Revenge

by Laurelin Paige

  It was hard for Celia. And that was a very big turn-on, in more ways than just sexually.

  I threw back the last of my brandy, rid myself of the glass, then steepled my hands over my knee. “I do not want you to be my submissive in all things, Celia. I don’t want you to wear a collar, and I don’t expect you to be kneeling naked at the door when I arrive home from work. I want—”

  “Were those things you expected of Marion?”

  I couldn’t decide if I was more irritated by her interruption or by her continued mention of a woman who was solidly no longer a part of my life. My overall annoyance was plain in my answer. “My arrangement with Marion has no bearing on the arrangement I’d like to have with you. May I go on?”

  “Yes, Edward.”

  Her smart mouth and saucy tone was going to get her in trouble soon. My cock roused in anticipation.

  We aren’t there yet, I silently instructed the swelling organ in my pants. There was too much still to be made clear before bringing sex into the equation.

  I lowered my crossed leg to the floor and switched it for the other, subtly adjusting myself in the process. When I spoke again, my tone was softer but resolute. “I want you to let me take care of you. I want you to let me look after your well-being. I want authority over your free time, over your income. Over your body.”

  Heat simmered in her eyes, which she quickly blinked away. “Why?”

  “Because I think you’ll like it.”

  She let that settle. I could imagine the argument she was having over it in her head. She knew she’d like it, but could she let herself? What would that mean about her as a woman if she did? As a person? All logical questions yet irrelevant if she simply gave away the responsibility of answering. If she gave the decision-making to me.

  After a dozen or more seconds had passed, she sank back into the couch. “That’s it? You want to tell me what to do because you think I’ll like having you pick out my clothes and tell me what I’m allowed to spend.”

  It wasn’t quite a question, but I affirmed all the same. “And because I think it will be hard for you. And I know I will like that.”

  The heat returned to her eyes, and this time she let herself hold it. She was considering it. Really considering what it could be like, it was evident in her expression.

  And thank God, because now we could have a real conversation about it.

  “That sets me up to be very vulnerable,” she said, finally understanding what I wanted from her.

  “That isn’t new.”

  “I thought we were past that.”

  “Did you think we were past it because you wanted to be? Because you didn’t like it?”

  She didn’t hesitate. “I didn’t say that.”

  That’s right, she didn’t say that. Because she couldn’t say that and mean it. She’d very much enjoyed the ways I’d broken her down, even though the process had been difficult. She couldn’t deny that.

  “It’s the dynamic between us that has brought us the closest,” I pointed out, in case she hadn’t connected that.

  She swallowed. The next breath she took in shuddered through her. “It’s made me weak.”

  “Not at all. It’s made you strong.”

  “It’s made me unstable.”

  “It’s made you irresistible.”

  A smile flickered on her lips, her cheeks turning the lightest shade of red.

  A beat passed.

  “It makes me have to trust you.”

  She delivered this last statement as though she were giving confession, so I knew the answer before I asked it. “That’s still a problem for you?”

  She responded with silence, her eyes unable to meet mine.

  One of the reasons I was so attracted to her was because she was one of the few people who could still surprise me. Though this particular subject was not one I enjoyed being surprised by.

  I wanted her to trust me. I needed her to trust me. All of my rules about honesty and transparency had been set specifically to build up trust between us. It would be impossible for me to care for her the way she needed without it. Our relationship required it.

  After the panic subsided, I could see the situation for what it was more clearly. She did trust me. We never would have gotten this far if she didn’t. She just didn’t realize that she did.

  “You say you love me,” I challenged.

  “I do.” The response must have come more sharply than she meant it to because she repeated it with effusiveness. “I do, Edward.”

  “Doesn’t love require trust?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, then shut it again. Then repeated the opening and shutting, and I wondered how much of this argument had been given to her before from the shitstain of a human that was her uncle.

  “I’m not him,” I reminded her. “We aren’t that.”

  She nodded, affirming that she had indeed been thinking about him. “I think I’m beginning to know that,” she said. Then, after a pause, “Maybe it’s myself I don’t trust.”

  “And that’s why you want me to take care of you.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “I want you to take care of me?”

  “Mm.”

  I could feel her temptation to argue, but she knew as well as I did how much she wanted to be cared for. The thought of it alone made her eyes shine and her body press forward with eagerness. “What would…?” She licked her lips, gathering courage to explore the desire. “What would that look like exactly?”

  And now we were at the heart of the discussion, the part I’d been waiting for, where I’d lay it all out for her to accept and embrace. I took a breath, ready to explain on the exhale, but she cut me off.

  “You know, it’s hard to consider any of this talk different from last time when it still feels like we’re negotiating a business deal.”

  I’d purposefully set up the seating arrangement, keeping us apart. It was the same positioning I used in our sessions, the positioning I’d always used when I played with a woman’s mind. It was more of a challenge to manipulate without touch, but I’d learned from experience that it brought the most authentic results.

