Wilder, Jasinda - Madame X by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Mine, Suspense, Contemporary, Contemporary Women
ISBN: 9781101986882
Publisher: Penguin
Published: 2015-10-05T16:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

I wake suddenly and completely, sensing a presence. “Caleb.”

“X.”

It is black, totally. But I smell signature spicy cologne, hear a slight breath inhaled, exhaled. The shuffle of a foot on wood.

“What time is it, Caleb?”

“Three forty-six in the morning.”

I don’t sit up. I remain on my right side, facing away. I allow myself a touch of venom in my voice. “What do you want, Caleb?”

“I’ve had enough of your attitude. I said I was sorry. It’s over.” My bed dips. A hand on my hip, over the blanket.

“Am I not allowed my own anger, Caleb? You hurt me. You frightened me. And over what?”

“You don’t speak to me that way. You don’t question me.”

“Or you’ll strangle me? Like William did?”

“Or I will be angry. And that’s not a good place for me to be, not for anyone. Least of all for you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, X.”

“Yet you did, and I’m not okay with it,” I say.

I wish desperately to push the hand away, yet it slides up my waist, and fingers hook in the blanket. Draw it away. I’m cold now.

Huge, hard hand, pushing me to my back. I don’t resist. Not yet.

“Come on, X. Let it go.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? I can’t. I can’t just let it go, Caleb.” I finally sit up, wishing I could draw the blankets up around my chest, but they’ve been tossed aside, and it’s dark, and I don’t dare risk making physical contact.

“Goddammit. All of this because of that stupid bitch Sara.” Anger, raw and rife.

“Sara didn’t put her hands on my throat, Caleb. You did.”

“And am I never to be forgiven for it?”

“I don’t know.” I remember the taste of come in my mouth, that day.

The way my sexual service was just . . . expected. And given, so easily, without question. I despise myself. I loathe myself for dropping to my knees and putting my mouth on that waiting erection, for doing what I was told without question. Why did I do that? What am I, to offer such ready subservience?

Maybe this is all a refraction, everything distorted by my memory of a so-very-different touch on my skin, the way lips touched mine.

“No.” I say this firmly.

“No?” Amused now. “No, you’re not going to forgive me?”

“No.”

Hands on my arms, groping, seeking, finding the back of my head. Pulling me. Heat and heaviness hovering over me. “I think you will, X.”

“Caleb . . .” I squirm, trapped, claustrophobic, feeling his oppressive presence crushing me down and down and down to the bed, until I’m horizontal and hands are feathering over my skin, scraping up the loose cotton of the T-shirt I wear as a nightgown, pushing it up around my throat, baring my breasts to the shadows. All is blackness, and heaviness, and my skin being touched. Palms, gentle but insistent. Fingers finding and tugging away my underwear.

“Caleb.” I find strength. “I don’t want this, Caleb.”

Lips, on my skin, at my belly. Hair tickling my hip. “Yes, you do.

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