by Lux Miller
Glass Apples by Lux Miller
© 2019 Lux Miller
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Trigger warning: Please note that there is a scene which may make survivors of sexual assault uncomfortable. Proceed with caution or skip the first chapter. Everything between the main character and the heroine is fully consensual and there is a guaranteed HEA.
ONE
Poppy
“Hunter, I know it’s a bad idea, but since when did I ever have good judgement? I need a job, and the bones are healed enough for me to be up and about. I can’t just sit around the house all day and mope. Besides, there are far worse things I could do than becoming a cocktail waitress.”
My brother sighs heavily over the phone. “Poppy, you’re as stubborn as Liberty. You’re gonna do whatever the hell you want, and we both know it, but let me go on record saying I didn’t tell you it was a bad idea. It’s an absolutely terrible one. You know how Brad gets…”
My siblings will tell you that I don’t ever learn a lesson the first time. I have to make the same mistakes over and over before life finally steps up and slaps me in the face with what I should’ve already learned. Like that damn horse at the ranch. I’ve spent over a year there helping Ms. Bianchi out. It was never my dream job, but it got me closer to getting into vet tech school. Having a recommendation letter from a community staple like Ms. Bianchi would be the cherry on top of my already-impressive resume.
And then Liberty happened. The unbreakable mare that refused to be ridden. But I refused to accept the facts staring me straight in the face and made it my mission to break her. To ride her and prove to the world that I can work with any animal. And she threw me off so hard, I broke my collarbone in three places. That was the end of my ranch career. It wasn’t that Ms. Bianchi fired me - my husband refused to let me return. My younger brother, Hunter, still works for her with his new girlfriend, Raven. Who somehow broke the damn horse, without getting tossed to the ground like a drunk man’s dinner.
I shudder when Hunter mentions my husband’s name. “Ugh, did you have to bring Brad into this?”
Hunter’s response is swift as he reminds me, “Well, he kinda works at the casino where you’re talking about becoming a cocktail waitress. I don’t know him as well as I should, but that’s probably a good thing considering I already want to punch his lights out half the time. But he’s not going to appreciate you walking around, serving drinks to strange men.”
I roll my eyes, even though Hunter can’t see me over the phone. “Relax Hunter. Brad’s an okay guy. He’s just a lousy husband.”
My brother’s voice is impatient as he responds, “So leave him, Pop. We’ll figure out your medical bills, and we can figure something out for vet tech school. Please don’t stay with him for his money. Six years is enough time for you to learn that he’s never going to change.”
I sigh as I hear the front door close. “Speaking of him, he’s home. I have to go.”
Hunter sounds alarmed as he spits out, “Please don’t tell him while you’re alone, Poppy. Please, if you’re hell bent on doing this, let me be there when you do. Or call Jasp. I know he’d fly in from Cali to be there when you tell him. There’s something about Brad I don’t trust. I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him rubs me the wrong way.”
Rolling my eyes, I exhale heavily. “Hunter, y’all can’t protect me forever. You couldn’t save me from Liberty, and you can’t save me from this. I love you, but I have to figure this out without you. Please, butt out.”
Hunter starts to reply, but I don’t hear what he has to say. I click the end button on my phone and toss it onto the bed as my husband walks into the bedroom. His demeanor is calm, but I can tell already that he’s furious about something. I take a deep breath and look up at him, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Hey honey, you’re home early.”
Brad narrows his eyes at me as he takes off the sport coat embroidered with the casino logo and hangs it on the hook on the back of the door to our bedroom. He doesn’t return my smile. Yeah, he’s mad about something. Brad stomps across the room and leans down over me, his face thunderous as he growls, “I have to go back. Some big fight tonight and the gambling addicts are jumping at the bit to place their bets. I just came home to enjoy my beautiful wife and make sure she doesn’t do anything… stupid… while I’m out tonight.”
I flinch as his hot breath invades my nostrils. Beer. Ugh, he’s been drinking again. It’s not even quite dinnertime, which means he was either at a business meeting knocking back cranberry shandies, or he’s been day-drinking at the local watering hole where he picks up his whores. Either way, this isn’t going to be pleasant. At least if there’s a fight, he’ll be too busy to be on the casino floor tonight to make my life hell there too.
He sighs as he leans over me further, pushing me back on the bed so that I have to hold myself up with my hands behind me. He nudges his nose up along my cheekbone and he sniffs me. “Mmm, you smell good, but there’s no dinner on the table. Ever since you got back from that blasted ranch, you’ve been pathetic in your wifely duties. No dinner, no fancy cigars… I break my back to provide all of this for you, and you run off to New York like an ungrateful bitch. Do you know what I went through while you were gone?”
He huffs as he looms over me, “Then you go and get yourself hurt and unable to take care of me. Just about the only thing you’re still good for is laying on your back. It’s probably the only thing you ever were good at. Always got your nose in a book or your head in the clouds. So, since lying on your back is apparently all you’ve got to offer me today, let’s have it.”
