Chapter 4

I lay in bed reading when he finally came. Freshly showered and wearing only boxers and a housecoat.

I knew what this meant, and I was fairly certain it had more to do with my earlier insult than his actual desire for me.

“I’m not in the mood.” I told him as he sat down.

He put his hand on my thigh, squeezing it a couple of times.

His voice was low and he seemed to be trying to be comforting, “I’ll be really fast.”

I pulled my leg away from him, “I’ve had a bad day.”

He scoffed, “you can’t be that pampered. So you missed one spa day. Didn’t you slum it most of your life anyway?”

I put down my book and gave him a dirty glare.

My voice was dry and annoyed, not like how I usually tried to talk to him, “my day was already bad. The spa was meant to fix it but that didn’t happen either. So I’m in a bad mood. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last.”

He lay on his side beside me and put his hand back on my thigh. This time pulling up the cloth of my dress so he could squeeze my bare skin.

I slapped his hand away but he swatted back and continued.

“Why are you in a bad mood?” He didn't sound interested. He sounded like he was asking what colour I think the neighbours should paint their fence.

“Do I need a reason to be in a bad mood?”

He leaned down and kissed my bare thigh.

"I don't like when you're in a bad mood." Then he lightly bit it and pulled my skin with his teeth. I felt him smile against my skin when I jolted and moaned. I felt him smirk over my skin before lightly kissing the spot he'd bit. "What happened?"

I hesitated but said, “It’s nothing you need to be concerned with.”

“I won’t ask again,” he warned, his fingers continued to kneed into my skin on my thigh. He kissed it occasionally, "You know I don't like playing these games."

"Then why are you still asking?" I snapped the question.

He smoothly responded, “I don’t need you complaining later that I never ask about your day.”

"I don't complain about anything! Isn't that part of the problem?!" I pulled my leg away and shifted. He looked at me with confusion and something else I couldn't name. Then he shuffled closer again.

"What do you have to complain about?" He sounded genuinely curious, at least. His hands moved back to my thigh as if I'd never pulled away.

“You’re just going to call me a gold-digger.” I spat.

His fingers deepen, moving around my thigh, in and out, up and down.

“Who cares if you’re a gold digger? I have gold.” He bit my thigh again and shuffled to move over my legs a little more. His eyes lifted just enough to glare at me with a sultry look, “Don’t let something as petty as money stress you out. Your only job is to be pretty and satisfy me. I’ll worry about the rest.”

He lowered his face into the crook between my legs and I gasped, jumping and trying to push his head away but to no avail.

"Why are you fighting me?" He lifted his head and rested his chin over my pelvis to look at me.

"I'm in a bad mood."

"Let me put you in a better mood."

The thought was only in my mind briefly but I wanted him to feel what I had today. So I said in an unhappy voice, "if your name went as far as the other woman's husband, maybe I would be."

He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Rose's husband gives her an allowance. Why don't I get an allowance?"

"You're not a child. If you need money, just take my card. Besides, I send you money all the time. What do you do with it?"

"Maybe I should just get a job so I can have my own money."

"There is no job on Earth that will pay you as much as I pay you." He snapped, "your role is simple. Do you know how many people are lined up to take it?" That felt like a punch to my stomach, "why are you complaining?!"

"Being your wife isn't as fulfilling as you seem to think it is. I want a real job."

He raised an eyebrow at me, "do you want to work in my company?"

"No, I'd want to work somewhere important."

He rolled his eyes and lowered his head back between my legs and mumbling, "just be good and be quiet. You don't have to worry about anything."

I let him do this for a few seconds before remembering why I was mad at him and groaning, “Stop—”

He lifted his head and panted, “what’s the point of owning a toy I can’t play with?”

I bit my lip and looked away - trying to ignore the painful, sickening feeling in my stomach. Was it impossible for him to just say he loved me? Or is this really what he thought of me? I'd always excused it as a need or desire to control things. Some strange interest he had in bed. I was probably wrong to make this assumption.

“Why do you need more money?” He asked then. His gaze darkened. He added, “you shouldn’t have given up your spot for so little. No other man is more powerful than your husband.”

I loved him - unfortunately. Deeply loved him. I craved his love and attention. More than I apparently craved respect or even loyalty. It was almost impossible to convince my mind to think logically. To push him away and confront him properly. What if I confronted him and he left me? Was I ready to see what it really looked like to be unloved by him? No....

