Slay

by Laurelin Paige

  Edward was a different kind of fit, with a long lean runner’s body and tight muscles from regular weight-lifting. He was definitely capable of hauling me himself, and, I suspected, that his deep sense of possessiveness would never allow him to let another man so close to me, no matter what he said about letting me sleep with other people.

  Or maybe that was just how I wished he felt.

  Because the devil only said, “That’s very kind of you, Louvens. I would have made her tough it out herself. What’s a little pain, after all?” He looked specifically at me when he said that. Then back to Louvens. “Good luck making it all the way back to the house.”

  He took off, resuming his earlier swift pace.

  Fucking asshole.

  “I can make it, Mrs—Celia. Don’t worry.” Louvens proved himself, barely breaking a sweat before he approached the back patio.

  Edward, on the other hand, faltered. He belied his detached, cruel facade when I spotted him watching for me at the library window. Just as he had the night before, he kept his eyes pinned on me until I was safely back on the ground and Louvens had said goodbye. Only when he was walking away did Edward disappear back to his desk.

  And then I had another idea.

  “Who cares for the pool?” I asked Tom later that afternoon.

  “Mateo. He does everything with the water. The boats, the pool, the fountains.” She was putting away groceries from Eliana’s earlier mainland run.

  I leaned my hip against the kitchen island. “Boats?”

  “Do you want Mateo to take you out?”

  Not at the moment, but it would have been nice to at least been told of the option. Thank you, Edward. Not.

  “No, no. Not today, thanks. But I think the chemical balance is off in the pool. It has a weird odor that it didn’t have yesterday.”

  “I’ll call him to come out,” she said, pulling out a jar of Blow Pops and placing it on the counter.

  “Thanks. Oh, and can I have one of those?” I pointed to the candy.

  “Help yourself.”

  Awesome. I could use a prop.

  When Mateo arrived a half an hour later, I walked out wearing designer sunglasses, high-heel sandals, and a strappy white bikini that was so skimpy it could barely be called clothing. The bottoms had the smallest strip of material possible to cover the crotch and the top was only a band along the bottom, two thin straps going up around the neck, and flesh-colored mesh over the breasts with a cutout daisy-shaped flower covering the nipples. To top it all off, I was sucking on a big red Blow Pop.

  In other words, I was walking porn.

  I pulled the Blow Pop from my mouth and squatted next to Mateo where he was stooped to check the pool’s chemical levels. “What does the reader thingy say?” I asked.

  I didn’t really care about the answer, but he was facing the house, and, though I wasn’t even sure Edward was currently in the library, I wanted to be seen talking to yet another man if he was.

  “It’s, uh.” He glanced over at my breasts—because breasts—then quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening. “Well, the salinity looks good.” He hit a button on the reader. “And the PH level looks okay too. But let me try the manual color tester just to be sure.”

  “Oh. Is the machine thing not always accurate?” I heard the slide of a glass door, but I forced myself not to look up. For all I knew, it could be Tom bringing out iced tea. She was really thoughtful like that.

  But in case it wasn’t Tom, I put the Blow Pop back in my mouth. My lips and tongue were already cherry red from the candy. I’d checked before I came out.

  Mateo was more modest than Louvens, but always eager to share knowledge. “The digital tester is accurate as long as it’s calibrated correctly. The color tester is more work, but a little more reliable. I just need to—”

  “Is something wrong with the pool?” Edward’s voice boomed from the lanai.

  Bingo.

  I looked up at my husband but let Mateo answer. “Nah. Just testing the chemicals,” he said.

  Edward came closer, stopping at the edge of the pool across from us. “I thought you tested it on Friday.”

  “I did, but Celia…” We were still crouched down, my cleavage still prominently on display so when Mateo glanced over to gesture at me, he once again caught an eye-full.

  Quickly, he stood up, his cheeks going brighter than the last time. “Mrs. Fasbender, I mean, noticed a strange scent,” he said to his boss.