I wince as he pushes me down onto my back, my arm collapsing out from under me as his weight stifles me. His hands are already fumbling with the buttons on my blouse. I was hoping he’d have gotten a piece of ass while he was out on his fancy lunch, but obviously not. Apparently, he decided to be the loyal husband and come home to his wife. Lucky me, because this isn’t going to be enjoyable for either of us. But neither of us will complain - him because he’s not all that picky where he sticks his dick these days, if he was ever was… and me, because I know better. He’s taught me that much.
Brad grunts as he pushes my shirt open, his hands immediately cupping my breasts through my bra. Despite his rough touch, my body reacts to him in a way I wish I could stop. I don’t want to make this man feel good, and I certainly don’t want anything he does to me to be pleasurable. It just makes it harder to reconcile my feeling of hatred towards the man I once loved.
He smirks as my nipples harden through the lace of my bra and yanks down the cups to expose me to him. He assaults my breasts, squeezing one ruthlessly in his hand while he sucks the nipple of the other between his lips, biting down on the tender flesh enough to make it sting. He slides the other hand down my body and hikes my skirt up to my hips, grasping my panties and pushing them to the side. He grins like a Chesire cat from his latch on my nipple, swirling his tongue around it. When my body shudders with arousal, he shoves two fingers inside of me.
It hurts as he push
es them to the third knuckle, but I don’t dare whimper or make him think that I don’t want this. He hasn’t been violent since I came back from the ranch, but I don’t want to give him a reason to be, either. It’s been a while since he’s smacked me, but I’m not itching to feel the back of his hand across my face. I’m sure he’ll still bite me in places nobody else will ever see, but at least those can be covered up with clothing. A black eye is kinda hard to explain, especially when your new profession relies on looking pretty for tips.
I close my eyes as he pumps his fingers inside of me. It might feel good if he took some care with my body, but this isn’t about my pleasure - it’s about his. He wants it as fast as he can get it, and he doesn’t care what it takes to get it. If he really wanted me to enjoy this, he’d take his time and gently ply my body to make it ready for him. He’d pay attention to the sensitive parts of my body that can make me purr.
But we both know he doesn’t have time for all that nonsense. Giving me an orgasm or even making this feel less like a duty and more like something I want to do, would take precious time away from his own. I cringe as his mouth and hand leave my chest and close my eyes. He kisses and licks down my body until he settles his upper body between my legs. He flicks his tongue across my slit and I squirm slightly. He skates his tongue over my clit and for the first time in ages, a jolt of desire sizzles low in my belly, but it doesn’t last.
As soon as the stifled moan tumbles from my lips, he snarls and spits. I cringe as I feel the artificial wetness between my legs. Before he sits up, he turns his face to the side and bites down on the tender flesh of my inner thigh. I yelp as he does, but don’t dare pull away as he replaces his hand against my pussy, roughly shoving his fingers inside me again. Two more times he follows the cycle... spit, bite, shove. I fight back tears as the man I once loved prepares my body to accept him. Instead of sweet nothings, all I can hear is him unzipping his pants.
He yanks his hands away from me and for a brief moment, I’m able to catch my breath without feeling violated, despite lying half-naked on our marital bed. Not that it’s a sacred space. I know for a fact he’s been with other women in it. He doesn’t know I know, and I don’t say anything, but I’ve found the underwear that isn’t mine. It isn’t worth the fight to bring it up to him, though. That’s how I push him to the point of hitting me - I question him.
My body involuntarily tenses as Brad climbs on the bed over me. He grips my thighs in his hands and pushes them apart, using his thumb to hold my panties to the side. He settles himself between my legs, and my stomach churns as I feel his dick pressing against my entrance. Keeping my eyes closed, I start to silently recite the mantra that has gotten me through sex with Brad dozens of times, “How long is forever? Sometimes just one second.” I repeat that over and over as Brad plunges himself inside of my small frame. He sets a brutal rhythm, and I bite down on my bottom lip to keep myself from crying out.
It’s not that Brad is exceptionally blessed in the penis department. His dick is nothing special, but he wields it like a weapon and stabs it inside of me with no regard for how it feels for me. Because he doesn’t care. He only cares how it feels for him. That’s something I learned early on in our marriage, after the vows were said of course. He wasn’t that way until after we were married. Before I said ‘I do,’ he was caring and loving and sex with him was an incredible bonding experience. But from the night of our honeymoon to this moment right now as he thrusts his way to orgasm, I don’t think he’s once cared if it felt good for me.
All Brad cares about is getting off. And getting me pregnant, but that’s never going to happen. I’ve made sure of it. He wants an heir, and I’d rather die than bring a child of his into this cruel world. He never uses a condom, and he refuses to in fact. So while he may get his rocks off inside me, he won’t be planting any seeds. As soon as he leaves, I’ll take a shower to scour out all of the seminal fluid that I can.