So despite my initial reluctance, I let his hands and mouth continue to touch me as I thought of a semi-truth to tell him.

“My parents… my dad… he was scammed.” I panted. This was true. 3 months ago, my father had been scammed and lost the business he'd been building for the last 7 years. I'd already helped to pay them out of their fees but they still had debts. They knew my money came from Jacob.

They didn't want me to be trapped to him because they owed Jacob money. They took what was absolutely necessary to not go to jail, and vowed to handle the rest themselves. 

Even my parents, who we only saw a few times a year, could tell Jacob was keeping me as a pet. So why was I still trapped? Why couldn't I just face the truth I clearly knew?

Upon hearing that my dad had been scammed, Jacob's head was back between my legs. He scoffed audibly. Not lifting his head, he said, “he’s always been an idiot.”

My stomach curled and not in a fun way.

Almost defensively, I explained, “He… was raising money to open his own auto-shop… and a man offered to invest in him…”

"Didn't I buy him an auto-shop?"

"You bought him..." I caught my breath briefly, "you invested in his store. The auto-shop... was meant to be from the profits."

He lifted his head, “why didn’t he come to me?”

“I told him not to.” This was mostly a lie. My dad had refused. He had been successful in expanding his own store. He'd done well. He'd simply trusted the wrong person. He didn't need or want a lecture on money management from his 27-year-old son-in-law.

And in my father's defense, Jacob did tend to be condescending to my parents. More my dad than my mom. To my mom he was rather warm. But he'd always had a problem with my dad.

“Why?” He crawled completely over me and put a hand on my jaw. His thumb trailed over my lips.

“So his business could be his own. I didn’t want you to own him—”

His hand slid down to my throat and he tightened his grip. I stopped speaking and focused on maintaining my breath.

“Like I own his little girl?” He examined parts of my face, “he could’ve taken the money. I would have used you as compensation.” His eyes lifted to meet mine, “he’s always been willing to sell you to me.”

“No—he hasn’t—” I tried to push him away but he settled over me and wrapped my legs around his waist. I tried to avoid reacting as he started to move his hips. He had dropped the hand around my throat to move my leg. Then he put it back to my throat. “he refused… my money… because he… wants me… to be… free.”

His eyes darkened and his hand tightened, “how would you get free from me?”

I was quiet. I didn’t know the answer. For so long I’d never considered leaving him. I still didn’t want to. But how was I supposed to live with this constant heartbreak and humiliation?

“Please…” I choked out. I felt a couple tears leave my eyes.

He dropped his hand from my throat and asked, “please what?”

“Please stop...” I couldn't finish the words I wanted to say: please stop cheating on me. Please love me.

He dropped his chest over mine and hugged me. Then he rolled us both over so I was sitting on him. He put his hand on my hips but didn’t slow down. From my hips, he slid his hands to hold my wrists firmly, using them and my arms to keep me planted firmly on him.

I knew what he meant. He wasn't going to force me to continue but I had to be the one who stopped if I wanted to.

“Not that—” I panted, “please stop…” Tears filled my eyes, and I looked away from him. 

A few long seconds of silence lasted as I failed to form a sentence.

Finally frustrated, he said, “I will give you the money your dad needs. And I will hire him a lawyer if he needs one. I know who you are, Casandra. I’m not your victim. You can use my money.”

“Why do you only talk about money?” My voice was small and broken. The tears failed to stop.

“Isn’t that what you care about most?” He sat up and put a hand in the back of my hair. He held my face close enough to his that I could feel his breath, "I want you. You want money. Wasn't that our arrangement?"

My lips trembled, but I managed to quietly ask, "what if I want more."

"More what?"

I looked away and tried my best to stop the tears.

He continued, "did my mom call you today?"

I nodded, still looking away.

"What did she say?"

"She asked why I'm not pregnant yet." That was the most pleasant part of that conversation. She'd been furious when he'd chosen to marry me. He'd been so adamant on marrying me, I had been convinced he loved me.

His hands tightened on me.

"Is that why you're upset?" His voice was a bit softer. When I didn't answer, he softly grunted, "it's not like we've been feeding you birth control."

"What if I can't have kids?" I finally asked in a small voice, "will you leave me?"

"I'll find someone who can." He muttered, "but you will only belong to me in this life."

I nodded and said nothing, despite the vile desire to vomit and cry. I would just stay quiet. Like I had since the wedding. Because I was too afraid to lose him. And it was safer to be his toy than risk being his wife.