31. Chapter 31
Grace
My world is fracturing, and all I want to do is let it happen.
Nate has me in every single way—physically, he’s got a hand buried in my hair as I’m backed up against the wall.
More than that, he has me dead to rights morally and psychologically.
I did something very wrong today when I tried to talk to Mother.
It was a serious regression, but part of me wants to keep pushing back anyway, to make him understand that it was his actions that made me want to reach out to her.
Had he not left me so abruptly, I never would have felt the urge to do something so self-destructive.
But I know he’s right. I slipped up today, regardless of the situation. And that means I need help.
“Nate,” I whisper, hoping to get things back to a more even footing. “Please, I—”
“A fucking brute,” Nate says, a slow smile curving his lips. “You keep coming back to that, don’t you?”
“Nate,” I try again, but he presses a warm palm over my lips, silencing me. And I let him. I keep my hands at my sides, even as I feel my eyes tearing. I’ve gone too far. We both have. And there’s nowhere to go but further.
“A fucking brute,” Nate continues, “would keep his hand over your mouth, fold you in half, then fuck both your holes until you pass out. Do you want me to do that, Grace?”
I try to slide away, but his other hand seizes the back of my neck. Panic lances through me.
I manage to turn my head enough to free my mouth. “I didn’t mean it.”
His smile turns sharp. “You absolutely did. And maybe I should call you names, too. Turnabout is fair play, after all. Hmm… what are some things sweet baby Grace doesn’t want to hear?”
He cocks his head, pretending to think, then his eyes snap back to mine.
“How about slut.” He snaps the word out from between his teeth, then shakes his head. “No, not quite right. We need something double-barrelled, at least. How about fucking slut? Even better—my fucking slut who loves every nasty thing I do to her even if she pretends otherwise.”
I feel myself redden, hating every word out of his mouth. “Stop it.”
His lips keep smiling, though his eyes are cold. “Did I finger a trigger, Graciously?”
My stomach turns over so fast that I heave. It feels as if he’s reached into my body and combed his fingers through my intestines.
“Don’t fucking call me that,” I snarl in a rush. I lean into his grip, trying to regain myself, though my body wants to close in and curl up. “What I said was different. You’re using words that don’t apply to—”
“Words that don’t apply?” His hold on me tightens, keeping me in place despite the way I’m tilting to one side.
“I’d say many people would call a woman who fucks her husband’s twin within a day of his death a slut at the very least. I bet your mother, especially, would be surprised at just how much you love all the brutal things I do to you, Graciously. ”
I forget myself completely when he says that disgusting name again—lashing out faster than thought, I slap him across the face, hard. The crack rings out in the room and there’s a handprint on his cheek, angry and red.
I feel a sickly sort of triumph when he releases me. Then I see the look in his eyes and my heart beats so fast I’m almost dizzy.
Nate works his jaw to that side, clearly checking for damage, his eyes flat.
I shake my head, denying my own actions though I know it’s pointless.
My muscles tense as I get an image of running through the woods beyond the house, jumping streams, hiding between trees.
And Nate, chasing me with that same predatory expression.
The image is compelling, but he takes a long step forward, drawing my attention back to the moment.
“Don’t even think about it,” he snarls. “I’d love to chase you down, but not tonight.”
I feel like I’m immobilised by what I’ve done. In all our encounters, I’ve never fought him physically. I’ve crossed a brand new line—just like I did earlier today.
And he crosses them all the damn time, a voice whispers to me.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Nate says with an air of forced calm. “I’ll give you three options for an apology: One—”
“I’m not apologising,” I interrupt, “you don’t deserve—”
He’s on me before I can finish, one hand clamped over my mouth, the other propelling me backwards until I’m against the wall again.
“This is a one-time deal, Grace, and you’re not going to interrupt me again, got it?”
He leans in to meet my eyes, and I realise he’s fucking turned on by this; his pupils are wide, and his cock is a bar of iron against my leg. I feel an answering flutter in my belly and try to ignore it. He holds me in place until I nod, agreeing silently not to interrupt him.
“As I was saying, you’ve got three choices for an apology, Grace: First option, I fuck you exactly the way I want, whatever position I choose. If you’re fertile today, it’ll be up your ass.”
I squirm, tempted to tell him that, yes, I’ve entered my fertile window and, no, he cannot do that to me. Not without prep. His brows go up as he reads my thoughts with unerring ease.
“Second option is you give me the best blowjob of my fucking life. It’ll go on as long as I want and you’ll swallow every drop of my come.”
I swallow convulsively, dread pooling in my chest. I hate blowjobs and he’s respected that so far, a clear line between us.
“Third option," he continues, "I will take you over my knee and give you the spanking of your life. I won’t stop until your ass is cherry red and I am completely satisfied.”
My cheeks blaze as the flutter in my belly turns fiery. Nick would never even give me a playful smack on the ass during sex—and I did ask, before that side of our relationship died.
“So, what’ll it be, Grace?”
I can’t meet his eyes, not when I remember his brother’s disgust.
“Mmm,” he draws close, nuzzling my neck, “I think I know which option you want. And I think you’ll like giving me your apology.”
“Fuck you,” I hiss, trying to push him away.
He grabs my wrists and pins them to my sides.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he grins in a way that makes me shiver, “if you won’t choose, I’ll do all three—in that order. Ass. Mouth. Spank. That’s what I really want, Grace, so don’t tempt me.”
Images cascade through my mind and I feel myself trembling at the terrible scene that could unfold if he were to fulfill his promise.
“Please don’t.”
“Such a pretty girl when she begs.” He looks deep into my eyes, his own black and hungry. “Make your choice, love.”
“Th-three.”
