Page 25 of The Spice Play

I wanted to turn on the camera function of this damn phone just to show her the annoyed expression I was sure was written all over my face. “Yes, Rosie, obviously.”

The levels of irritation and hurt that stemmed from their point of contact beingmeran deeper than I cared to admit, and as the frustration slowly started to sink in and spread outward, I found myself mumbling a quick, “Just a second.”

I slipped beneath the surface of the water entirely.

Sound dulled as my ears filled, and I sat there, fullyencased and holding my breath, letting the water scald my face and scalp.I introduced them.I was the genesis of my own trauma. Morris was a producer, Ruby was a wedding singer — it felt natural to introduce them when I did, it feltnormalthat they wanted to work on things together without me. It wasn’t a question in my mind when he started hanging out with her more and more after he’d come to my OBGYN appointment because, ofcourse,he was upset, and ofcoursehe wanted to bury himself in work.

I just didn’t know he was burying himself inherat the studio.

And when he’d finally told me, when he felt bad enough about it eleven months after that appointment and almost a year into our engagement, I hadn’t had the guts to tell him to fuck off. I’dstilltried to make it work, offered him couples counseling, offered to put the wedding on hold, offered to help him, as ifhewere the one who needed to be gently handled. The only thing I’d ever had a spine with was my job, and he knew that, took advantage of it, walked all over me in our relationship, and hedged every bet on it.

He controlledeverything.

Morris made every decision for me. He bought me my clothes, he chose what was for dinner, he decided who was considered okay to hang out with and who wasn’t. He decided when we went to bed and when we woke up, he decided what apartment we would rent, he decided what classes were best for me at university. And deeper than that, he controlled the bedroom in every single way possible.

Wear this for me. Wear that for me.

Fuck, choke on it, you don’t need to breathe yet.

We’re trying anal tonight.

You don’t need a toy. Your hands should be enough.

Maybe you should get a boob job.

You’re doing it wrong.

You’re doing it wrong.

You’re doing it wrong?—

I pushed my nose and mouth above the water, taking the quietest gasp of air I could into my aching, burning lungs, and dipped back beneath the surface again.

There was a level of control in the bedroom I thrived under, and Morris had looked at that line in the sand and crossed it like it wasn’t there to begin with. Things had to be done his way, to his liking, with no regard for me or my enjoyment or myneeds. And I’d let him.

And when he’d finally left me, when he realized that I wasn’t getting a hint and was just letting this happen, I hadn’t a single clue of what to do. I’d stood there, watching in freeze mode as he packed his things, unable to move. Just like that time when I’d kicked a soccer ball into the road. Just like when my stupid vibrator fell out of my purse at Smokey’s and gurgled on the floor from itsair pulse technology.

I swallowed past the burning in the back of my throat, past my lungs that screamed for more air.It hadn’t been like that with Seb.

It was a thought I’d been avoiding for the last two weeks, but it wasn’twrong. Seb had asked what I liked. Seb had checked with me every step of the way. Seb had been gentle until I’d relented and fessed up to my lie, and he hadn’t laughed and taken it way too far when I’d admitted to wanting it rough. He hadn’t even let me touch him — he just wanted to touchme.

I couldn’t remember a single moment in my relationship with Morris where I’d felt like the person in the driver’s seat. I wasn’t even sure if relationshipscouldbe like that, ifsexcould be like that. But if sexwith Seb was anything like what he’d done to me that night…

I scrambled to the surface, gasping for breath again and knocking my phone clean off the edge of the tub.

I couldn’t think like that. Seb was my boss, and Seb clearly had some kind of problem with me. But God, I wanted to think about it, wanted to imagine it, wanted to feel him, and touch him, and see what was beneath his clothes. I wanted him to talk to me the way he had that night, wanted him to whisper the most depraved things in my ear, wanted him to push my buttons and find my limits and respect them.

Water dripped down my cheeks as I sat there, chest heaving, boiling alive in the too-hot bath.

I wanted to go inside the house. I wanted to go up to his room, wanted to not say a word, wanted him to grab me and throw me on the bed and show me what it could be like to have sex with someone who didn’t only care about themselves.

But I didn’t.

I couldn’t. For some reason, he didn’t like me anymore and maybe didn’t even like me to begin with. Maybe I was just the first person he’d approached that night that gave him the time of day. Maybe I was just an easy person to play with. Maybe I didn’t matter at all.

Chapter 12

Sebastian

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