Marriage Games (The Games Duet #1) Read online

  I reached around with my other hand and pulled her shirt open, popping buttons, yanking her bra up over her tits. She let out an ah into my mouth, and when I squeezed her nipple harder than I ever had, it turned into a long aaaahhhh…

  I spoke so close our lips touched. “Define sex.”

  “Inside me. You inside me.”

  “I’m not going to fuck you,” I said, letting her nipple go and lightly brushing the newly sensitive skin with my fingertips.

  “This won’t make me love you.” The barb came through her teeth.

  “I don’t want you to love me.” I squeezed her other nipple when I lied. I’d never been so cruel to them.

  “Oh. God.”

  “Hush.” I broke saying it, because her awakening at this touch was life itself. “Stand up.”

  I helped her to her feet. Her shirt was askew and her bra squeezed her tits down.

  “You all right?”

  “Yes.” She started to right her shirt, but I held her arms still.

  “No. Just like this. Take your pants down halfway to your knees.”

  She swallowed hard. I’d hit an uncomfortable spot. I could let it go right now. Forget the trade. Tell her I’d give her the condo even if she walked out.

  “Go on,” I said. “Or say pinochle. Then we can battle it out in court.”

  I licked one of my thumbs and put the other one in her mouth. She sucked it without being asked. My God. All these years. A long string of a thousand missed opportunities.

  “Your nipples are so hard.” I ran my wet thumbs over them and pinched. Her eyelids fluttered closed. “I’ve never seen you like this. You want to finish.” It was risky to give up, but I was sure she wanted to come as much as I wanted to make her come. “Trust me with this.”

  Trust that I’m not holding your financial situation over your head in exchange for sex.

  Hey, we all use what we got.

  “No sex,” I said. “My cock won’t enter you. You’re going to come. After you come, I sign the deed over.”

  She unbuttoned her fly.

  Diana Barnes was meeting me halfway. She was taking everything I’d hid from her and opening herself to it. She pushed her pants down.

  I twisted the chair around and sat on it. She couldn’t walk well with her pants around her thighs, which was the point, so I guided her to my side. Her expression was open and docile. Waiting to be told what to do next.

  “Bend at the waist and relax, darling.”

  I guided her over my knee, spreading my legs so her head had somewhere to rest. Her bottom was pale and round, soft and ready. I tucked both of her arms at her lower back and ringed the wrists with my fingers so she couldn’t move. I slid my other hand along her wet cleft. I put two fingers in her, finding the bundle of nerves inside her wall.

  She groaned.

  My cock raged against her belly. I wanted to come on her. Mark her back and her pink ass.

  I pulled out my fingers, circled her clit, then slapped each ass cheek with a crack crack. She squeaked. Groaned. The backs of her thighs went taut.

  I put my fingers back in her. She was rigid and tight and—

  “Adam!”

  Mid-slap when she said my name, my hand landed with a thwack.

  “Stop!”

  I froze.

  “Pinochle! Let me go.”

  I released her wrists. She stood, but her pants restricted her, and when I tried to help her, she pulled away quickly, lost her balance, and fell. She tried to catch herself on a chair, but that only sent it down with her.

  Up on the heels of her hands, socked feet, bra half up and off, she was comedic as hell. But I didn’t laugh. Sex was funny, and BDSM required an appropriate sense of humor. This, however, was not funny to her. So I swallowed a laugh and scrambled to help her up.

  “No!” She pushed me away.

  “You can’t be surprised at a spanking.”

  She arched her back and got her pants up. Damn. Fuck, shit, and damn.

  “I’m not. But…” Still on the floor, she put her bra back down.

  “But?”

  Frustration crept into my voice. I’d been snapped backward from the most pleasant free fall. I had to remind myself I was the Dominant here. I was supposed to care for her emotions as well as her body.

  She stood and fastened her fly. Her shirt buttons were busted. She crossed the front panels of her shirt across her beautiful body.

  I sighed into a deep well of disappointment.

  “I’m going.” She stepped backward, reaching behind her for her coat. “Don’t follow me.”

  “Diana, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Just… I’ll call you. About this. I’m going to call you about this. Soon.”

  She threw her coat over her arm and opened the door exactly as much as she needed to get out, then she closed it behind her hard enough to rattle the doorbell. Her blue scarf with the embroidered birds drooped out of the coat pocket and got caught in the door. I walked toward it.

  By the time I got there, I heard a click of the key in the lock. I opened the door, bent down for the scarf. Diana stood at the door, waiting. I folded the scarf in two, put it around her neck, and looped it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “I like taking care of you.”

  She walked down the hall without another word.

  Chapter 38

  PAST PERFECT

  Night.

  Crickets.

  Her face in darkness.

  Pillowcase cool on my cheek.

  The blinds clicking in the breeze.

  A glint on her eye from the moon.

  Our legs twisted together.

  What should we name her?

  You’re not even pregnant yet.

  But I will be.

  You’re getting ahead of yourself.

  Lenore.

  No.

  It’s my grandmother’s name.

