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He makes me come three more times until he finally relents to my verbal begging for mercy. Then one final text comes through.
Have a good night, Maddie.
I drag myself out of the bed on shaky legs and go take a shower in his bathroom, then I get dressed and go back to my room, avoiding the gaze of my guards. I change into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt then go downstairs to watch a movie.
Twenty-Five
Maddie
I had just enough time away from Aidan to forget how intense and chaotic he can be. I’d romanticized parts of him, forgetting the storm and the danger. I’d flattened him down from all his jagged edges into a dark brooding romance hero that I could deal with.
It was so easy with the luxury he surrounded me with and the authority I carried in the house in his absence. Everyone answered to me. It was “Yes, Mrs. Stryker” and “No, Mrs. Stryker” and “Will there be anything else, Mrs. Stryker?”
Underneath it all the truth lurked in the dark grimy shadows for anyone who was brave enough to go there. It wasn’t “me” the household staff responded to. Madison Prescott could never command so many people falling all over themselves to please her… it was that the name Stryker made me an extension of Aidan’s will. They weren’t respecting me, they were respecting him. Even if I’d maintained the delusion for nearly a full week.
But when he sweeps into the house Saturday evening, these realities sharply crystalize into solid form. I go to the main entry hall to greet him, feeling tense and nervous, but he barely spares me a glance as he rushes past me and toward the back of the house with the narrow dark hallway that I dared not disturb.
I want to know what’s down there, but the sense of foreboding is almost palpable at that part of the house, as though a ghost haunts that hallway and whatever is in the contained basement beneath it.
Dinner was served an hour ago, and I wonder if Aidan called ahead or if Claude just sensed the change on the air. He prepared more food tonight than usual. He made Italian, which aside from the pizza, he hasn’t made all week. Maybe Claude is a wizard and just knows things.
I pace back and forth wondering if Aidan is coming back upstairs, if he’s going to expect sex tonight, if I can manage to not flinch away from him like I did on our wedding night. I’ve really only known this man in any semi-intimate sense for two days after all. For all my bravado, I’m still a virgin, held in this limbo while he was away.
Just because he’s been away for a week doesn’t mean it makes any reasonable sense for him to have sudden new expectations in that area. He went down to that basement on our wedding night too for about twenty minutes. What is he doing down there?
Maybe he has some big porn den, or even worse, some woman locked up to service his needs while I’m “being stubborn”, which is how I’m sure he must see it, despite our short time of proximity to each other.
I look at the clock on the wall and then go back to the kitchen.
Claude has already retired to his personal cottage to watch old mysteries on TV with his dog, so I’m not about to disturb him again tonight. Instead I take the stored food out of the refrigerator and put it on a plate for Aidan. I also get the key lime pie Claude made and pull a knife from the knife block.
I’m about to cut a piece of pie for Aidan when I hear him enter the kitchen. I look up to see that wild intense gaze on me. I didn’t just forget how scary and wild he is. I forgot how hot he is. The butterflies in my stomach are quickly reminding me. The knife slips, and I cry out as it slices my hand.
Aidan rushes to me and pulls me to the sink, turning it on cool and holding my hand under it. “Nino!” he shouts.
The guard had been standing just outside the kitchen. He rushes in. “Yes, Sir?”
“First aid kit, NOW!”
The goon nods and rushes from the room.
“I’m fine,” I say. “It’s not that deep. I just wasn’t paying attention.”
“Cora!” Aidan barks, ignoring my protests.
She rushes in.
“Why in the fuck are you letting Mrs. Stryker do household labor? She isn’t staff. Why was someone not here to do this for her!” He gestures at the key lime pie.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Stryker, I didn’t know she was…”
“Aidan, I’m not a child or an invalid. I can cut a piece of pie. It’s not labor. I was making you a plate.”
He stops. His dark gaze raises to meet mine. “You were making a plate for me?” He says it like it’s the nicest thing anybody has ever done for him.
“Yes. I thought you might be hungry.”
“I appreciate it, but I ate on the road.”