He releases me and I almost sink to the floor. I’m as frightened as I am aroused, my underwear already soaked. It’s shameful—and typical.
Nate regards me for a moment, considering. “I’m feeling more generous and less brutal than usual, so I’ll offer you a safe word—or a phrase, as it were—that you can say if you really need me to stop your punishment. Would you like that, Grace?”
Thinking of how some of our encounters have gone, I nod.
If I have some way of stopping him, of slowing him down, that can only be to the good.
Nate seats himself on the edge of the bed and I approach warily, hoping he doesn’t see how turned on I am. His erection is pressed against his trousers, which only makes this feel even stranger. I realise I have no idea how to proceed.
“You’ve made serious transgressions today, Grace.
You contacted your mother, who is a known danger to you.
You also lashed out at me, purposefully using hurtful language, which you doubled down on when I confronted you.
Finally, you slapped me in a fit of emotional outrage instead of accepting my role in correcting you as your loving husband.
Do you agree that your behaviour was unacceptable? ”
My pussy pulses even as I fight the urge to dispute his claims.
Loving husband…
I’m in no position to argue any further, so I nod.
“Good.” Nate’s voice drops, going smokey and dark.
“Now, here’s what will happen. I’m going to help you into position, then you’re going to take as many blows as I see fit to give.
You can cry, scream, squirm, and beg so long as you do not personally insult me.
You will not try to escape, and you will not lash out at me physically.
Break my rules, and we’re back to talking about all three options one after another. Do you understand me, Grace?”
I realise I’m shuffling my feet. I force myself to stop, to look into his eyes. “I understand.”
“And do you accept my rules?”
I take a breath, surprised at the question. I feel like I lost control today and, paradoxically, this discussion is helping me regain it.
So fucked up…
“If I do something by accident,” I say, “or I squirm too much, or say something rude, will you decide I’ve earned more than—”
I stop myself, feeling my cheeks going bright red.
“You don’t want me spanking you then pretending you’ve earned the other offerings. All right, Grace. Since this is your first time, I’ll be lenient regarding the rules.”
Relief makes my knees go weak. “Thank you.”
“That doesn’t mean this will be easy.” He beckons me forward. “I’ll still expect you to take what I give. But if you feel yourself checking out too much or if you’re in too much pain, your safe phrase is… ‘I love you’.”
My body freezes with shock. “W-what?”
“You heard me. Now come here.”
“Nate,” I say, trying and failing to put together an argument with all the clashing feelings inside me. “I don’t accept ‘I love you’ as my safe word.”
“Phrase,” he corrects, then he stands up.
I catch my breath, ready to back away, but all he does is take my hand.
“‘I love you’ is what you’re getting, Grace.
I won’t force you to say it, of course, but it’s there if you need it.
And if it’s a phrase you don’t want to say but which I’d love to hear, then all the better.
That’ll ensure you don’t use it without cause, and it’ll definitely catch my attention if you do.
” He leans in and gives me a soft kiss on the cheek. “Now, come and give me your apology.”
I shudder, feeling myself go wobbly with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. “Okay.”
“Thank you,” he whispers, cupping my cheek and giving a quiet sigh.
I lean away, startled. “For what?”
“For consenting to what I’m about to do to you.”
His hands turn rough: he pushes me down onto the bed and gets in beside me, his back against the headboard, long legs stretched out. Then he puts me in my place, pressing my chest into the mattress and settling my pelvis across his lap.
“Bend your knees a bit,” he says. “We don’t want you to be uncomfortable just yet.”
I obey, bending my knees so that more of my weight rests on Nate’s lap.
I place my hands beside my head and crane my neck to peer at him, trying to calm my racing heart.
He gives me the wolfish regard that always precedes pleasure—and sometimes pain.
Maintaining eye contact, he eases my jeans and underwear down my thighs.
Vulnerability steals my breath as cool air hits my backside, making me feel the wetness accumulating between my legs.
I’m messed up for wanting this.
“All set, love?” His eyes have softened a little, his hand resting on my right buttock.
I can’t speak, so I nod, then press my face into the mattress.
“Breathe, Grace. You can handle this.”
I obey, trying to draw a steady breath.
The first blow comes, cracking through the room with a sound louder than I expected. The impact arrives a second after the sound, and I grunt from the spark of pain in my right buttock. Another follows, this time on the left. My breath hitches.
“That’s it,” he says, rubbing each cheek in turn, settling the pain deeper. “You’re doing so well already.”
I turn my head so I can see him again. His eyes are on my ass, mouth set in concentration. Another blow comes and I gasp. He glances at me and I do something I’ll never understand, not in a million years. I nod him on. Nate gives me a long, heated look, then he goes to town.
The blows come evenly, first to one cheek, then to the other, and I realise he’s being careful not to smack the same spot in quick succession.
I take deep breaths as I fall further and further into the sensations he’s eliciting, my eyes closing.
The pain is a wave of heat pulsing over my skin, heightening the pulse between my legs.
His erection juts up against me, though I can’t use it for the friction I’m craving. I wriggle, groaning with need.
“Oh, we’re not there yet,” he says in between smacks, “but you’re being so fucking good for me. Do you think you can give me more?”
I’m about to say yes, but my answer is swept away by a terrible blow to my left buttock.
I cry out properly for the first time, pain taking a spiked hold of me.
I muffle my grunts into the mattress when the next hit comes, even harder.
The spanking takes a turn into a place I can only describe as red.
I see, feel, and taste the colour as he lands blow after blow, hurting me in a way he never has before.
I can feel myself panting, though I’m not sure what noises I’m making at this point.
The pain is like a blister that’s been opened to the cool air, oxygen flooding in to heighten the torment.
I let it take me, and I start sobbing.