Page 25 of Shame

“Because Iknow, you asshole! Because I wasn’t born yesterday, because I have the internet, because I read things, because…” God, my mouth is dry. I lick my lips and try again. “Because…”

Heat swarms through me. I can’t do it. I can’t explain to him how I know, when he should know that already.

I stumble forward, twisting around as I move through his new apartment that’s far too close to our loft. The home I wanted to rebuild for him. The spaceIbought with the erotic art I made, inspired byhim.

“Sit down,” he says behind me, his voice distant.

His hands try to land on my shoulder and I turn away from him, dropping onto the couch.

I grab the nearest pillow and clutch it to me. “I want you out of this building.”

“Let me fix this.” His voice is low now, but his breath is harsh and shallow. He’s trying to keep control of this, but he has no fucking idea what control is.

He doesn’t understand me at all. What I want.

“Tell me everything,” I say woodenly.

“I don’t know what you want to know.”

“Everything. I want to know every little perverted detail. You and your slut mistress have secrets, from me, and I want to know them all.”

“It wasn’t as kinky as you think. She liked those words.”

I like them too, not that my husband would know that. I wipe away furious tears I refuse to let fall. “Do you remember when I first asked you to spank me? How shy I was about that?”

He groans, a feral sound that tries to break my heart. I won’t let it. “It wasn’t like that, baby. Nothing like that.”

“Do you remember?”

“Of course I do.”

“And you were so resistant. You didn’t want to hurt me.”

“I never want to hurt you.”

“You hurt me when you fucked her. You hurt me when you stopped fucking me. You hurt me when you fucked me again, knowing you’d just fucked her, and so it was weird. You have hurt me every day over the last two years, you miserable sack of shit.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“There have never been two emptier words thanI’m sorryspilling out of the mouth of a lying fucking cheat.”

He doesn’t repeat it, and that’s good.

I glare at him, and he glares back, his eyes wet. “I don’t want to lose you, Grace.”

“Then why did you fuck someone else?” My voice cracks. “Why did you call someone else Kitten?”

His mouth drops open, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

I lunge at him, shoving the pillow in his face. He catches my arms, absorbing the blow, and I break into a thousand sobbing pieces.

12

Luke

Three years earlier

The acid churnin my gut is worst at night.

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