Then I’ll use a high-quality spermicide to hopefully take care of any errant swimmers that may still be giving it a go. If that fails, the depo shot I take every three months behind his back should keep my insides inhospitable to his demon spawn. Not that Brad knows about any of that. He’d be furious to know that I’m purposefully sabotaging his efforts to impregnate me.
He grunts as he stills inside of me. Bile bubbles up in my throat at the thought that right now, he’s ejaculating inside of me. He doesn’t say so, but that’s the only reason he’d have stopped his relentless jackhammering into my body. He screws his face up into an ugly expression when he comes, but I’m not opening my eyes to see if he’s showing any emotion. After several minutes, his weight leaves me as he pulls out. I can hear him rustling around in the dresser. Instead of starting a fight, which is truthfully what I want to do, I just lay there as silent tears stream down my cheeks.
He’s undoubtedly changing clothes for his swing shift at the casino. It’s a job he’s worked since he was 21. He’s now almost 31, and he hasn’t shown any signs of switching careers. It’s what he did when we first got together, so it’s just a normal part of life for me. He works by day as a blackjack dealer and by night as a bookie in the casino’s cage, taking bets on half a dozen events a night. Sometimes, like tonight’s fight, it’s live events happening at the casino, but he takes the bets on all types of races, fights, and matches across the globe. And he gets a large cut of the losses once the casino takes theirs. It may only be a couple hundred dollars on most events, but some rake in thousands. He’s brought home five figures in salary some weeks. It’s made him independently wealthy with how often he works the cage.
After several minutes of relative silence, I open my eyes and glance around the room. It appears that he’s gone, so I reach my hand between my legs, lightly slipping a finger along my slit. I shudder when I feel the wetness there. He definitely came inside me, and it’s dribbling out of me slowly. Though my panties have caught most of the seepage, some of it is still creating a wet spot on the mattress under me. Sighing, I climb off the bed and strip off the clothes I’d planned to wear to my first night on the job at the casino. Well, first night back I should say.
My entire body tenses as the front door slams. He’s gone. A reprieve for now, at least. This time, all he wanted was sex. He used to want to cuddle afterwards and pretend that we were the happy, little couple engaging in pillow talk. Now, it just makes me want to gag. Sometimes, he still asks me to dress up and accompany him on dates to exotic restaurants and trendy bars. It’s all for show, though and it’s painfully obvious to anyone who knows us that any love that was once the foundation for this marriage has crumbled. If only those closest to me knew that the marriage and my will to fight are in the same boat, sailing out to sea.
I’m no longer Brad’s adored wife and chosen one. He’s no longer the suave, debonair blackjack dealer who stole my heart while I served drinks to the Atlantic City sinners. There was passion there once. We were red-hot lovers from the time I was eighteen until I decided to branch out and do something for myself. That’s when the flames fizzled. We’ve been together for six years and married for four… and while I was never happily married, I’ve been miserable for three agonizing years. Except for the time I spent in upstate New York working alongside my brother. That time was the highlight of my young adult life. It was a freedom I’d never experienced and one I hated to give up.
Working on the Bianchi ranch was an amazing opportunity, but being thrown from Liberty opened my eyes that I’ve been taking too many chances lately. So, I came crawling back home to a cheating husband who probably doesn’t care if I’m here or not. As long as I’m not garnering attention from another man, I could be beaten and broken in an alley and Brad wouldn’t care.
Though we have a prenuptial agreement and I’m entitled to half of everything Brad owns in the event of a divorce, I barely have two nickels to rub together. That’s literally the only thing keeping me married to the asshole.
There’s no way I could ever afford one
of the high-price attorneys Brad will surely hire. And he’d bury me in court. He’s made sure I know that, too. He hasn’t said as much, but I think he intends to trap me in this loveless marriage by impregnating me and forcing me to stay with my child. He’s already made it very clear that he’ll never allow me to have custody of any child of his. Which is exactly why I’m going to such lengths to keep him from getting his wish.
I shower quickly, trying to clean away the grimy feeling that clings to me after Brad has his way with me. It doesn’t do anything to make me feel human again, but at least I look presentable.
I finger-comb the wild waves of my dirty blonde hair and pin half of it up, then put on a clean outfit and say a silent prayer that this won’t be the biggest mistake of my life. Brad never specifically forbade me from working, and I’m counting on that leniency to save up enough money to run. If I can’t divorce him, I’ll at least leave him.
He’s probably going to lose his shit when he sees that I’ve taken up my old job again. I don’t doubt that it’s going to burn his biscuits to see his trophy in the skimpy outfits he helped design several years ago. He made them disgustingly short so he could get his hands up the waitress’ skirts easier. I know for a fact that he’s slept with half of them. But honestly, they can have him. I’d be all-too-thrilled if he stopped demanding it from me. I may be his wife, but I have no desire in being his lover any longer. There’s no love to be had there, anyway. And soon enough, if I play my cards right, I may finally be able to crawl my way out of this rabbit hole and run for my life.