  Then, with Celia, when physical manipulation might have given me a hand up, I’d sat away from her because I’d needed the barrier. Because I hadn’t been able to trust myself if she were within reach.

  That concern had obviously been invalid. I hadn’t needed to be touching her to lose myself to her. Distance hadn’t had any benefit in the least.

  Tonight, though, I had assumed the boundaries would help her keep a clear head. The decisions she needed to make about our relationship required it.

  But I’d forgotten that she also needed reassurance. That, more than anything, she needed to feel loved.

  “Come here,” I said, the command abrasive with my self-displeasure.

  She didn’t need to be told twice. Within the space of a few seconds, she’d risen from her spot on the couch and crossed to me, where I pulled her into my lap. The chair was wide enough for her to sink down on the cushion next to me, her legs thrown over one of mine. It constantly amazed me how well we fit together like this, how her body seemed made to be melded to mine. How still my thoughts went when she was in my arms, like she was a meditative mantra that brought my focus laser sharp.

  I stroked her cheek with the tips of my fingertips, glad that she’d kept her makeup light so I could feel the true softness of her skin. “There are things that you need,” I said, my voice as much a caress as my hand. “And I will give them to you, but I will be the one who decides what those things are.”

  “What things do I need?” She looked back at me with an adoration I didn’t feel worthy of, but gladly accepted all the same.

  “There are your basic needs, for starters. You need to feel pampered yet important. You need to be admired for your intellect more than your beauty. You need structure to your day, but you prefer not to organize it. You need to have boundaries but you need to feel free.”

  “Yes,”
she whispered.

  “I want to be in charge of your schedule so that you don’t have to worry for yourself if you’re taking on more than you should. I want to ensure you have the tools you need to stay healthy—physically and mentally—because you won’t consider those things important on your own. You need me to do that for you. You need me to make sure you are getting appropriate exercise and brain stimulation. You need me to tell you how to prioritize your interests, because you have too many and they overwhelm you on your own.

  I brought my thumb to trace the edge of her bottom lip. “You need me to care for your appearance—to dictate how to wear your hair and what to dress and how to groom your pussy so that you aren’t tempted to use your body as a weapon as you have in the past. You won’t be able to play games with something that doesn’t belong to you. You need me to remind you that you belong to me. You need me to be sure there are consequences when you don’t.”

  She gasp-laughed, apparently shocked that I’d called her out so bluntly but unable to refute it as truth.

  I took the opportunity to slide my thumb past her lips and teeth into the recesses of her hot mouth. “Suck,” I demanded, feeling my pants tighten when she did, imagining it was my cock between her lips instead of my thumb. “You need me to turn you on,” I said, my voice low. “You need me to get into your head and understand the way you need to be fucked.”

  She hummed her agreement, sending a sharp jolt to the rigid bulge that was quickly growing beneath her.

  And then, because sex was so connected with psychology where I was concerned, “You need me to force you to face your demons. You need me to put you through sessions and ensure you see your psychiatrist and that you write in your diary regularly. You need me to be sure you don’t bury your hurt inside, turning you into a shell of a person. You need me to keep you present, and, trust me, everything that I demand from you—every pain I press from your body, every rule I require you to adhere to—it will all be with that goal in mind. I will keep you a full person. I won’t let you be anything less.”

  I drew my thumb out, resting it on her chin, my fingers curling around her jaw. She swallowed, and I could feel it against my knuckles. “I would expect you to respect me, because that’s what a master deserves. My demands here haven’t changed. You will support me publicly in all things, and if you do decide to argue with me privately, you accept that there may be punishment. This is a tough one for you, I know, but I believe you’ve had enough experience with me now to understand you can manage. Am I wrong?”

  She blinked, doe-eyed and nervous, her lids heavy with lust. “Are you wrong about the last thing or all of it? Because you aren’t wrong about the last thing. I know I can manage it.”

  I chuckled. “And the rest?”

  Her shoulders rose with her breath. “If that’s everything...I think I could manage it all too.”

  “I know you can.” My subtext was clear, prompting a more sincere agreement.

  “I want to. I want to try.”

  I leaned in to brush my lips against hers. “Good girl.” I kissed her lightly, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck to hold her how I wanted her. I only pulled back briefly to issue my last stipulation for her care. “There is one more thing you need, one more thing I am prepared to give you as soon as you agree.”

  “What’s that?” Her eyes were dilated and focused on my mouth, begging for more than the chaste kiss I’d delivered. It was tempting to give in to her desire.

  But I was in charge of her well-being, and the last thing she needed to accept from me was likely the most important.

  So I resisted and gave her the one word that would be the key to her healing. “Revenge.”

  Seven

  Celia

  “Revenge,” I repeated, cautiously, pulling back to look at Edward. “On who?”

  Asking the question was a stall tactic, perhaps. I knew the answer already. He’d spent years going after my father, going to absurd lengths in pursuit of justice. He’d abandoned that quest because I’d pointed him in another direction, not because he’d suddenly decided he didn’t need retribution.

