Chapter 53
GREYSON
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…” The bishop spoke while Hailey tried to wrench her arm out of my grasp.
She wasn’t going anywhere.
“I am not going to marry you. How many times do I have to tell you no, you sick son of a bitch?” Tears cut tracks through the pink flush on her cheeks.
The bishop didn’t stop. He couldn’t afford to. As a friend of my family’s, he’d turned to us for assistance when he was caught dipping into the collection plate funds, to the tune of several hundred thousand.
“Skip to the good part, Your Excellency,” I said as Hailey switched from trying to pull her arm out of my grip to instead beat my arm with her balled fist.
“Do you, Greyson Stockford, take Hailey Wrenn to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” I said, giving her a grin, and she snarled at me.
“And do you, Hailey Wrenn, take Greyson Stockford to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer—”
“Fuck no. He can burn in hell by himself. I’m not doing this. And fuck you too.”
To the bishop’s credit, he did not even skip a beat before pronouncing us man and wife.
It was a small formality to have the pseudo-religious ceremony, but it mattered to me.
Later, when Jameson was no longer a threat, I’d give her the wedding she deserved, but for now, I didn’t want to just forge her signature on a piece of paper.
I wanted her to feel married, to feel the religious weight of it.
I wanted her to know she was now mine before God and man.
Even rich soulless assholes like myself occasionally believed in the power of something greater…when it helped our purposes.
Hailey let out an aggravated scream when I grabbed her around the back and dipped her, slamming my lips down on hers. She fought for a second and then melted into the kiss, like she always did.
“I’ll have the papers sent to your lawyers. May your marriage be a long and fruitful one,” the bishop called over his shoulder as he left the aircraft and got back into his limo.
“I hate you so much,” Hailey seethed.
“I’m sure you do, but you’ll get over that eventually.” I tossed her over my shoulder and headed for the bedroom. Time for the fun part of the wedding.
“Mr. Stockford?” the flight attendant called. “Did you want to stay in New York or…”
“As soon as the plane is done refueling, we need to take off,” I instructed her, not breaking stride. “Back home as quickly as possible, there should be no reason for any delays like last night. Have the Dom Pérignon and strawberries left outside our door. The wife and I are not to be disturbed.”
I kicked the bedroom door closed behind us and then tossed Hailey down onto the bed.
“You are seriously fucking twisted if you think I’m going to just let you fuck me between New York and Virginia.”
“A whole hour. I’m flattered you think I need more time than that.”
She threw a pillow at me as the engines whined to life, and we taxied to the runway.
There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it to find a tray with a bucket of ice, the bottle of champagne, two flutes, chocolate-covered strawberries, and a small bowl of whipped cream.
I opened the champagne, letting the cork pop in a rag, and poured us each a glass.
“Go to hell,” Hailey snapped, hurling a book from the nightstand. I batted it away with my elbow and set both glasses on the sideboard.
I took her hand, pulled her off the bed, and sat down on the large recliner with the seat belt, pulling her into my lap and buckling the belt around us both.
“I’m not consummating this marriage,” she pouted. “And I am not toasting this…this…hostage situation.”
“A hostage situation implies there was some type of ransom. There was no ransom. You’re my wife now. I’d say I’ve gotten what I wanted.”
Her face got bright red, and there was a little vein in her forehead that throbbed as her teeth sank into her bottom lip.
“We are absolutely consummating this marriage before we land. But there are some other things we need to talk about first.”
“Fuck you,” she spat.
“Eloquent as always, darling. But I am serious. We need to talk first. And if you do not calm down and talk to me, I am going to spank you until you do.”
The engines roared as we started barreling down the runway. I snatched both flutes of champagne, handing her one as we took off.
Her fingers whitened around the stem. Her eyes cut to mine as she drained the entire glass in one gulp. As soon as the airplane leveled out, I undid the seat belt, and she came off the seat before the belt cleared her hips.
“Now you want to talk? Fucking now? How did you even get a bishop to marry us like that?”
“Money.” I shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was.
I refilled her flute. When I handed it to her, she hurled it at my head. I barely dodged it. Champagne splattered across the wall as shards of glass exploded around us.
“What is it with you and breaking glass?” I asked.
“I will break everything you own until you annul this fucking marriage.”
“Enough,” I said.
“You don’t get to tell me when it’s enough, I—” She choked off her words when I picked her up and dropped her back on the bed. I followed her down, pinning her flat, holding her wrists above her head with one hand and covering her mouth with the other.
“Now is the time for you to shut your pretty fucking mouth and open your fucking ears. If you continue to fight me, then I will give your mouth something to work on.” She sank her teeth into the flesh of my hand, and I pulled back with a curse. I half expected to see blood.
“Shove your cock in my mouth, and I’ll bite it off.”
I pulled her off the bed, turned her around, and in seconds, I had her bent over my knee as I ripped her pants off.
My hand slammed down on her ass, and she screamed a stream of obscenities that would make a sailor blush. I spanked her again. She could swear and curse all she wanted; her body told a different story.
Her skin pinked for me. After the third spank, her muscles unclenched, and her hips rose ever so slightly to meet my palm.
“Are you ready to listen?” I asked after the tenth slap, when she finally stopped yelling and only whimpered.
She said nothing.
“I’m going to take care of you. I’m going to soothe your skin, then I’ll give you what you need, but you need to listen first.” I kept her bent over my thigh as I reached for the aloe lotion next to the bed and worked it into her hot skin.
“If I don’t?” She squirmed in my grip, and I smacked her ass again in warning.
“Then you’ll be over my knee until you can’t sit for a week, and instead of satisfying your cunt, I’m going to fuck your ass until you behave.” Her thighs clenched then her weight shifted.
She stopped fighting.
“Are you going to listen?”
“Fine,” she huffed as she slid off my lap and wrapped a corner of the blanket over her hips.
“I’ve told you that Jameson is alive and I helped him fake his death, but I haven’t told you the entire story.”
“Shocker.”
She opened her mouth to say more but I laid my finger over her lips and raised my voice to drown out whatever curse she was about to fling at me. “Pierce changed the rules of the game when he brought Madison into play. The thing is…I’ve never been a fan of losing.”