20. Grounded - Alex
Ginger was excruciating, medieval torture, the kind of harsh punishment only a masochist could endure. The type of kinky fuckery only a sadist could enjoy delivering.
Rafe and I fell somewhere in between, neither sadist nor masochist. We were morally bankrupt, psychologically unhinged, unconditionally obsessed.
As far as punishments went, his version of emotional exile was worse.
For the past five days, Rafe left me chained to the bed, only letting me free long enough to bathe. He brought in my meals three times a day, left reading material to fight off boredom, but he refused to spend any time with me, or even sleep at my side. He’d basically grounded me to my room.
But that didn’t stop him from fucking me whenever he wanted—I just wasn’t allowed to come.
I’d take the ginger any day over this.
Allowing him to claim ownership over me was the hardest fucking thing I’d ever done. It was a decision I regretted now as I strolled about my prison, chain following me around the room, a constant reminder of this hell.
It was a peaceful hell. Yesterday, he fixed the window, and I’d opened it first thing, feeling a little like Cinderella as I listened to the birds and other wildlife, imagining they were my friends. A soft breeze filtered in, billowing the curtains.
The seclusion was driving me mad, not to mention the boredom. I constantly fought the urge to throw shit, to lash out with the type of tantrum that would get his attention—because I craved that more than anything—but bringing on more of his wrath was a stupid idea. I’d done this to myself, had scared him into this merciless version of himself.
God, how I longed for the softer side of him. After he lost his memory, I’d wanted the confident, no-fucks-to-give deviant man back. I’d wanted the passionate, slightly terrifying guy who’d stolen me from a life I’d been desperate to leave behind. The man whose dark side forced him to claim me.
Now I missed amnesia Rafe, and that only made me feel like shit because how could I love him while wishing for part of his psyche to go missing again?
No matter what happens in life, you’re never going to be happy.
That was my greatest fear, that I’d never find happiness no matter what I did. No matter how light or dark Rafe became, part of me would always ache for the other half of him.
Growing tired of pacing, I sprawled onto the bed. The clock on the nightstand—luckily unbroken from the morning I threw it at his head—told me I had two hours until he’d come in with dinner. He hadn’t fucked me yet today, but he would.
He always did.
And I was slowly dying, the space between my legs in a constant state of arousal. I parted my thighs, and the breeze in the room caressed my skin, teased the heat at my core, eliciting an aching twinge.
I didn’t give it thought. Before I realized what I was doing, my fingers were dipping into my wetness. I sucked in a breath and didn’t move for several seconds. My heartbeat drowned out the sounds of singing birds outside the window as I debated. It wouldn’t take me long, and he’d never have to know. Keeping secrets from him never worked out, but I was desperate enough to convince myself I could get away with it this one time.
As soon as I began stroking, I couldn’t stop if I tried. God, it felt fucking incredible, like an addiction I hadn’t indulged in for days, months, years. A moan escaped me, and I bit my lip to silence it.
I imagined Rafe’s tongue on my clit, the firm, steady strokes of my fingers acting as a proxy for what I needed most.
Him.
My lids drifted shut, and I gave myself over to the fantasy of his dark, disheveled head between my thighs.
His piercing green eyes on me.
Black ink winding up his biceps.
And my body responding.
Spine arching.
Nipples hardening.
Sweat broke out on my temples, and the breeze sneaking through the window did little to cool my feverish skin. Naked and wanton on the bed, I spread my thighs further apart as the tempo of my touch increased. It had been days since I’d felt the softness of cotton against my skin, the direct beam of sunlight on my face, the euphoria that always gripped me in the throes of an orgasm.
I hadn’t felt Rafe against me, skin to skin from the tips of my breasts to the spread of my thighs. He’d taken me from behind every fucking time, his thrusts rough and fast, getting him off before I could reach the top of the summit, let alone leap off the other side.
I was close to going over now.
So fucking close.
That’s when the door opened.
I yanked my hand from between my legs, but it was too late. Rafe stood in the doorway, his mouth tight with displeasure. As he entered the room, I sat up and pressed my thighs together in shame.
“I thought I’d bring you a treat,” he said, setting a foil-wrapped truffle on the dresser. “Didn’t expect to find you treating yourself.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You will be.” As he opened the drawer I’d dubbed the naughty one, he directed a dark look my way. “Bend over the bed.”
I scrambled off the mattress and flopped over the end. Fuck, I’d been foolish. I should have waited until darkness fell, until long after he’d gone down for the night. He and Jax had fallen into a habit of chatting it up until midnight, both camping out in the living room.