  Did your great-grandmother read a lot of Poe?

  Probably.

  You want a bunch of ravens circling the building?

  A pinch on my arm.

  On top of her.

  Her mouth yields in the dark.

  The crickets hear her groan.

  I suggest a name.

  I like Olive.

  It’s a color.

  And a boy can be Oliver.

  Kisses wet. Skin sore but ready.

  My body trapping hers.

  She whispers.

  More please.

  Chapter 39

  PRESENT TENSE

  I pressed my ear to the door. The elevator came. I imagined Diana going down it with her only-slightly-spanked ass and her damaged pride.

  That was over. Nice try.

  I packed what I could so I could complete my move to Murray Hill. The rest of my clothes. The toiletries I didn’t use every day. Our wedding album. I flipped through it. We hadn’t had a wedding reception. We’d had a party months after. Fuck that party. Fuck the Lafayette Hotel. Fuck the first dance and the last. Fuck her mother’s white dress. Fuck the overcooked fish and her cousins from Minnesota who didn’t like me.

  Fuck all of them. Fuck me. Fuck my stupid decision to try to show her who I was. Fuck the throb in my balls and her safe word. Fuck my plan to fall out of love with her. It couldn’t work without her. I was just going to love her forever. She’d always be the woman with her wedding gown dragging along Fifth Avenue.

  I was doomed.

  The condo was hers. She’d tried. I’d tried. I failed. I’d sign the deed over in the morning and be done.

  I left the duck and plates for the housekeeper. I started a note about the change in residents. I wrote down the groceries Diana liked to have, the way she liked more pillows on the bed, a note to leave the drapes closed and blinds open when she left.

  My phone buzzed. I thought it was the west coast printer, but it was Diana.

  —I’m not going to call you—

  —I can’t say it—

&
nbsp; —Just please swear you

  won’t show this to anyone.

  Even if you marry some

  nice submissive girl one day

  and want a laugh about

  your ex-wife, please don’t

  show this text—

  —You don’t have to tell me

  anything. I get it—

  —No you don’t—

  —And I’m not getting

  remarried—

  —Yes you are. You deserve

  someone who loves you—

  —Is that what you wanted

  to tell me?—

  —No—

  —Don’t answer until

  I say I’m finished—

  —Ok—

  —That’s answering—

  (…)

  (…)

  The phone rang as I watched the streaming dots indicate she was typing. Her name sprang onto the screen.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, then I heard street sounds on the other side. “You’re not driving, are you?”

  “I’m still parked. I just can’t type it either. And I can’t look at you.”

  “I decided something,” I said, pushing the housekeeper note away. “I’m not sorry. I treated you pretty gently. I checked on you. I’m still your husband—it’s not like I’m some stranger. I don’t feel a bit of guilt, so if you’re about to lay it on, forget it.”

  “Yeah.”

  That was all. Then it was street sounds and the car stereo. A podcast. She loved podcasts. Fuck podcasts.

  “You can move in tomorrow,” I said. “Nuestra casa is now su casa.”

  After a deep breath, she said, “Everything about this is bad. You and I are crossing lines. It took a lot of willpower to leave you, and here we are, having sex. Don’t correct me. It’s sex. And I’m all opened up. I’m allowing things… I run a multimillion dollar company. I brought it back from the brink of a hostile liquidation.”

  “By marrying the liquidator.” That was a lie and this was bullshit. I grabbed my coat and keys and went out.

  “Let me finish. I don’t need to be spanked like a child. I don’t need to take orders from you or anyone. I am your equal. I know all these things are true, and I believed you did too.”

  She took a long silence. The radio went dead. She must have shut it off. I nodded to the doorman and went into the cold crowded street.

  “Can I answer that?”

  I had no idea where she was parked, but she wouldn’t get a signal from our underground space. There were so few legal spaces I’d probably find her in two minutes. I had the Jaguar’s spare key. I clicked the unlock button. The lights would flash when I was in range. She wasn’t on the block. I walked east.

  “No, you cannot. Because this isn’t about you or what you believe or think. I have to put that out of my mind. I had to remind myself that I know all that stuff is true. And so saying that, I have to ask myself what the fuck happened up there. I was all up in my head. I was thinking about how stupid this was and how you’re just crazy and I needed to get back and put my stuff in the car and call the west coast printers before they leave for the day.” She cleared her throat.

  I clicked the car key. No car.

  “Then you kissed me. You stupid ass, you always knew how to kiss. And I don’t know what happened. I let it all go. I let you own me. No one owns me, Adam. No one.”

  I rubbed my eyes. For the first time, I thought this was all too complicated. I was dealing with the love of my life leaving me with a note on the counter, but I wasn’t. Getting her to submit to me was a distraction from what I should have been doing. Getting the fuck over her.

  “I don’t know what you want.”

  “I want my family’s company. All the copyrights. All the shares. Complete control. I want you and R+D out without a fight.”

  “On a strictly business level, that would never be on the table.”

  “And all debts and loans forgiven. All holdings and assets go back to me. Including the building on Broome.”