  Edward crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh, did she, now.” He was clearly displeased.

  Slowly I rose to my full height and pulled the Blow Pop from my mouth. “It’s probably just my nose. I think it’s clogged or something. I must be getting a cold.” I draped a hand on Mateo’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry to make you come all the way over here for something so silly.”

  Edward’s eyes narrowed.

  Mateo glanced at my hand then to my husband then back at my hand. He swallowed. “It’s not a problem. It’s my job.”

  “You’d better come on inside and rest then, darling. Fight that cold before it settles in.”

  “I guess that’s my cue to say goodbye,” I said, too quietly for Edward to hear. Leaning in, I placed a sugary kiss on Mateo’s cheek then sauntered around the pool toward the other side.

  Edward watched me the whole way.

  “Are you going to come tuck me in, my dear husband?” I asked when I was closer.

  God, the look on his face. He wanted to hurt me.

  It was fantastic.

  I wished he would.

  “The point is rest, not recreation,” Edward said, specifically for Mateo. There hadn’t been any “recreation” between us since we’d arrived on the island, and no reason for me to think it was happening now, no matter how much I wanted it.

  “I don’t think there’s much of a difference when it comes to us,” I said coldly and softly enough that no one heard but him. I was almost to him now. The patio was large enough that there was no need to get this close, but there had also been no need for Mateo to come over and measure the pool chemicals.

  Edward said nothing until I brushed past him. Then he grabbed my arm, firmly, and yanked me toward him.

  Yes, yes! He was effected. He was cracking. He was losing control, and any minute now he’d have to kiss me.

  Would it be now?

  I held my breath and waited, my heart thundering in my chest, my skin burning under his grip.

  His gaze lowered to my lips, but he didn’t lean in. “I thought you twisted your ankle.”

  “Oh.” I lifted my leg and circled my foot around. “I guess it’s better now.” I held up the Blow Pop and gave it an exaggerated lick with my tongue. Since he hadn’t made good use of my mouth, I reminded him what he was missing.

  His eye ticked. “Careful, Celia. You’re pushing me.”

  Good. That was the whole idea.

  He let go of my arm with a flourish, almost like he was throwing it away. Throwing me away.

  I shook myself and lifted my shoulders back proudly. Then I popped the sucker back in my mouth and went into the house, letting him watch me walk away.

  Thirty-Two

  I’d gone back to my suite when Edward ordered me there, took off my shoes and sunglasses, and plopped onto the bed, hoping he’d follow in after me, despite what he’d said.

  I must have fallen asleep because, next thing I knew, I was having one of the baby dreams I sometimes had. It was different than usual, though. Instead of being hazy and still, it was vivid and full of motion. Normally I only felt like I was in it, but this time I could actually see myself.

  There was a man, as always, and for the first time, he was holding the baby. But he was in front of me so I could only see his backside and the baby bundle over his shoulder, and I wanted to get to him—get to both of them—so I was walking toward them.

  But it was one of those dreams, where the more I walked, the farther away he got.

  So I started running. And ru
nning. And running. And running, never getting closer.

  And suddenly the baby was gone, and the man was behind me, and instead of wanting to get to him, I wanted to get away. I ran faster and faster, as fast as I could go, but he was on my heels, chasing me. Reaching for me.

  “Careful, Celia,” he said just as his fingers dug into my arm.

  I woke with a start. It was dark out, which made sense since the sun had been near setting when I’d been at the pool with Mateo.

  But it felt too dark. Like I’d slept too long.

  I picked up my phone to check the time, the only thing it was good for on the island because I had zero service. Seven-twenty.

  Dinner was always at seven sharp, and Tom always came to get me if I didn’t show up on my own.

  I must have missed her knock, and she hadn’t wanted to disturb me.

  I got up and started toward my closet to look for something suitable to wear to dinner since I was still in my bikini, then changed my mind. If Edward was cracking, this wasn’t the time to back down on my game.