Rafe’s footsteps brought him to where I lay in wait, bent over the bed in his favorite position of vulnerability. He yanked my hands behind my back and cuffed my wrists together. These were metal—the kind I wasn’t getting out of.
“This should dissuade your urges.”
“How am I supposed to sleep like this?” Let alone wipe my ass if I had to use the bathroom.
“I’ll figure something out. If I have to, I’ll tie your hands to the goddamn bedposts.” He undid his buckle, lowered his zipper. The next instant, he pushed inside me, groaning at how wet and ready I was. “If you fucking come, I’m bringing in the ginger.”
My heart broke a little more as he pumped from behind, his hands steady on my hips, guiding the angle and depth of his cock. As he came, and that low, sexy groan of his infused the air, something inside me cracked.
“When are you gonna forgive me?”
He pulled me to my feet, twirled me around, and laid me on the bed. Propping himself up, one hand on either side of my head, he lowered his mouth, lingering inches from mine.
“I’ve already forgiven you.”
“I miss you.”
He kissed the hint of tears off my cheeks, then his mouth slanted over mine. I whimpered into his kiss, wishing like hell I could touch him.
“I miss you too, babe.” He veered back, one thumb caressing my cheekbone. “This will be over soon.”
“When?”
“When I feel you’ve learned your lesson.”
“I have.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have caught you touching yourself if you’d learned your lesson.”
“You’re driving me fucking crazy,” I said with a growl.
“The feeling is fucking mutual.” Instead of engaging in more of our back and forth arguing that would get us nowhere, he pushed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, he returned with a dampened hand towel. “Spread your legs.”
I parted them, and he started on the insides of my thighs, the towel a warm, teasing caress that made me throb at the core. His green stare bored into me as he brought the cloth to the apex of my sex. He spent a couple of minutes wiping me clean, his fingers dipping inside me through the towel every few seconds.
By the time he pulled away, he had me panting.
“That should do it,” he said, tossing the towel in the laundry basket by the door.
I arched a brow. “Are you seriously going to leave me like this? How am I supposed to go to the bathroom?”
“Guess you’ll have to air dry.” He tugged me up by the shoulders. “I’ll be back in a while with dinner.”
I watched him leave, helpless to stop him. I couldn’t even run after him, with my ankle shackled to the bed. The window, the door, and the toilet in the bathroom were my boundaries. He’d promised more ginger if I acted out—such as throwing the tantrum I was tempted to. I was only allowed to pound on the door in the event of an emergency. I supposed I should feel lucky he hadn’t plugged my ass for touching myself.
Instead, he’d taken the use of my hands. Damn him. He was relentless in his pursuit of punishment. Impossible to negotiate with, because in his mind, I’d gone too far this time.
Okay, so maybe I had. Taking off to confront my dad had been bad enough, but I’d added to my tab of shame by slashing Jax’s tires. And that was my problem; I acted then questioned the wisdom of those actions later. With a shaky sigh, my emotions too close to boiling over, I headed into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, prepared to sit awhile to air dry, as he’d said.
God, he was fucking twisted.
Had I been cursed with my time of the month, having my hands cuffed at my back would be impossible. As I counted the tiles in the backsplash behind the sink, colors alternating between brown and blue, I wondered if he’d let me bleed all over the place. In the mood he was in, I wouldn’t put it past him.
My gaze stalled on the twenty-ninth tile, and my spine stiffened. Monthly curse. Bleeding.
What date was it?
I’d lost track of time. It wasn’t hard to do when life didn’t demand a conformity to schedules. When I had no nine-to-five job to worry about. Hell, I barely knew what day of the week it was anymore.
This wasn’t the first time I’d lost track of shit. A few weeks ago, I’d forgotten a pill.
One fucking pill.
But as soon as I realized my mistake, I doubled up like I was supposed to. Yet I hadn’t told Rafe. He would have worried, not to mention sat my ass down for a lecture on being responsible, since there was no way in hell he wanted to bring a child into our psychotic, dangerous lifestyle. He’d left his son alone in order to protect him, to give him the best shot of a normal life with his grandparents.
So I’d put it out of my mind at the time, figuring the odds were in our favor. Something had to be in our favor because everything else always took a nosedive. Crashed and burned. Plummeted to the ground and shattered. That was the tumultuous story of our lives. But now I could think of nothing else but that missed pill. I glanced down at my flat belly and gulped.
I was pretty fucking certain I was late.