Chapter 14 Remembering December 14 #3
When I think about it, my tummy flips with terror… And an unexpected thrill.
Maybe, like a peacock, I’m not the kind of bird who flies.
And maybe that’s okay. Maybe it’s okay to be a bird who would rather nest. I didn’t want to look like a failure, to look like I couldn’t hack it.
I’m relieved that Preston forced me to be myself again, to make the scary decision to give up—or to let him make that decision for me.
But I don’t want my kid to think I gave up my dream for them, that I settled down like it’s some kind of consolation prize.
I know what people will say. They’ll say a woman should have a job too, that she shouldn’t give up all her dreams for her family.
That she should have something of her own, some ambition beyond being a mother.
And I do. I’m just not sure what those are yet.
“So you’ll stay here,” Preston says. “We’ll get married before the baby comes. Now that the Dolces have fallen, your dad will be okay with it, right?”
“Whoa,” I say, holding up a hand. “Slow down, Preston. I haven’t even seen my dad since I’ve been back. I haven’t told him I’m staying in Faulkner. And your Grampa…”
Preston tenses, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “What about him?”
“You have to let him out,” I say, giving him my sternest look. “I don’t know what went on between you, but he’s the furthest thing from bedridden. How can I trust you if you keep lying to me?”
“I didn’t say he was bedridden. I said he wasn’t well.”
“Right, and I’m supposed to decipher the code from your lies? How can I trust you when you keep lying to me?”
“I’m not lying to you,” he snaps.
I throw my hands up. “Of course you’re going to keep pretending it’s not lying if you never used the word. Just like you probably think it wasn’t wrong to take my virginity because I didn’t say no.”
He swallows and looks away.
The same rage and shame burns through me, the familiar hurt that never goes away. This is why we can’t be together. He’s taken too much from me, done things that can never be forgiven. I grip the edge of the bench seat and drop my head, taking a deep breath.
This isn’t about that. It’s about now.
“If you’d lock up your own grandfather, how can I trust that you’ll ever let me go?” I ask quietly.
“If I let you go, how can I trust that you’ll come back?”
“What do you think you’re going to get out of this?
” I demand. “Do you really have to win so damn bad that you’d lock me up for the rest of my life and force me to have your babies like some kind of breeding stock?
Is that it? Because you lost to the Dolces, now you have to prove something to… Who? Them? Yourself?”
“I have you,” he says. “I don’t have to prove anything.”
“I don’t buy it,” I say. “What’s the point of winning if there’s no prize? And before you try flattery, I’m not being self-deprecating and saying that I’m not worth winning. But what kind of prize is it if you don’t get love from the girl you won?”
“I get to fuck you,” he says flatly. “I get to give you children. I get to own you, provide for you, and call you my wife.”
“And what do I get?”
“Everything,” he says. “A man who will give his last breath to protect you, love you, and give you anything under the sun at the snap of your fingers.”
I open my mouth to answer, but then I shut it again. There’s no point. He will never see reason, never see that we don’t work, that nobody wins. That I could serve and obey him like a good wife, but it would never make me happy if I didn’t have freedom.
So I don’t answer. After a bit, Peanut finds her way down the walk and jumps into my lap, and I bury my hands in her silky, cold fur and press my cheek to her soft ear. When she hops down, I stand, and we return to the house in silence.
That night, I put on one of the lovely dresses Preston stocked my closet with. We have companionable conversation through dinner. When Mrs. Potter brings out the wine, Preston waves it away, saying if I can’t drink then he won’t either.
When dinner’s over, we retire to our bedroom.
Preston makes me sleep naked, so I slip out of my dress and underthings before climbing under the blankets with him.
He’s already hard just from watching me undress.
He kisses me slow and deep, though, not rushing to find his own pleasure.
Everything is for me when the lights are on.
With the lights on, he gives.
In the dark of night, he takes.
But even in the light, he makes the rules.
He orders me to spread my legs so he can look at me, his gaze blazing with lust. He orders me to touch myself, then slides a finger inside me while I rub my clit, fingering me until I can hear the wetness even over my heavy breathing.
He adds a second finger, pumping into me until I’m whimpering for more.
Then he knocks my hand away and his mouth descends, stroking and flicking my clit until my walls clench around his fingers and I cry out as I cum.
He sucks up every drop of my release before letting me fall back on the bed.
Rolling me onto my side, he enters me from below, his long, smooth cock stretching me open as he pushes in.
I push up on one hand and arch his direction as he fucks me from the side, his hips connecting with mine with each controlled stroke.
I hold myself open, watching my name on his cock sliding in and out until he moves my leg, throwing it over his shoulder.
Using my strength, I pull him in with each stroke, watching between my legs now, watching the place where we’re joined in the most primal way.
“Touch yourself,” he orders, his voice rough with desire.
I stroke my clit as his cock plunges into me, the wet sound of my arousal and his soft grunts filling the room.
I focus on those, trying to block out the distant thudding of rapid footsteps, like people are running overhead.
Turning my mind from what they could be doing, I focus on Preston’s face, the whorls of scar tissue around his lashless eye, the ridge of his brow, the sightless prosthetic staring blindly at me.
If I look at that, maybe I won’t see what’s in his gaze, what’s behind the seeing eye.
“Can you cum again?” he asks through labored breaths.
“I don’t think so,” I say, my heart aching with a hollow sadness that never ends.
He slips my leg from his shoulder and leans over me, resting his hands on the bed. “Close your eyes,” he says quietly, as if he read my mind. “I’ll keep going until you can.”
I nod and close my eyes, and he lets me cum without looking at him this time. It’s not what he thinks it is. It’s not because of his face. I’ve gotten so used to that, I hardly notice. It’s because I know what I’m about to do, and I know it’ll break him in a way he can never break me.