11. Daisy
11
DAISY
W as the fire overkill?
Maybe, but I was so over summer.
Give me fall. Give me apple cider, bonfires, sweaters. Give me Gilmore Girls with hot chocolate and leather boots crunching leaves.
In concession to the summer season, I was wearing a purple tie-dye T-shirt I’d made with the arms and neck and half the bottom cut off, as well as my “I Heart Book Mr. Darcy” pajama shorts with busted elastic, under the cozy knitted blanket.
A cart with a full afternoon tea service had been wheeled into the two-story library by the magical servants.
Dorian purred on my lap as I petted him absently while reading my Kindle, which Reese, bless her, had brought me.
Rain fell softly outside, and I sighed, luxuriating in my favorite cozy reading atmosphere.
It was perfect and aesthetic—or at least it would be if it wasn’t for him .
“Don’t bother me. I’m reading.”
“It’s five o’clock.”
“Yeah?” I flipped a page on my Kindle. “Does that mean you’re going to turn into an ogre or something?”
Aaron sat down across from me. He was wearing a tux and he looked…really freakin’ good.
“Lunatic.”
“You need to dress for dinner,” he ordered.
Dorian protested sleepily as I huffed and stood up.
“I’ll just eat in my room.”
“You mean my room. And you’re not eating in there anymore. It’s like a pack of possums got loose.”
“Then I’ll starve!” I declared. Immediately, I regretted it.
“We will have cocktails beforehand.”
“Oh, well, you should have led with that.”
After hastily throwing on one of the outfits Granny Madge had packed, I raced back to the library. I needed a cocktail after the weekend I’d had.
Aaron was standing in front of the fireplace while one of the silent black-suited servants set out an array of craft cocktails that seemed like overkill for just two people.
I picked up a gin-and-lavender aperitif and settled back in my blankets with my Kindle.
“No.” Aaron yanked the device out of my hand, making the drink slosh. “We have mandatory quality time.”
“The hell we do.” Sacrificing my Kindle, I made a run for it, glad I’d put on culottes instead of a pencil skirt as I rushed to the door to escape.
Aaron was faster. He thudded against the closed door, blocking it with his massive body.
“Sit down.”
“No!” I couldn’t budge him as I tried to grab the door handles.
He wrapped an arm around my waist and threw me onto the sofa.
“We have”—he grabbed my arms, forcing me back to the couch—“fifty-seven more minutes to spend in this room together. Quality time between the husband and new bride is mandated. We will fulfill this contract.”
He grunted when I kicked him in the leg. I was wearing flats, so unfortunately, I didn’t actually hurt him.
“This is for your benefit,” he told me.
I jumped up. “Mandatory quality time isn’t for my benefit. This is bullshit. You’re making it up. I’m not participating in your sick games, Aaron Richmond.”
He pinned me back to the couch.
“Help!” I yelled. “I’m being attacked!”
“Stop acting so immature. Didn’t you read the contract?”
“Um, no.”
“So you just signed something without reading it.” Aaron sat back.
“Yep. It doesn’t matter what it said. I’d still sign it to save my siblings.” I straightened my clothes. “I’d do anything for my siblings. Not that you understand what that means. You don’t care about anything or anyone.”
“Damn right I don’t.” His baritone had a dangerous edge. “I care about money, power, and fulfilling this contract. I will drag you with me kicking and screaming if I have to. I will not allow you to ruin this marriage with your lack of attention to detail.”
“How romantic. Guess you’re not digging up the corpse of the woman you love and dancing with her in the moonlight.”
“Is that from one of those poorly written romance novels you’re reading?” His lip curled.
“Uh, no. Wuthering Heights . You finance guys have no soul.”
But Aaron just laughed patronizingly.
“That never happened in the book.”
“Yes, it did!” My face was hot. “It’s like the quintessential moment. How are you literally mansplaining Wuthering Heights to me, an English major?”
“I’m not. I’m just literally ,” he said, mimicking my voice, “correcting a common myth about the book. Granted, it’s understandable that people would make up scenes, considering the book is a bit dull.”
I seethed. “A bit—” If I didn’t need my drink, I’d dump it all over him.
“Look it up if you don’t believe me.” He stood up, walked to the bookcase, and selected a volume, which he opened and held out to me.
“Is this a first edition?” My eyes bugged out. “Stop holding it like that. You’ll ruin the spine.” I forced his fingers off the book and petted it. “My poor baby.”
“You see?” he flipped the pages to Chapter 29. “Heathcliff is such a beta male he doesn’t even dig her up. He just talks about it then chickens out. He’s worse than Hamlet.”
