinking about any of our issues, festers. He leans into my ear and murmurs, "Tell me you love me, pet."
I don't hesitate, claiming, "I do love you."
His lips graze my neck as he states, "Tell me you accept me, faults and all."
My insides quiver. I had forgotten my vow to Riggs. I knew he was twisted and capable of anything when I married him. And while I meant it, I'm struggling to let what he did slide. I admit, "I didn't know you'd use me."
He freezes, his hot breath creating tingles under my skin, his heart beating against my shoulder.
I release his hair and slide my hands over his cheeks. He lets go of my locks, and I move my face in front of his. I stroke his lips with my thumbs, blinking a new river of tears that slide down my face at record speed. I confess, "More than anything, I want to forget about what you did."
"Then do it," he orders, with a desperation I've never heard in his voice.
"It's not that easy."
He glances at the ceiling, then sniffs hard. Moments pass, then he relocks his blues on me. Fear fills his tone as he questions, "So you didn't mean your vow? It was only acceptance of what you chose?"
I've never felt so horrible in my life. I want to tell him no, that I meant what I promised him. Yet instead of answering, I accuse, "Did you think my vow meant you could do whatever you wanted without consequences?"
"You went around my question," he seethes.
I close my eyes, unable to see the suffering on his face any longer.
"Look at me," he orders.
I obey, finding the courage to stand tall under his angry gaze.
He surprises me. I think he'll release me, but instead, he slides his hands on my cheeks and kisses me. His tongue tastes like scotch. It slides past my lips and urgently flicks in my mouth.
There's nothing I can do but submit, grasping his head and holding him as tight as possible, displaying the same desire to be his as he has to be mine. I reach for his pants and tug on his belt.
He retreats, stepping back and breathing hard. I step toward him, and he slings his arm around my waist and maneuvers me in front of the full-length mirror. He holds me tight to his frame, pinning his eyes on my reflection. He quizzes, "What do you see, pet?"
"You. Me."
Disappointment fills his voice. He claims, "Wrong answer. Try again."
More tears escape. I confess, "Two people who love each other but can't figure out how to move forward."
"Still wrong," he barks.
I jump slightly, then shake my head, crying out, "I don't know what you want me to say, Riggs."
He tightens his hold around me. His erection digs into my back, and his hand cups my pussy. He demands in my ear, "Think."
I say the only thing that comes to my mind that I think he wants to hear. "A Dom and his sub."
Riggs's eyes widen. His agony intensifies, and I instantly regret my words. He releases me and steps back. He speaks so quietly that I barely hear him. He asks, "Is that what you see?"
I spin, admitting, "I don't know what you want me to say, so whatever this is, I can't win."
His jaw twitches. He declares, "Why don't you ask me what I see."
