oddly quiet during the drive, but I brush it off as exhaustion and the alcohol he drank all night.
We’re almost home when his hand grips my knee and runs down my leg, his green eyes glimmering with the need for something I can’t stomach giving him.
What have I done?
I’m not sure, but I know it’s a different feeling. Grant’s touch is expected, cordial in a way. A boon of marriage that means he doesn’t have to try anymore. Just roll over and I’m there.
What’s odd is that I hadn’t noticed the change until now. Not until I remembered what it can be like to lose yourself in another person.
When Ari touches me, I burn. Every nerve ending on fire, my lungs struggling to breathe. He makes my mind spin, and I can’t imagine he would ever settle for a lazy fuck, something used to get off before rolling over to go to sleep.
He’s too darkly passionate for that.
Too dirty.
And I know this from only brief moments we’ve had together. I can’t imagine what he could do if he had hours to practice his sensually cruel torture.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” Grant says, cutting into thoughts I should not be having. His voice is deep, his words slightly slurred.
“Thank you. I’m glad you approved.”
His hand squeezes my leg. Not enough to hurt, but a warning.
“I’m your husband,” he says, a sharp edge to his voice, “of course I approve. I wouldn’t have married you otherwise.”
My eyes close at the hint that I’m a pretty ornament and nothing more.
Was he like this before we got married? I’m not sure. I try to think back and look for signs of it, but if they were there, I’d missed them.
I want to blame myself for that. I should blame myself for that. Sadly, I was so desperate to change my life then that I wasn’t paying much attention to the finer details.
With Grant, I saw security. Stability. Someone who, at the time, could help teach me responsibility.
It’s likely I’d mistaken his actions as concern when they were much more insidious than that. It wasn’t an overnight change, more of a slow roll, so languid that I accepted each step without realizing it was a step at all.
After we married, I allowed myself to be isolated. I stopped talking to friends, people I’d known for years. But I’d happily done so because they were my past, my club buddies, the people who had been bad influences. Grant’s dislike of them appeared to have a justifiable reason.
As for family, I have none. My aunt, but we were never close. She only stepped in on paper when I needed a guardian, but she was never there.
I have Grant and his sister, Gloria, for companions now. That’s it. But the process to finding myself in this position seemed natural.
Other changes occurred after. But they crept in like a disease rather than slapping me in the face with the sudden shift. That’s how you miss them, though. It’s never enough to draw suspicion because it’s so subtle.
Not even a year into our marriage and the behavioral modifications are almost complete. I realize that now. And although I’m not sure why Ari’s presence has helped rip away the curtain and show me what I’ve given up, the truth is that it has.
And it pisses me off.
I want my life back. Maybe not the wildest parts, the decisions that carried bad consequences. But the freedom...I miss that.
Dancing. My music. My art.
All the things that made me who I am have been packed up with the rest of the belongings I chose to keep when I moved into Grant’s mansion. They’ve been collecting dust while he molds me into what he wants.
And I let him.
Only because I doubted myself.
Only because I became skittish and stopped trusting myself.
I let him.
It’s a hard pill to swallow.
But I’m still not sure Grant is doing this intentionally. And that’s why I haven’t left yet. It’s also why the guilt is eating away at me even now.
I’ve cheated on my husband three times. And if Ari were here, I know I’d do it again.
Which means I have no choice but to avoid Ari.
The limo pulls up to the front of our house, and Grant’s hand slides higher up my thigh. It’s an invitation for what he wants. But I can’t welcome it.
Not while I’m still dirty from another man. And not when bile crawls up my throat at the thought of sex with my husband.
When the car comes