I scanned the paragraph in disbelief. Flipped through the book. No corpse dancing.
Goddamn him.
Aaron was smug above me. “They let you sleep your way through grad school, huh? Well, I guess if you family is donating buildings...”
“God, you’re such a fucking asshole!” I exploded, still stinging from being wrong.
“I’m not an asshole. I’m just right.”
I drained my drink then stalked to the door.
“We’re not done, Coleman.” He pointed at the clock. “Thirty more minutes.”
I ignored him.
His huge body pinned me to the mahogany pocket doors before I could push them open.
“Sit down. Now,” he growled in my ear.
Hand on the back of my neck, he half dragged me back into the room, where he released me in front of the fire.
I grabbed a fistful of olives out of the dish on the bar cart and chewed them noisily.
Show dominance.
Aaron snorted and began making me another drink.
“It’s mandatory quality time, Coleman. You can’t just sit there and drink and plan my demise. Make polite chitchat.”
“Oh my god, you’re getting off on this whole fucking thing,” I shrieked at him. “Forcing me to be here, forcing me to sleep next to you.”
“The sleeping in the same bed is for your benefit,” he corrected, twisting off the cap of a bottle of gin. “In the Victorian era, a young woman was provided the opportunity to become with child to secure the family fortune. Hopefully a son.” He handed me the glass and clinked his to the rim. “How’s your drink?”
“Is that your pickup line? Because let me tell ya, bud, it’s not working. In fact,” I loudly declared, “I am dryer than my mom’s spelt muffins.”
Suddenly, that six-five muscular body was hovering over me—his deep voice purring in my ear.
“Things will go easier for you if you aren’t.”
“Things?” I croaked. “What things?”
Green eyes flicked to my chest then my mouth then back up to my eyes.
“We’re not married like that.”
There was a dangerous glint in his eye. From a secret drawer in one of the bookcases, he pulled a leather-bound book with COPY 1 OF 10 stamped on the front in gold and dropped it on the table in front of me.
“Page two hundred and eighty.” The book slammed open. “Paragraph eighty-nine.” He pointed. “We have to consummate the marriage or the whole thing is null and void.”
The words swam in my eyes.
“And it has to happen before the thirty-one-day deadline,” he added.
“I’m not…” I wheezed. “I’m not sleeping with you.”
“It’s not just sleeping,” he corrected, tapping his finger on the word “consummate.” “The contract specifies the ‘spilling of his seed,’ i.e., sex with no condom. They forgot a loophole, though.” He was smug, pleased with his find. “The Victorians were probably too prudish to put it in print. Rookie mistake.”
He picked up his glass of scotch.
“Therefore we can do anal or normal sex, your choice.”
I forced myself to stare at the neat cursive writing so that I didn’t have to look up at his face. I had no idea what my expression would convey.
Aaron had to come in me, spill his seed in my you-know-what or up my you-know-where. I had fantasized about some fucked-up shit regarding Aaron but actually that ? What would it feel like? Would there be a lot of— gulp —seed?
I crossed my legs. Uncrossed them. Very aware that he was watching my every move.
I flipped a page.
Flipped it back.
“Wait a minute…” I leaned forward.
Yeah, I might have fucked up on the Wuthering Heights thing, but I was an English major, and I did have a lot of experience in interpreting primary texts from the Regency and Victorian eras.
“Gimme your glasses.” I held out my hand.
“I don’t wear glasses.”
I didn’t have to look at him to know he was scowling. But he handed me a magnifying glass.
“This says that the groom can’t withhold his seed should the bride wish it.”
“The contract was very specific that an heir be produced as soon as possible. None of them anticipated reliable female birth control,” Aaron said carefully.
“Wait.” My eyes narrowed. “So if I tell you to have sex with me, per the contract, you have to do it. Immediately. None of that Duke of Hastings Bridgerton shit either. The contract’s pretty clear about where seed can and cannot be spilled. There’s, like…” I thumbed through the document. “Ten pages on it.”
He was tense, like a taut wire about to snap and slice my head off.
“Yes,” he finally spat out.
I’d been drinking. This was dangerous.
He didn’t look at me.
“It’s unprotected sex with the express purpose of having a baby.” He worked his jaw.
A baby .
Yeah, I kind of wanted a baby. Not with him but, you know, a baby. I’d name her—because of course I was having a girl—after one of the Bront? sisters.
“Okay, let’s do it.” I leaned my elbow on the couch arm, all the gin I’d consumed giving the room a fuzzy golden feel. “I want all the rights given to me by the contract as the bride.”
