Chapter 17
Graham
I never really thought of this before, which is admittedly very idiotic of me.
This being the total power she has over me.
I was simply too consumed by her. Entirely fixated on the way she turned something I always thought impossible into an everyday reality.
I get to experience these things called “feelings” every single day now, and they are like Pop Rocks exploding in my mouth.
It is an intoxicating rush, and I can’t seem to ever get enough of it.
But it’s only now that the reality of our dynamic is setting in. I’m finally realizing just how much power she has over me. Because she is dangling that sweet little pussy and that perfect mouth over my head like a leash.
“You want to kiss me? I want to talk to William.”
At first, the fact that she was using him to leverage me set my blood on fire. But then she sweetened the deal. She whispered that she’d let me eat her pussy—a taste I have grown completely addicted to.
In the end, we settled: a ten-minute supervised phone call for her in exchange for fifty minutes of me buried between her thighs.
I’m not so controlling that I require her to ask me before talking to friends, but William is the fucking exception.
And in those fifty minutes—in which she was completely weeping from pleasure by the end of it—I was exactly where I always wanted to be. I wear her essence on my beard afterward like a badge of honor because I love the possessiveness that settles in my chest when I smell like her.
“You want me to touch your cock? Upgrade Valeria’s room.”
Now, because of a single handjob, her sister has a whole private suite to herself in that asylum.
I have absolutely no idea why Maya has such mercy on that miserable bitch. Valeria doesn’t deserve a thing after what she did.
But anyhow, it was entirely worth it in the end.
The moment I dropped my trousers, Maya’s eyes turned as wide as the moon. She stared down at my cock in shock, whispering about how terrifyingly huge it was.
Watching her small, beautiful tits bounce while she wrapped her hands around my shaft and jerked me off—fuck.
It was pure perfection.
But today, she’s sad.
I don’t understand sadness. But what I do understand is that seeing her like this pisses me off to the point of violence. She should never be anything but entirely consumed by me. Her mind, her body, her thoughts—they belong in my cage.
Any sadness that I didn’t personally inflict on her is a variable I didn’t plan for, and I don’t know how the fuck to fix it. If she is going to be miserable, I want it to be because of me. Because if I broke her, I’d know exactly how to piece her back together.
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
She turns her back to me, curling into a ball.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Graham. Please.”
I slide across the silk sheets until I am flush against her back. I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her tight against my chest, and that’s when I feel her shoulders trembling. She is sobbing silently into the pillow. A vicious pain punctures straight through my lungs. I gasp for air.
What the fuck is happening to me?
Is… is this sadness?
Am I actually feeling sad because she is sad?
The realization is terrifying. It makes me feel weak.
“Speak to me, Maya,” I hiss, my teeth grazing the back of her neck. “Tell me right now.”
“It’s my mother’s death anniversary,” she chokes out. “Today is the day she died after giving birth to me. Everything I am… everything I touch, I just ruin.”
I researched her and already know all this. I have no idea how this date slipped my mind. Anger takes over the pain in my chest. I wrench her around so she is forced to look at me.
“Don’t you ever speak that way about something that belongs to me,” I hiss. “You belong to me, Maya. And I don’t let anyone—not even you—talk shit about what is mine.”
“You don’t get it,” she sobs. “I’m not even worthy of visiting her grave.”
“Get up,” I order, throwing the blankets off our bodies.
“What?” she gasps, blinking through her tears.
“I said get up and get dressed.”
I force her out of bed, completely overriding her protests. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or why I’m doing it. These feelings inside me have become deeply uncomfortable.
Minutes later, I am tearing through the city streets. I pull up to a flower shop, marching inside like a man on a mission to commit murder. I buy five massive bouquets, throwing them into the back seat.
“Graham… what are you doing?” she whispers as I speed toward the cemetery where I know her mother is buried.
I don’t answer.
She will see.
When we reach the cemetery, I grab her hand, leaving no room for argument as I drag her through the tombstones until we are standing right in front of her mother’s grave.
Maya sinks to her knees.
“I’m sorry,” Maya whispers. “Mom, I’m so sorry—”
“Stop,” I shout. “My girl isn’t sorry for existing. Tell her something else.”
Maya looks up at me in bewilderment.
“Graham, you can’t stop me from being sorry—”
“I can,” I grumble, dropping the bouquets over the tombstone. “She doesn’t get your apologies, Maya. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Maya flings herself upright, hitting me with both hands. They feel like nothing, so I don’t protest much.
