Page 96 of Endgame

Especially since he goes about it in such an impersonal manner. Efficiently. Quickly.

I’m just another vase lying around his house, waiting to be cleaned. Another decorative bowl to sweep the dust off.

Or so he’d like it to seem. His body speaks for him, and by the end of the shower, he’s hard. I’m wet and wanting.

Neither of us says a word, not even when he ushers me to the closet.

The clean pajama pants do nothing to hide his erection and the way his cock jerks when Everett helps me into a long, black silk nightgown.

It’s when we get under the covers that I lose my patience all over again.

“Where have you been?” I repeat, desperate to know what’s so wrong with me that he hasn’t been here to fuck me. To ruin me further.

Why I’d want any of it is beyond me. I just do.

“I’ve been working.” He lies on his back, looking at me with his intense gray eyes. The fucked-up side of me craves his touch. The sensible side urges me to run away. “Come Monday, you’ll have your own commitments too.”

Commitments sound a lot like work.

I’ll get to work.

Me. Holy fucking shit.

I was never allowed to dream of a job. Of any sort of independence or a human interaction that my parents didn’t monitor.

“Really?” Excitement pushes past my exhaustion.

But, as always, suspicion is quick to follow.

Nothing good ever happens to me. “Wait. Why?”

“I’m not done with you.”

At that, I frown.

“Your parents haven’t seen you as broken as I would’ve liked,” he says with a quiet finality, eyes unreadable. “Go to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

He isn’t asking. He’s demanding.

That’s my husband. And I’m his foolish, obedient wife who closes her eyes and falls asleep on command.

The next morning, I wake up alone.

Many feelings assault me all at once—disappointment, relief, craving.

I’m a mess.

Before I can sort through this clutter of emotions, my eyes latch onto a piece of paper on the empty side of the bed.

A note waits there, not Everett.

Disappointment burns my throat, then shame for being foolish and hoping he’d be there.

As upset as I am, I’m also curious. I pick it up, reading Everett’s instructions in his elegant script.

There’s a new butt plug in the vanity for you. You have food waiting in the kitchen. Eat or not, I don’t care.

You’re on your own from now on.