Page 114 of Hell Hath No Fury

My heart races in my chest, relief washing over me as I reply, “Anything.”

“You have to write it down.”

Frowning, I attempt to push away from him, but his arms just tighten, keeping me in place. So, I give up struggling, relaxing back into him as I ask, “What do you mean?”

“I need you to write down everything that you want me to do to you. I want a general script of what you’re expecting. I need you to tell me everything down to the tiniest detail.”

I make a face, the low vibration in his chest as he chuckles an indication that he can see it. Then I sigh rather petulantly as I respond, “I don’t want to.”

“Then I’m not doing it.”

I scowl. I know what he’s doing here. “Can’t you just give me this one thing?”

“It’s not just one thing, Antoinette,” he replies sternly. “Let’s not forget that it’s not just your safe word at stake here. In doing this, you’re also taking away mine. You’re asking me to tossaside every safety precaution I have worked so hard to establish between us.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry—“

He puts up his hand in front of me, stopping my apology. I press my lips together, and then he says, “You have no need to apologize, baby girl. I’m just explaining why I need you to make me a list. I’m perfectly capable of protecting myself in this scenario as long as I know what you want. And since you won’t be able to tell me at the time, I’ll need you to tell me beforehand.”

A small part of me wants to call the whole thing off, which is fucking ridiculous because he’s just being responsible in continuing to try to protect us. His arms tighten around me again as he jostles me around until I lean my head back so I can see his face. He stares at me, his expression neutral, his eyes that familiar golden warmth. I manage a small smile and nod. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

All the tension leaves his body, and he wraps himself around me, squeezing me tightly. I close my eyes against the sudden burning, a stab of emotion sending a ricochet of feelings through me. Because this is what I missed. As much as I yearn for the sharp edges of Darius to consistently possess me, it’s that underlying gentleness—the unexpected softness, the unbreakable tenderness he holds for us.

I allow myself some time to revel in the moment. But then, knowing time is of the essence, I pull back, forcing myself to get to my feet.

Gripping the pill bottle in my hand, I ask, “You still have the cameras in the bedroom?” He nods, and so I add, “Turn them on.”

Again, he nods, returning to his computer and touching a few keys until I see the bedroom pop up on the screen. He turns back to me, watching me expectantly, and so I say, “I’ll write up thelist and leave it on the bedside table. Then I’ll take the pills, and once I’m asleep, you should probably wait around an hour if you want to time things appropriately.”

He nods but says nothing, and for a moment, I feel slightly awkward. Slowly, I walk toward the door. Stopping just inside the doorframe, I turn and say, “Darius.”

He looks over at me, his eyebrows raised, and I say, “Thank you.”

At first, he looks at me a bit surprised, then that surprise fades, and I’m suddenly faced with the Darius I used to know.

He doesn’t attempt to mask the darkness in his eyes; his lip curls, his head tilting toward me ever-so-slightly. “Don’t thank me yet, baby girl.”

Darius

Ibarelymanagetokeep myself reined in as Antoinette leaves the room.

While I’ve done well managing my chaotic emotions over the last few months, recently, I have felt myself beginning to unravel. If it was just the lack of physical closeness, I would be able to deal with it more reasonably—perhaps even indefinitely.But at the end of the day, it’s the emotional and mental closeness I cannot bear to be without.

The feeling of being in the same room with someone but knowing they’re not entirely present. Holding someone in your arms, and while you can feel their touch on your body, the uncertainty behind it rips you to shreds.

I had recently considered the idea of forcing her hand, methodically putting her into a position where she would either have to give in or give up. But it was my fear of hurting her beyond repair that held me back.

I even went so far as to have a completely off-the-record conversation with Meghan about it. While she couldn’t answer me in specifics and definites, she did give me generalized responses to the deep fear I projected at her. Of course, when she insinuated that she would see what she could come up with to assist me in my mission, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

Not that I have the first fucking clue what I had in mind.

I have the camera directed toward the bed. Frowning, I fiddle with the controls, turning it here and there until I catch sight of her seated at the desk, bent over in concentration as she scribbles on some paper. I continue to watch her rather absentmindedly as she writes out what appears to be a rather long diary of instructions. I knew when I gave her those directions, she would take it seriously, though, and I prefer to have every little detail in my brain when I allow myself the freedom to claim her as I please.

Standing abruptly, she drops the pen on the desk, picks up the pieces of paper, and puts them into a tidy pile. She turns and glances at the camera, her expression incredibly pleased. And then, with a little bob of her head, she flounces over to the bedside table, where she places her written instructions on the flat surface.

She disappears from view briefly, and I half consider panning through the different angles of the cameras but then decide to wait her out. Soon, she returns and dumps some items on the bed before turning to face the camera and yanking my shirt over her head. The shirt she picked up off the floor this morning, as she does every morning.

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