Suit - Woodruff Jettie - Страница 25

“Let’s go. We have a busy day today,” I heard from a dead sleep. Paxton pulled the curtains apart and sun poured into the bright room. My eyes squinted and looked to the clock. Seven thirty. Tee-ball games didn’t happen at the butt crack of dawn.

I rubbed my face and sat up, noticing for the first time I did it with ease. No sharp pains or sore muscles. “Have I always let you tell me what I’m doing?”

“Yes, from day one,” he admitted with arched eyebrows, strolling toward me. He put his hand on my chest and pushed me backward, forcing me to the bed. The covers were thrown off and the belt combination unlocked. Routine. Every morning before I could even go to the bathroom, Paxton had to remove my guard diaper. I had no wetness like the night before when he’d spread me open and guided one finger up my slit. Still, he did it. Every morning.

I rolled my eyes and mentally shook my head, annoyed. “I have to pee.”

Not that I needed his assistance anymore, but Paxton helped me to my feet and followed me.

“I’d like for you to start doing things around here again. You can start small, but I can’t do it all, and I’m not paying Tricia to do it anymore. You can drive the girls. You can cook from now on.”

“I cook?”

“Of course you cook. You think you have all this for the hell of it?” Paxton questioned with a harsh tone, making a sweeping motion with his hand. Yes. The house was nice. Very lovely, but it wasn’t a mansion by any means. It was an upper- to middle-class home, maybe. He could shove it all up his ass.

Paxton picked up my toothbrush and brushed his teeth. That didn’t bother me at all. Why would it? He’d just left his poison my mouth the night before. It wasn’t like I was going to catch something from him. Evidently, I had been stupid in my past life.

The sudden flash behind my eyes kept me from speaking for a second. Paxton’s words floated through my ears, but I didn’t hear him. A room with thin, yellow sheers. They hung in front of glass doors and blew lightly in the wind.

“Did you hear me?” Paxton asked in the same angry tone.

What the hell?

“Huh?”

“The house. I just said it was bad enough that I had to pay someone to come in and clean for us. You need to start helping out around here. I don’t need you if you can’t carry your load.”

Without the crutches, I limped toward him. The new boot I’d gotten from the doctor the last time helped a lot. At least I didn’t have a stiff leg anymore. He wanted me to start moving my knee and begin therapy the following Monday.

“I think I carry the load just fine. Never mind the head injury. I don’t know how to cook.” I scoffed, clenched my jaw, and glared at him.

“You have a tablet. Find a recipe, and watch it, or you’ll be holding a load before we leave.” His words were laced with a threat even as his soft lips touched mine. The discovery tested me—how much of my adaptability to Paxton’s bullshit could I endure? One second he would belittle me, and the next he’d have his tongue halfway down my throat. He wouldn’t help me at all. I couldn’t ask him anything about who I’d been before. I got the same thing. Tell me where you were, who you were with, and where you were going. I couldn’t tell him that. I didn’t freaking know.

My girls and my neighbors could help to a certain point, but they didn’t know us. Not the real us. They knew a facade. Something that wasn’t real. An illusion. They weren’t there from the beginning. Trisha was my only friend, or neighbor. I wouldn’t call her a friend just yet. I didn’t know if we really did have that status. She said we were friends, and that’s all I had to go on.

“I’m not sure you want me cooking for you, or anyone else. I feel like you kidnapped me and you’re trying to give me this life that’s not really mine. I don’t feel like the type to be controlled.”

Paxton placed a finger over my lips and shushed me with a quiet, “Shhh, hush now. I assure you with everything in me that you are the type to be controlled. That’s why you sucked my dick. That’s why your legs fall apart whenever I come near you. You’re a slut. My slut. I own you,” he said in a dry, sultry tone, fingers gliding down my neck. The arid swallow stuck in my chest when his fingers wrapped gently around my throat. His grip tightened and his lips met mine. “Shhh, don’t talk, baby girl. Turn around and go take a shower like you were told.”

A cowardly emotion washed through me. I dropped my gaze to stare at the floor and submit to him. This was quickly learned, as well. If Paxton didn’t get in the shower with me, he took on the role of spectator. Like this time. He leaned against the counter, feet crossed at the ankles, and stared while I struggled to get my shirt over my head. He stopped me with another order when I bent to remove the boot from my foot.

“Turn around and do that.”

“Seriously?”

Before I could blink an eye, Paxton thrust his fury in my face. Flared nostrils and popping veins. I gasped when he pulled the hair at the nape of my neck with a tight jerk.

“You need to stop, Gabriella. You don’t talk. You shut your fuckhole and do what you’re told. Do you understand me?”

I tried to falter, to back down. But I couldn’t do it. I honestly thought he had me confused with someone else. This wasn’t my life. It couldn’t be. No way would anyone in their right mind put up with this guy.

“And what if I don’t?”

Paxton suddenly let go of me and backed away. “Then go. Walk out that front door and go.” He gestured toward the door while I just stood there. My eyes shifted to his serious, stern face, then to the door.

“Where the hell would I go? You won’t tell me anything about anything. Where are my parents? My sister? I know I have a sister. You want me to remember, but you won’t help me to remember. I’m not your property. You can’t own people,” I countered right back. I couldn’t help it. He was impossible.

Weariness crossed his forehead in two lines, just above his strained eyebrows, the same two I’d seen many times now.

“You wanted this. You knew what I expected before you ever agreed to any of this. You wanted it, too. Now you think you can just come in here and change the rules. It’s my fucking game. Either play my way, or get the fuck out.”

“Why is it so hard to talk to me, Paxton?”

“Tell me where you were and I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” he responded, tone lowered to an uncharacteristic calmness.

I clamped my eyes shut with a deep sigh. Back to square one. It was hopeless. Paxton wore blinders. Blinders that he would never take off. Not for me, anyway. I was forced to go by his arbitrary rules. No rhyme or reason. Just because. Because Paxton said so.

With my hips cocked to the side and a fuck you glare, I spun out of his arms and bent at the waist. I slowly peeled the Velcro away. You want a submissive, you fucker…? There you go.

I took my good old time, ass in the air, purposely exposing all. The sound of Velcro being pulled apart amplified like a scratch in the air with the next strap. Inch by deliberate inch, I peeled it away. Once I had nothing else to occupy my time with, I stood, again, taking my time. I may have even arched my back a little a little for show.

I flipped my hair over my shoulder with a jerk and glared back at him, expecting to find him glowering at me. Nope. Not even close. Paxton had his feet spread apart and his arms crossed, wearing a smile. He was amused. I amused him. His hand went to his crotch and he grabbed himself as he stepped toward me. Again, he didn’t do what I expected. The muscles in my neck had already contracted, waiting defensively for his hand.

That was the first spanking—that I remembered, anyway. I wasn’t expecting it with the way he’d positioned his body. His chest pressed to my left shoulder and his hand met my ass with a loud crack. My body reacted with a jolt. “Keep it up. I have an idea for later,” he said as a threat, lips touching my throat.