  “You know what you’re asking? I put R+D into debt to cover McNeill-Barnes.”

  “Thirty days. That’s the price.”

  I knew it would be. I knew she’d shoot for the stars. What if I gave it all to her and walked away? It would bankrupt me. I’d survive, but it was bad business. I didn’t work that way. I played to win.

  If I was going to put the last five years in the negative column and build my holdings back up, I wasn’t doing it with a broken heart.

  “Thirty days,” she repeated, “and then it’s over. No sex ever again.”

  I was about to interject that I’d be happy to never touch her again, but she didn’t stop or slow down. The sound of her voice changed. She became more present. More real.

  “It’s over. No arguing. No more deals. No nickel-and-diming. I’m probably never going to want to see you again.”

  I spun when I heard her. She was right behind me, coming north on Crosby.

  We hung up our phones. The wind bit her cheeks and her breath came in a pouf of steam. Her chin was up a notch and she stood like anything but a submissive.

  “This has to be a choice,” I said, aware of my contradictions even as I used them to get what I wanted. “I’ll give you the contract. It’s not legally binding, but it lays out our roles very clearly, and what’s expected of you. It’s a hard document to read. So buckle in. You can redline three things. They can be broad, but if they’re too broad, I’ll reject them.”

  Her eyebrow arched. “We’re going to have a contract negotiation over sex?”

  “It’s not about sex. I might not touch you the entire time. It’s about power and trust. These are the rules. No arguing. You come in as a sub. A good Dom respects limits. If you trust me, you’ll do exactly what I tell you from day one to day thirty. You’ll walk out with every asset we own together and a little more self-awareness than before.”

  Because you’re submissive, little huntress.

  Behind her, a cab skirted traffic, wheel in the curb, breaking ice and splashing the sidewalk with cold, filthy sludge.

  I took her elbow and pulled her out of the way. The flying slush missed her, though I got wet below the knees. Even with all that movement, she and I kept our eyes on each other, testing, asking, feeling for questions we didn’t dare ask.

  “Send the contract,” she said.

  “I need you to agree in principle.”

  “I agree in principle. I’m terrified, but I agree in principle.”

  “I’ll leave it on the kitchen table.”

  She nodded.

  “Let me walk you to the car.”

  She started walking south. I stayed on her right side so I’d get splashed if another cab attacked. I didn’t even think about why I was on that side, it was just what I did. We didn’t talk. I remembered wondering how we were going to get a stroller down the street on garbage nights, when even the Michelin two-star restaurant on Crosby put bags of trash on the street for pickup. I’d seen couples wrestle with wheels caught in plastic. Some laughed. Some practically had to dump the kid to get the stroller out. We decided on the little pouches that let the baby rest on her mother’s chest. A baby with a spine to hold her up. Not like our baby.

  The Jag blooped across the cobblestone street.

  “Thank you,” she said. “For walking me.”

  I started across the street. “Not done. I’m a finisher. Come on.”

  She followed, and I opened the driver’s side door.

  She put her foot on the ledge and stopped before lowering herself in. “I spent the walk asking myself if I trust you.”

  “Did you answer?”

  “I did. I have a lot of mixed feelings about you and about this deal. I think it’s weird, but you must need it, and getting out of this marriage without years of litigation is valuable.”

  “Good.”

  She got into the car and I closed the door. As I stepped away, she lowered the window.

  “I’l
l make a list of what I expect at the end of the thirty days,” she said. “We can make it a rider to your contract.”

  “A rider to an unenforceable contract isn’t enforceable.”

  “I may not love you, but I trust you.”

  I got out of the street before I got hit by a car. I was doing it again. Starting over. Reclaiming what I’d been. A pillar of elation built on a foundation of fear. Or the other way around. I couldn’t tell them apart anymore because the fear wasn’t about something happening, but a fear of who I was.

  Chapter 40

  PAST TENSE

  We—Charlie, Stefan, and I—had decided the main house in Montauk wouldn’t have any tools or accouterments on the first floor. We each had a room upstairs we kept the way we wanted and an adjoining room for our subs. Six bedrooms, five baths. Downstairs we had a library, sitting room, an indoor gym, and a room we called the ocean room because it led to the back deck and the short, rocky beach. Kitchen, dining room, office. Everything we needed. Some movable tools in cabinets and hidden hooks, but to the naked eye, the first floor looked as vanilla as anything a real estate broker would show.

  We could divide the first floor in a number of configurations by opening or closing pocket doors. In the deep heat of summer, in the years when we all got along, the main house was a hub of kinky parties.

  In the off-season, from September to early March, I could work half days in the office and get back to Montauk in under two hours, stay up until two with a sub who begged for a beating, and get to work while she slept it off.

  I’d kept that schedule with Serena for two weeks. But on our second Sunday, it changed. We were in the back house, where hooks hung from the ceiling and shackles were bolted to the walls. It was an eight-hundred-square-foot studio space accessed by a stone path behind the main house. The larger room was fit with hooks, crosses, cabinets, whipping benches.