Chapter 23
Nate
Ispend most of Grace’s appointment on the phone with Dare. Everything is fine with the app—disaster is averted, membership is rebounding, and no lasting damage has been done. But I’m fucking fuming.
She kicked me out.
And there was nothing I could do about it in front of Eileen, nothing I could say to assert my right to sit in. The first time my wife had the option to make me leave, she took it. It throws all the progress we’ve made into question.
I grumble at Dare on the phone, finding shit to snarl about. Specifically, why he hasn’t gotten me his cousin’s contact details.
“You need to fuck off now, boss,” he says, interrupting me in the middle of reiterating my demand.
“Excuse me, you little shit?” The phone is perched on my desk while I get a few squats in, a 25KG dumbbell in each hand.
“You’ve been shitting down my throat all day. There’s no way I’m letting you talk to my cousin when you’re like this. He’d probably cry.”
“Fuck him then.” A pause, and I realise I’m being too much of a dick for even my employee—and friend—to handle. I put down the dumbbells. “Sorry, man. I just… I’ll fuck off.”
“Your head’s out of order, boss. Take time off. Calm that shit down.”
I rub my face, tension mounting in my shoulders now that I’ve put the weights down.
“You can’t fill in for both Nick and me indefinitely. Let me talk to your cousin, Dare. I promise I’ll be nice. You deserve at least a bit of free time.”
“Nah, I’d just game my brains out and spend all my money on ‘90s collectibles.”
That gets a rusty laugh out of me, and I realise my fury is spent. “All right, man. Go ahead and hire your cousin for me, yeah? I’ll take some time and get my head in order. We’ll do a morning check-in each day this week, and that’s it.”
“That’s it,” Dare reiterates, the ever-clicking sound of his keyboard pausing. “I’m so proud of you, Nathaniel. You’re actually accepting help.”
“Oh, fuck off, Derek.”
“Fucking off, boss.”
Instead of waiting for Grace here in my office, I head to the adjacent gym and continue my workout.
I break a sweat, pushing myself hard enough that my mind finally calms down.
I try to stop imagining my wife and her doctor.
I try to stop picturing the Munchausen bitch’s face when she finally gets what’s coming to her.
More than anything, I try to stop the ever-present urge to go to Grace and crush her into my arms.
She’s here, she’s mine…
I’ve felt it all morning, the urge to take her in hand.
I thought beginning our relationship would let me calm down, take my mind off her a bit.
If anything, my obsession has progressed.
If I could, I’d tie her to my bed and keep her there.
It’s a charming image, my beautiful wife, permanently tied within the home her imagination built, forever here with me.
Impossible.
What I want with Grace cannot exist if I force her more than I already have.
So I work the remainder of my frustration out, muscles aching, music blasting.
I don’t stop when my phone pings; I just glance at the screen to confirm that it’s the driveway cameras noting Eileen’s departure.
I don’t stop when Grace’s voice calls from my office.
I ignore her, heavy rock blasting. I expect her to scurry away to continue working on her journal, probably making notes I won’t be allowed to read.
“Nate?” Her voice is right behind me.
I feel her hand trace down the line of sweat on my back, sticking my T-shirt to my skin.
Fuck.
I put the weights down, shut the music off, and face her. She meets my gaze imploringly with tear-reddened eyes.
“Well?” I ask, barely hiding the turmoil I’ve been trying to suppress.
“The appointment was,” she lets out a quiet sigh, “really hard.”
I cross my arms over my heart, still pumping hard. If she thinks I’m going to help her in this conversation, she’s wrong.
“I shouldn’t have told you to leave,” she says, looking down at the floor. “I wanted you back the second you were gone.”
“Why?” My voice comes out strained.
She lifts a shoulder, her hair shifting across the collar of her shirt. “Because you already knew everything Eileen told me. You said you have proof and—and I think you’ve known the truth for a long time.”
I step close, taking her chin so she can look up into my face. I don’t hide my anger.
“Why are you here, Grace, interrupting my workout?”
I expect her to pull back, then run away. Instead, she blinks up at me, her expression vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen before.
“I need you.”
I want to drop to my knees, grab her thighs, and bury my face against her belly. I shove that mewling thought aside.
“You think you can send me away then demand me back whenever you feel like it?”
Her expression closes a little. “You have to respect my privacy, Nate. I’ll invite you in when I need support. That’s how relationships work.”
Her mouth is set in a firm line, and I want to fuck that look off her face.
I could do it, too. I could grab her by the hair and show her exactly what happens when she plays with my heart and tries to dictate terms. It would be a punishment based on overspilling emotions and it would feel good.
But I can’t trust myself to stop if I start down that road.
I turn and head towards the shower without another word. It’s smaller than the one in the master suite, situated on the other end of the home gym along with the infrared sauna. I turn on the water and take off my shirt.
“Nate,” Grace says.
She’s followed me.
“You need to step away from me right now,” I say, my voice low, threatening.
“Really?”
Her breath drifts across the sweat on my bare back. I stiffen, desperate to turn around, to pin her down—
“Can I show you something? It’ll only take a minute.”
She’s playing me like a fucking instrument. Like a little bitch, at her beck and call. And that’s what I am. I’m hers. So I turn off the shower and I follow her past the bench press and weights, back to my office. An unmarked manila folder sits on my closed laptop.
