Page 28 of Bound By Words

My nails dug into my palms as the audio kept playing in my ear, the pitch of Marisa’s moans increasing as the sound of slapping flesh got louder.

“Turn that the fuck off,” I yelled as I reached up and ripped the gag from my chin, flinging the scrap of fabric at Grace.

She narrowed her eyes at me, stepping toward where I stood, her whip on the floor at our feet.

“Don’t even fucking think about it. This scene is over. We’re over. I’m not playing these fucking mind games with you.”

“Oh, come on, Daddy,“ she cooed sarcastically, reaching for me. I stepped away from her, turning to unclasp the leather digging into my now deflated cock.

“Don’t.” Whatever twisted game she was playing, I wanted no part of it. I wasn’t sure how she’d gotten the mistaken impression I’d impregnated Marisa, especially since I hadn’t had sex with her since before Thanksgiving. “I don’t know what she told you, but you two are beyond fucked up. She is not pregnant with my kid.”

“I think we both know there’s a possibility it could be yours, Nathan.”

The audio shifted from the animalistic sounds of a couple…coupling…and I listened as the soft cries of another audio clip started from Grace’s phone. With how many times Marisa had broken down crying at the end of our relationship, I knew it was a recording of her.

“I don’t know why he won’t talk to me. I can’t get him to answer my calls. I don’t want this baby to grow up without a father, Grace. But Nathan wants nothing to do with me. I need your help. You can help him see that we need to be together. That we can be a family.”

Grace reached forward to touch my hand. “Even with precautions, things can happen. All it takes is one time. You need to do the right thing. I know there’s a compassionate man in here. Please don’t make a mistake like this. You can’t take it back.”

Part of my resolve faltered at the pain in Grace’s voice. I knew her history and that she was always seeking validation because of her rough childhood in foster care until she was adopted. I could see how Marisa’s lies would have tugged at her heartstrings, but my anger at being manipulated was overriding any sympathy I may have harbored.

“No,” I growled. “It doesn’t just take one time. Because I can’t get anyone pregnant. So whatever twisted game you’re playing with her, I want no part of. That is not my fucking kid, and if you want to see the test results after my successful vasectomy, I’d be happy to show them to you. But this ends now. This was a fucked-up way to try to trap me into whatever in the fuck you two concocted.”

“Wait,” Grace’s tone changed, her surprised eyes darting to mine, but I refused to look at her anymore. “You mean…?”

“It doesn’t matter because we’re fucking done. Rip up my contract. Lose my phone number. Stay the fuck away from me. Both of you.” I couldn’t believe Grace could make such a huge breach of trust with someone she played with. Some expectations came with being in the Dominant position, even in play only arrangements, and she’d failed me today.

“Nathan, wait.” She tried to reach for my arm as I walked past her, but I shook her off, grabbing my things from the bed across the room and throwing my key card in her direction as I wrenched the door open. “If he’s not yours, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” I told her, backing away, “But that sounds like something you need to take up with Marisa. You fucked up today, and I can’t be a part of this any longer.”

My hands shook as I pulled up the app to request an Uber, needing to get as far away from here as quickly as possible.

The poor guy looked at me strangely when he picked me up at the curb a few minutes later. I was sure I looked crazy, shirtless and barefoot, holding a pile of clothes in early April, but judging me wasn’t his job. I hoped Chase and Evan didn’t mind me heading down early to survey their lot while they were on their honeymoon because there was no way I was staying in the city another night. I needed to get out of here. This was the last time Grace manipulated me like I was one of her little pawns.

KELLY

Boston

By the time my plane landed in Boston, I was wiped.

Chase had made my flight arrangements before they’d flown out the day before, my shock at the events of the previous day making it hard for me to concentrate on much more than getting my car back to my apartment before I lost it and sobbed in the bathtub with a pint of ice cream.

I was sure I fit every cliché of a scorned woman as I broke down that evening. When the pounding on my door and the blaring alarm on my phone sounded at dawn this morning, I’d dutifully opened the door and let Sam and Kristine into my apartment. I even put on a pot of coffee before trying to pull myself together.

Kristine had offered to accompany me on the flight, telling me it’d be a good excuse to visit her Nana, but I just wanted to be alone. Every time I thought about things, I’d start crying, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself by turning into a blubbering mess on the three-hour flight. A spicy paperback in my carry-on would distract me sufficiently enough to keep my mind off things because I was unprepared to handle everything.

They left me at the airport in Chicago with tight hugs and Sam threatening to exact some justice upon Trent, but we both knew he was too nice to beat the shit out of someone. I just wanted it all to go away.

I’d tried to contact Thomas while waiting at the gate, but his phone was turned off, and Charley’s rang through to voicemail. Deacon had made it sound like Tom knew what was happening, but I wouldn’t bother them with her due date so close. The baby was here already for all I knew, but I was afraid to reach out again. He’d trusted me to keep things going in his absence, and I somehow felt like I’d failed him.

I knew it wasn’t my fault, but now I was replaying every interaction I’d ever had with the men in my office, searching for anything that could be misconstrued as suggestive or inappropriate. I was friendly, but I rarely dated and never anyone from the office. And I didn’t interact with the clients beyond professional emails.

I’d taken numerous ethics training courses and even taught at a sexual harassment seminar. I knew where to draw professional boundaries, but I’d still been blindsided by one jackass with a sexist superiority complex.

After I’d made the trek through Logan Airport when I landed in Boston and gathered my two suitcases from luggage claim, I requested an Uber, pulling my coat hood up as I dashed through the early spring mist toward the waiting sedan.

It was lunchtime when I reached Chase’s condo, my stomach growling as I dragged my bags into the elevator. I wasn’t sure what my plan was as I unlocked the front door and wrestled my damp luggage into the entryway.