Aaron didn’t move.
I clapped my hands at him. “I said I want you to fulfill your part of the contract,” I enunciated.
Checkmate, asshole.
“Fine,” he forced out. “ Fine .”
I stood up, a little unsteady on my feet, and poured myself another drink. As I sipped it, I watched Aaron slowly remove his black tuxedo jacket, long fingers deftly untying the bowtie because of course Aaron would never wear a clip-on.
The firelight glinted off the pearly buttons of his shirt as he folded it neatly over a wingback chair. Biceps bulged beneath the thin fabric of his undershirt.
The power was heady.
I could make Aaron do anything I wanted. Have him any way I wanted. I drained the drink then inhaled some of it when a stack of papers thudded on the coffee table.
“You need to sign this first.”
A pen was extended to me.
“What the fuck?” I yelped.
“Before having sex with me,” Aaron enunciated, matching my earlier cadence, “you need to sign this, and I’m going to go over it with you, since you clearly don’t read anything, and I cannot have you start accusing me of taking advantage of you in court.”
“What the fresh hell is this? I’m not signing—”
Aaron turned the page of the bound stack of papers.
“The terms of this agreement are for sexual intercourse between two parties, myself and you, for a time period of up to three hours.”
“ Three hours? ” I squawked. Was that normal? I had no idea. It seemed like it never lasted that long on TV.
“This has been modified from my typical contract,” Aaron said, flipping to the next page, “because you need to consent to sex without a condom.”
He handed me another stack of paperwork.
“I’ve been fully tested. Please initial here that you’ve signed and reviewed these test results. They have been notarized.”
The papers and another pen were handed to me.
“I, uh…” My mouth was dry.
“Sign here to waive your right to sue for body injury resulting from sexual intercourse including minor vaginal lacerations—”
“Lacerations?”
“Minor.” A flash of teeth. “Please sign here to waive your right to claim any damages against the Ragnor estate to your person or possessions. Initial here, acknowledging that you have read and understand that if you wish to contest this contract or make a tort claim, it must be done through an arbitration process, not in court.”
My head spun.
“Is there any more alcohol?” I staggered to the bar cart and filled my glass.
“Pay attention, Coleman. We’re going to go over this legal language for your benefit.”
“And do women still want to have sex with you afterward?” I gestured to the contract.
“Yes.” He amended, “Mostly.”
“Oh my god.” I guzzled the rest of my drink.
“Initial here if you—”
“Wait,” I said, skimming. “So if, in the middle of copulation—your words, not mine—we’re going to do anal, we have to stop and re-sign this form?”
Aaron tapped a blank line marked with a plastic yellow Post-it arrow.
“Initial here to consent to anal sex without a condom if you don’t want to stop in the middle of intercourse to re-sign the contract. Otherwise, the assumption is you don’t consent.”
“Oh my god, what the hell is an anal fissure?”
“It’s a medical term. Just covering all contingencies.”
My uterus had closed up shop. We were done here. We were dying a virgin.
“Paragraph forty-three asks you to acknowledge that you have disclosed all known allergies to lubricants.”
“I'm not in the mood anymore.” I swept the contract into the trash can.
A lazy smirk formed on Aaron’s face. “You can’t tell me you don’t want it, Coleman.”
I scrunched back against the couch cushions, trying to get away from him.
“I can practically smell it on you, the desire. You want me. You want me buried inside you.”
One of his large hands came to rest on the back of the couch next to my head, the plush sofa dipping as he leaned his weight on the arm and hovered over me, the heat from his body burning hotter than the fire.
“You enjoyed it. You were getting off on the power trip. Don’t lie. You like the power. You like dominating people.” His mouth quirked. “I see you at the coffee cart. You're the puppet master of your own little universe.”
The words hissed against my neck. “You gonna sign, Coleman? You gonna sign and let me fuck you a new asshole and fill you with my seed?”
I closed my eyes and swallowed noisily.
He was crowding me. He was too close. The contract discussion had sobered me right the hell up, and now I didn’t want him anywhere near me or my nether regions.
“Spread your legs and let me empty my balls inside you so that we can close out this fucking contract.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Get away from me,” I finally gasped out.
A bell rang, and cool air brushed my skin.
When I dared open my eyes, Aaron was buttoning up his white shirt.
Impassive.
“Next time, Coleman,” he said, fastening the pewter cuff links, “you want to try and yank my chain? Make sure you’re man enough to actually follow through.” He stepped up to me, and I cowered, but he just extended a half-bent arm.
“I’ll escort you to dinner.”