  Sensing that my true question was why, he answered that instead. “You can’t understand the benefits of closure until you’ve experienced it. It may feel like life goes on. You may feel yourself get better and stronger as you accept the things that have happened to you in the past. But you can’t ever truly move on until you find resolution.”

  A moment ago I’d felt warm in his lap, my body keening for more of him physically. Now I suddenly felt cold and guarded.

  I rubbed my hands over my sleeves, trying to heat the skin underneath. “How can you know that? Since you haven’t found your own resolution yet yourself. What if you finally close that door and it doesn’t change anything?”

  He settled back in his chair, his head tilted as he examined me. “I haven’t felt resolution where Werner Media is, no. But I have experienced the rewards in other areas of my life. Trust me when I say they were worth the effort.”

  The hair stood up along the back of my neck.

  Edward had gone to dark places trying to make my father pay for something, it turned out, he hadn’t done. He’d not only married me but had also wanted to kill me, all so he could get his hands on my father’s company shares. It was still hard for me to believe I’d fallen in love with a man who could be so sinister, but, in the end, he hadn’t murdered me, and maybe that made it easier to overlook his thwarted plans.

  I smirked thinking about that. My husband, the man I was in love with, had only almost killed me. That was still a serious crime, and I’d forgiven him. It was quite possible I was a lunatic.

  Maybe the craziest part was that I’d never considered there may have been other plans of his that hadn’t been thwarted. Other revenge schemes just as ruthless and sinister that he’d gone through with. My skin tingled with curiosity. My gut churned with revulsion.

  Did I want to know?

  “Let’s not think about it,” he said, reading my expression correctly. He ran the back of a single finger across my jawline, tenderly. Soothing my unease. “Focus instead on your own lack of closure. How much easier would it be to press forward if you knew that Ron had atoned for the things he’s done?”

  “You mean how much easier would it be for you to know that he’d paid.”

  He dropped his hand at my acidic tone. “Yes, he owes me a debt, and I plan to collect, but in this moment, I’m thinking only about you.”

  His own words were stern but genuine. He really did mean to help. The least I could do was discuss it with him. “I can’t try to prosecute him. My parents would never back me, and without them on my side, I’d have no chance of winning. He’s a rich, powerful man. I’m sure you know as well as I do that rich men never pay for their crimes.” Besides, I was sure that revealing all the horrible secrets of my past to the world would do more harm to my psyche than good.

  “There are other ways besides the legal system to seek out justice.”

  I breathed through the shiver that threatened to crawl down my spine. Of course he wasn’t just thinking of the legal system. Had any of the ways he’d gone after Werner involved authorities? Even if there had been something illegal to nail them on, I had a feeling Edward would have avoided that route.

  And if the methods he wanted to pursue weren’t legal, I didn’t want any part of it. I should just say no and move on.

  But Ron had hurt me deeply and permanently, and as I’d begun to feel again, I’d only skimmed the surface of the well of rage that existed inside me.

  Did I want him to pay? Fuck yes.

  Only, at what cost?

  “What exactly are you suggesting?” I asked, unable to tamp down my interest.

  His lips puckered with a shrug, as if he didn’t have a long list of ideas already waiting to execute. Before I could call him on it, though, he said, “I thought I should leave that up to you.”

  Oh.

  I hadn’t been expecting
that.

  He took advantage of my surprise to press on. “What would you like to do with him, my little bird? You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

  I hadn’t thought about it for a long time. I’d pushed down all the memories and the feelings associated with them until they’d formed a cement chrysalis, holding them in and away from my conscious mind.

  Edward had broken through that shell, though, and now thoughts of vengeance did occupy more of my time than I liked to admit. But mostly they were rough and unformed ideas. The fantasies that had taken better shape were impossible to carry out or, at least, impossible for me to carry out. While I’d certainly love to parade Ron naked in a room full of rapists and sell him to the highest bidder, for example, I wouldn’t begin to know how to go about making the scenario take place.

  Edward might, however.

  That thought scared me as much as it excited me.

  “I’ve thought about hurting him,” I admitted, vigilant that anything and everything I said to my husband was collected and stored for later use. “And yes, I want him to pay. But, short of killing him—which I refuse to do—I wouldn’t even know where to begin that sort of takedown effort. I’m not that diabolical, I suppose.”

  God, the topic nauseated me. That I’d had to specify that I was against murder because I didn’t know my husband’s limits, doubly so.

  His caress was back, the hand he had wrapped around my waist stroking along my ribs. “Sure you are,” he said, and it took a moment to get past my indignation before realizing he had every reason to believe that was true.

  That wasn’t who I was anymore, though.

  Was I?

  “You know how to manipulate people,” he continued. “You’ve practiced these games for years. Same thing now. Only, this time, your victim is deserving.”

  “You mean use my powers for good?” I asked, scornfully.

  He chuckled. “Something like that.”

  I jumped out of his lap, the action so sudden he didn’t have time to try to tighten his hold before I was up. I had to put some space between us—not between me and him, but between me and the lure of being someone I didn’t want to be anymore.