Tyler and I stood in our kitchen, across the granite island from each other. He was glaring at me, fuming.
"You are. . . I can't fucking believe you," he began, struggling to breathe as his chest heaved with anger, "you flirted with two of my best friends tonight? Right in front of me? And let that male model pretty much feel you up?"
Defiantly, I met his scalding eye contact. I had no intention of avoiding it. I cocked my head to one side, with utter arrogance. Absolutely nothing to say, and even less to feel. That much was probably fairly obviously. So, he felt free to continue:
"Oh, and just to make me feel extra special, I got another credit card bill today which further reminded me that you might actually have 'Bankrupt Tyler' on your To-Do List."
"Sorry," I shrugged.
"Yeah, very sincere. That's a nice dress. What did that cost me? Do I even want to know?"
"Probably not."
"You are so evil," he spat at me.
"Okay," I yawned.
Exasperated, he took his eyes off of me and started looking around with a kind of hushed desperation. I bit my bottom lip. I was enjoying this, sadistically. Unapologetically.
"Did you take me back just so you could make my life a living hell?" he finally asked me.
Since we'd gotten back together six months earlier, all I'd done is find various ways to make him miserable. The breakup had been a result of his failure to be faithful, so I used that as license to punish him now that we were together again.
In addition to spending large amounts of his money and testing the limits on his fiery jealousy, I was recently discovering how pleasurable it was to tease him sexually without ever actually giving him any satisfaction whatsoever. I strutted around the house in the sexiest outfits imaginable, and when he'd try to tell me how great I looked and make attempts at affection, I'd react like a true ice princess and forbid much touching.
Before bed, I'd put on lingerie and spray on my Chanel perfume that he loved. Then, of course, I'd refuse to have sex with him. Sometimes, I'd torture him even further by sleeping topless or completely naked. Always shooting down all of his attempts, no matter how sexy or romantic they actually were, at lovemaking.
In six months, I had let him fuck me twice.
And now, here we were: This six-foot-six pretty boy stood before me in our kitchen, using his eyes to beg me for some kind of mercy or understanding.
I started playing with my platinum hair, bored. Clearly, he if he was looking for kindness, he came to the wrong fucking place. Sighing, I shrugged my shoulders, and started to click my heels on the floor as I walked out of the kitchen. I tossed my hair back over my shoulders as I went, like a true stuck-up bitch.
With a speed I wasn't used to seeing from him, he bolted towards me and pinned me to the wall of the kitchen before I could completely exit. His strong hands wrapped around both my wrists and held them firmly to my sides.
"I'm sick of you walking away from me. I'm not done talking," he said, his voice shaking.
"Let go of me!"
"No."
I wore a pair of my highest platform heels, but Tyler was still taller than me. He looked down at me, studying my face.
"You're beautiful, and I hate you," he said, shaking his head, "that's all I keep thinking. How beautiful you are, and how much I hate you right now."
He lifted my small wrists up over my head, putting them both in one of his large hands. His other arm snaked around my waist; he pressed his looming body into me roughly.
I struggled, trying to get my arms free. But he was much, much stronger than me. He watched me wiggle against the wall and beneath his weight.
"Got somewhere else to go tonight?" he asked, amused.
"Yes."
"Oh yeah? Where?"
"A hotel, now. You're scaring me."
"You're not going anywhere," he told me, his emerald eyes burning into me.
I shivered. He moved his lips down, very close to mine, stopping centimeters from a kiss. Something told me that this was not a tender moment.
"You know, Jess, I'd call you a whore, but that would imply that I'm currently getting laid. And we both know that isn't the case," he whispered, his eyes crazed.
I felt his hand move to grip the small of my back.
"Did you do that in the club tonight just to piss me off?" he demanded.
"Please stop, you're hurting my wrists."
"I don't care. Answer the fucking question. You've been doing that little flirty shit non-stop and it's driving me insane and I'm losing it here. Was that funny to you? You think that was funny?"
I felt it without really seeing it coming first: His big hand, open-palm, striking me across the face with full force. Despite all the hell I'd put him through, all the quiet anger he'd endured, he'd never even come close to hitting me.
Tears burned in my eyes. I could feel a bright-red handprint starting to form on my left cheek. My bottom lip quivered as I looked up at him.
"Fuck you!" I screamed into his face, "I'm leaving! Let me go now!"
"No. I told you, you aren't going anywhere," he said simply, with a quiet cool that was unsettling.
"You just hit me!" I said, my voice cracking as I broke into tears.
Despite my shock, a tingling sensation was rising up from the base of my spine and spreading out into my limbs. I could feel my heart pounding and I was unable to catch my breath.
He ignored my tears.
"Now," he told me, calmly, "you shut up and listen to me. Things have to change, and they change tonight. I've made up my mind about this. I want you, more than I've ever wanted any woman in my life. But you're not going to be this spoiled little entitled fucking brat anymore, is that understood?"
No words came out of my mouth. I couldn't speak if my life had depended upon it.
"Just nod your head, Jess. Do you understand?"
I nodded my head.
"Mmmm," he purred, putting his face down close to mine, affectionately, "I miss you being a good girl for me, you know that?"
"Yes," I whispered, still crying a little.
He kissed me again, to comfort me. Then, his lips moved to my earlobe, where he briefly nibbled and licked for a moment before harshly speaking directly into my ear:
"You're not going to flirt men, women, anyone. Ever. Do you get it?" he whispered roughly in my ear.
I closed my eyes, and felt my heart beat shift up a few gears.
"Yes," I told him quietly, in a little girl's voice.
"And I'm the only person who's going to touch you like that, is that understood?"
"Yes."
"Tell me you're mine," he ordered softly.
"I'm yours," I said, a bit quicker than I would have liked to admit it.
"Goddamn right you are."
He pushed his lower body into me, and I realized just how hard he was. I could feel the head of his cock all the way through his jeans and the thin material of my dress. I heard myself make a tiny moan.
"That feel good?" he asked.
"Uh-huh," I said very quietly, embarrassed, since it had been quite some time since I'd admitted to having any sexual feelings for him.
"Do you miss fucking me?" he wanted to know.
"I don't know."