“You can’t do this to me!” she screams at the top of her lungs. I’m sure we are disturbing the dead.
She pushes me back, but I don’t even budge.
“You can’t force me not to be sorry. You can’t uproot my life as I know it. You can’t demand and expect me to just fucking obey!”
She buries her face in my suit, but her fists still feebly hit my chest over and over again.
“You can’t do this!” she whispers through her tears. “You can’t do this to me, Graham! You can’t make me fall in love with you!”
My eyes dilate as her words wash over me, and a psycho smile spreads across my face.
You can’t make me fall in love with you. Triumph floods my veins, tasting way fucking sweeter than any other victory in my life.
She is falling. Right into the center of my web, exactly where she belongs.
Wait a minute…
Her mother’s death anniversary.
Today.
Which means today is her birthday.
She has never had a proper birthday. She spent every birthday sad.
Unacceptable. Absolutely fucking unacceptable.
She should direct all that guilt at me. I am the monster here. I am the one who ruins lives. She is nothing but light.
I scoop her into my arms. She doesn’t even have the strength to fight me anymore. I slide her into the leather seat of the Cadillac, slamming the door shut before getting behind the wheel.
“It’s your birthday,” I state. “How do you want to spend it?”
Maya glares at me through her swollen eyes.
“I don’t celebrate my birthday, Graham.”
“Why?” I demand.
She lets out a breathless laugh-sob. I would have thought it was beautiful if I didn’t know it came from nothing but pain.
“Because it’s the day my mother died,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “I told you that.”
“And I told you not to fucking say that anymore!” I roar, slamming my palm against the steering wheel.
Maya flinches.
“If you want to blame anyone for taking her away, blame the fucking man in the sky who willed it to be that way. Blame the universe. I don’t fucking care. You can even blame me. Just not yourself.”
She shakes her head, angling her body away from me.
Everything I seem to say only makes it worse. But with her, I don’t have a filter. When we are together like this, I’m not calculating.
I’m just myself.
I grit my teeth and start the Cadillac. I drive her straight to the luxury district, forcing designers to bring out diamonds, emeralds, and gold that could buy a small country.
I buy her all of it.
But she isn’t happy.
What the fuck am I supposed to do?
No one knows the answer to that question better than her.
“What would make you feel better, Maya?” I ask. “Tell me what you want.”
“Nothing,” she mutters. “Nothing will make me feel better today.”
“The day is still young,” I say as I pull her out of the boutique. “I will drag you to a million different places across this city until you find something that cheers you up.”
I don’t even know why the fuck I’m doing this.
But the truth is that Maya is the sole reason I am enjoying this life. She is the source of every explosive emotion I am experiencing, and if the object of my fixation is sad, the grey returns.
I cannot tolerate the grey.
Maya finally gives in when she realizes I won’t ever take no for an answer.
“An orphanage,” she whispers softly. “Take me to an orphanage.”
Strange request, but whatever she wants.
Except leaving her alone.
I task my security detail with locating the nearest children’s home and have five delivery trucks loaded with toys, clothes, and sweets sent there within thirty minutes.
When we arrive, the trucks are already parked outside, unloading mountains of wrapped gifts.
Maya’s entire demeanor shifts the moment we step inside. I stand back against the wall, watching her interact with the kids. I didn’t have a bad childhood. The only abnormal thing was me.
So I can’t really relate to these kids.
But she can.
She kneels on the floor, unbothered by the dust, handing out presents. The children crowd around her, laughing and pulling at her sleeves.
Unconditional gentleness rolls off her. She belongs in the light. Too bad I’m never letting her escape my darkness.
Maya looks up from a group of toddlers and catches me staring at her. A mischievous spark flashes in her eyes. She grabs a plastic truck and walks over to me, tugging on my silk tie.
“Get down here,” she commands.
“What?”
“Play with us. You need to make up for your sins too,” she mumbles.
Unlike her, I don’t feel like I need to make up for anything. What’s the point of life if you spend it regretting your actions?
Yes, I did bad things.
Yes, I’m not a good person.
And so what?
But for whatever reason, my heart is frantic.
With a resigned growl, I undo the buttons of my suit jacket and drop to my knees on the floor. The toddlers instantly swarm me, climbing onto my shoulders and grabbing at my hair.
Maya lets out a laugh that ends with a snort. I glare at her and try to bare my teeth in a snarl, but a grin forms instead.
Weird.
If this is what it takes to keep the light in her eyes, I will play whatever game she wants.