“Eileen put her findings together,” Grace says. “She’s made a timeline with medical annotations, and she said this would probably be useful if ever we were asked to provide—” she pauses for a shaky breath, “to provide a court with discovery.”
I stare at the folder which, if Grace is right, contains proof positive of Constance Reid’s crimes. The evidence procured by my PI could easily be discounted in court. But an official medical deduction? Game-changer.
“So what,” I say, “you want to dangle it in front of me to negotiate for something?”
“No,” Grace says, her voice edged with impatience, “I want you to put it away in whatever safe spot you have for documents. If I look at it for one more second I’ll set it all on fucking fire.”
“Watch your mouth.” I reach for the folder, tension bleeding from my body as I realise the truth. She’s giving this to me. Proof that I’ve been right. I examine her anew. “Keep talking like that and I’ll have to correct you.”
She takes in a quick breath, probably to start a fresh tirade, but I give her one hard look and she goes quiet.
Adorable.
I skim the papers, then snap the folder shut.
“I’ll send copies to my lawyers.” My voice is cold. Clinical. “And I’ll keep it in the safe, if that’s what you want.”
“Yes, please.” She bites her lip, looking from the file to my eyes. “So—are we good?”
I scoff. “Good what?”
“Are you still upset with me for making you leave?”
I set the folder aside and consider Grace, taking in her guarded expression. “Are you offering to make it up to me?”
“I, um…” her cheeks go red, “I could, I guess.”
This version of Grace, I can handle properly. My shrinking, shy girl who needs to be taken care of.
“You want to make sure I’m not upset with you, is that right?”
She nods, then falls back a step as I close in.
I’m shirtless and a bit sweaty, and it crosses my mind that Grace could have let me clean off and cool down, but she chose to escalate—even when I obviously needed some space.
I hold her eyes as I reach to the side, putting my laptop safely on the chair.
“And how does a gracious girl like you make up for something like this?”
“Nate, I told you, I made a mistake and—”
“I’ll stop you right there. Because after admitting your error, you said something I find… problematic.” Her lashes flutter when I put my hands on her, one on each hip. “You told me I had to wait for an invitation to support you. You said that’s how relationships work.”
I lift her up, perching her on the edge of the desk. She’s startled and shaking, and I know everything I’m about to do is right.
“That’s not how things will work here,” I continue. “My place is to support you at every step and,” I part her thighs to step between her legs, “if you resist, then it’s my job to correct you. And you need a correction right now, don’t you?”
She’s holding her breath, lower lip caught between her teeth.
I lean in, catching it in my teeth, biting it until she gasps.
Her hands push against my chest, but there’s no way I’m letting go.
She realises it quickly enough, loosening up until her top lip rests over mine, her breaths coming fast and harsh.
I pull back to check in with her. She’s staring at my shoulders, chest heaving.
And I realise: Grace is turned on beyond what I’ve seen before. Whether it was our fight, the sorrow from the doctor’s appointment, or something else, she’s running hot. And I’m going to take full advantage.
I press closer, grabbing her ass to bring her right to the edge of the desk.
“You want to make it up to me?” I fasten my mouth to the spot just below her ear, sucking until she’s moaning in delicious protest.
“Yes,” she whispers.
“You’re going to take me inside you.” I nip at the hickey I’ve left on her neck. “Right now.”
“I—what?”
“Let me in. That’s your correction.”
“I can’t, Nate,” she looks into my eyes, “we’re in my fertile window.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re going to take me right now, while you’re fertile and fuckable, regardless of the consequences.”
Uncertainty wars with heat in her eyes, but I see the moment she decides. She squares her shoulders, her chin coming up in that knee-jerk defiance I love.
“Do it, then,” she says.
I rip open her jeans, standing her up to get them off along with her underwear.
Then I shove her back onto the desk and I’m inside her a second later.
Grace cries out, her thighs snapping tight around my hips, drawing me in deeper.
Her pussy accepts me without any priming.
I stay still, just feeling her from the inside out, my mouth by her ear.
“You were ready for me, weren’t you?”
She moans.
I give her one slow, rolling thrust, kicking aside her jeans so I can plant my feet. Then I hold still, even when she wriggles.
“Did you come into my office for this? Did you need your husband’s cock to make you feel better after that appointment?”
She lets out a frustrated growl when I refuse to move despite her silent urging. “Make me forget, Nate. Please.”
I draw back enough to look into her eyes. She’s lost, despite being right here, wrapped around me. Her lip trembles as she tries to hold back tears. I grip the back of her neck.
“What do you need to forget, Grace?”
“You know what. You’ve known from the start.”
“Yes, I fucking have,” I pump into her once, loving how she moans. “You need to forget everyone—everyone—except me. Say it.”
She shakes her head, tears falling as I take her.
I should make her say it. I should force Grace to confirm what she’s just discovered—what I don’t have to read the file to know.
Her mother has been making her sick her entire life, right down to the false negative for Coeliac Disease.
And I am the only one who knew from the start.
I hold her close as I move hard within her, comforting her in the best way I know how.
Despite fertility and discovery and latent fury, I make love to my wife.