  As soon as I walked out of my room, I could tell something was wrong, and it wasn’t just the weird energy clinging from my bad dream. The whole house was dark. And quiet. There should have been raucous laughter and the scraping of utensils against plates.

  I wandered through the kitchen on the way to the dining room. It was empty and clean where usually it was a mess until after Joette and Tom cleaned it up, which always happened after dinner.

  There was no way a meal had been prepared in there. The dining room was also empty, as I knew it had to be. I continued past it toward the library, where, at last, there was a light on.

  As much as I hated myself for it, I was relieved when I saw Edward. I’d begun to fear everyone had gone somewhere without me.

  He was sitting behind his desk, a pair of reading glasses propped on his nose. I hadn’t seen him in eyewear before, besides sunglasses, and I had to catch my breath. Was there no look this man couldn’t carry off? Not only carry off, but fucking excel at?

  “Where is everybody?” I asked, stretching my hands over my head. I actually needed to stretch this time. It wasn’t part of my plan to torment him, but, hey, it was a nice side effect.

  Or it would have been if he would have looked up from his computer. “I told the staff not to come in tonight,” he said plainly.

  “Really?” Tom hadn’t said anything about it when I’d talked to her earlier. “Any particular reason?” Maybe he wanted to dine alone with me.

  God, I hope he wanted to dine on me.

  “Yes, actually. I couldn’t continue to bring guests into my house when my wife,” he emphasized the last two words, “can’t seem to keep from flaunting around in scanty swimwear, now could I?” He turned and bent his head to peer at me over his glasses. “Case in point.”

  His tone had an edge to it, suggesting he was angry and only barely able to restrain himself. Not just angry, but really angry.

  There wasn’t going to be any dining with me or on me.

  He was such a sore loser, because that’s what this was. A loser’s move.

  “So you just canceled dinner because you’re mad at me?” If he was going to be angry, I was too, and I wasn’t even going to try to hide it.

  “You’re welcome to prepare something for yourself. Joette left a couple of sandwiches in the fridge. I’m sorry—I already ate them.”

  Bullshit.

  He was so transparent. So arrogant. So maddening.

  I called him on it. “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You aren’t sorry.”

  He took of his glasses, set them on his desk, then sat back and stared at me smugly. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  His contemptuous response only fueled my anger. “And you didn’t tell everyone to stay away because you’re worried about your wife parading around inappropriately.” I took a step toward him. “You did it because you can’t stand how it makes you feel when other people look at me.”

  “Pfft.”

  “When other men look at me.” I was purposefully taunting him, because fuck him.

  He shot up from his chair and leaned one fist on the desk, the other hand curled into with one sharp finger stabbing at the wood as he made his points. “I told you before we were married that I expected you to be a model wife.” Stab. “That you were to be perceived as faithful.” Stab. “Parading around in next-to-nothing in front of my staff,” stab, “And flirting with anyone that has a cock,” stab, “Will not be tolerated.”

  Fuck. He was really, really mad.

  I really, really shouldn’t keep provoking him.

  Why was I never good at doing what I should?

  “Won’t be tolerated by you, you mean.” I took another step toward him.

  His eye twitched. Twice. “Damn right.”

  “I should be punished then, shouldn’t I?” I asked in a put-on cutesy voice. “For being such a bad wife.”

  I was next to him now, at the side of his desk. So close I could feel the heat of his rage radiating off of him.

  He said nothing, but I could see a vein in his neck pushing tautly against his skin.

  “For being such a bad girl.” I was wicked. I really, really was.

  “Celia—” He warned.

  I leaned against the desk at this angle, mimicking his position, my breasts thrust out in front of me. My ass high in the air. “You want to punish me, don’t you? You want to hurt me. I can see it in your eyes. I bet you want to bend me over your knee right now and spank the living—”

  And then he was behind me, one hand pushing me over the desk, the other furiously pulling my bikini bottoms down before his palm smacked against my skin, hard. Incredibly hard. And fast, six, seven, eight times.

  Nine.

  Ten.

  Each slap got harder, more difficult to tolerate. I’d been spanked by a lover before, sure I had. But it had always been fun. Playful.

  This hurt.

  A lot.

  My ass was on fire. Tears ran down my cheeks. I cursed and yelled and wriggled, trying to get away from the next blow, but his hold was too strong, and all I managed to do was wiggle the rest of the way out of my bikini bottoms.

  His punishment went on. Fourteen? Fifteen?

  I lost track.

  “You want to be punished?” he asked between hits, his voice raw and threadbare.

  Yes.

  I didn’t say it out loud. I couldn’t. My throat was clenched, choking on my cries. And even if I could talk, I was too in my head for words, too busy trying to shut down the pain, trying to go numb. Trying to deny that I liked the pain. That while my ass ached and burned, my pussy was wet and throbbing and begging for more.

  “You might regret getting what you asked for,” he said then, as if he could read my mind. The slaps stopped, but his hand pressed against my middle back stayed fixed in place, and I could hear the sound of his belt buckle.

  Oh my God, he’s going to use his belt!

  Could I take it? I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. I already probably wouldn’t be able to sit for a week.

  But it wasn’t the cool slap of leather that touched me next. It was the tip of his cock, lining up at my entrance. Driving in with one fierce thrust.

  A sob broke through my throat, and more tears fell, this time tears of relief. Yes, yes, yes.

  I chanted it over and over as he pummeled into me from behind, silently at first, then out loud. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

  His hand moved from my back to my head. Seizing a fistful of hair, he pulled me upright and moved his other hand to the front of me, collaring my throat.

  “You parade around here,” he said, his cock ramming into me with vicious strokes, his pelvis hitting my burning ass with each thrust. “Tempting my staff, tempting my men with what belongs to me.”

  And that was the start of my orgasm. I could feel it like the beginning of a yawn, starting soft and tentative but heading quickly to a point of inevita
bility.

  With one hand still wrapped around my neck, he grabbed onto one cup of my bikini top and snatched it down with one swift swipe. “These? These magnificent perfect tits?” He crushed my breast in his fist. “These belong to me. You hear me?”

  “Yes, yes.” I wasn’t sure if I was answering him or if it was just the only syllable I could say at this point.

  He squeezed harder around my breast. “I own this. I own your cunt. And you flaunt your body around like it belongs to you? How dare you? How dare you?”

  I exploded.

  Energy released inside me like a nuclear bomb, radiating through my limbs. Fireworks shot through my vision. My body shook violently, and my pussy locked down on Edward’s cock, and I knew right then, knew without a doubt, that I was changed. That this man had found something in me and released it, and there was no way I would ever be the same.

  I was still trembling through my climax when Edward pushed me forcefully back to the desk then abruptly pulled out of me. I was too weak to protest. Too weak to attempt to claim his cum, and it turned out I didn’t have to because the next thing I knew he was letting out a guttural moan and drops of warm fluid were spilling along my lower back.

  He’d claimed me. I was his.

  And I was happy.

  I sighed, a euphoric, satiated kind of sigh. I lay there, unable to move, unable to do anything but breathe. I heard the zip of Edward’s pants. Heard him pacing behind me. Heard him curse as he kicked something hard and loud.

  I stood up then, and turned toward him, my ass aching with the movement, just in time to catch my swimsuit bottoms when he threw them in my direction.

  “Get out,” he said with vile detest. “I can’t look at you right now.”

  Apparently the guy wasn’t great with after care.

  I didn’t move. “Edward...if you’re worried that you went too far…” I cleared my throat, complete honesty hard for me. “If you think I didn’t like it...don’t worry. I did.”

  “I can’t listen to your bullshit lies right now. Get the fuck out of here.” He stormed past me toward the windows, refusing to look at me.

  I pivoted, my gaze following his backside. “It’s not bullshit! I mean it, I liked it. I loved it.”