Page 61 of Ashes of Sin and Stardust

Reuben: Hold on a damn minute. Are we doing this again? Already? We talked about this.

Little brat: Don’t message me again. And don’t come and see me. I don’t like to be led on. I’ve had enough of it in my lifetime. I’m blocking you. Fuck off.

I read through the messages multiple times, my jaw on the floor. Reuben hadn’t abandoned me or ignored me all week; he had been texting someone, thinking it was me. All the frustration and the anger I had towards him evaporated as the truth settled on me.

Hehadtried. He wanted me. He had reached out, negotiated a scene, gotten a safeword, and executed exactly as discussed.

It just wasn’t me who got the messages. How many people had a friend named Jake? Not once had he used my name, and not once had she given hers. I clicked on the number.

“You transposed two numbers, dumbass,” I laughed and put my real number in his phone, naming myself “perfect princess,” laughing as I did so. “Oh my God, this poor girl thinks she was led on by Reuben Weston. Probably googled you and everything.” I looked up from the phone and caught his expression. He looked horrified. “You didn’t think I was coming over tonight, did you?”

“I thought more than that, Alice.” He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, his face distressed. “I... shit. And Sunday, we... and you didn’t... oh my God.”

“Hey, calm down, it’s okay,” I shrugged.

His voice was practically a whisper. “It isabsolutely not okay! You didn’t consent to a single thing I did on Sunday. I...” he paced, covering his mouth with his hand, his face looking slightly pale. “I’m so sorry.”

I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it, really. He looked so scared, so horrified at his own actions. This scary man who had growled at me, spat in my face, and beat me with a belt so hard that I could barely sit today at work, and now he looked so embarrassed and horrified that he would ever hurt me.

“Reuben, seriously. It’s not a big deal! I loved it!”

“I knew I shouldn’t have done that scene with you,” he murmured, pacing again, still holding his hand against his mouth. “Shit. I know better than this. Fucking frenzy, Alice. I know better than this. I should have just–”

“MisterWeston. Please stop pacing, you’re making me dizzy.”

He stood still and stared at me awkwardly, dropping his hands by his side.

“Can I have some water?” I didn’t really want any, but I figured if I gave him something to do, he’d calm down. It was a trick I used to use on Daddy all the time.

He jumped to grab a glass and fill it for me, handing it to me with both hands and stepping back as I took it. Concern and trepidation still covered his face.

I took a few sips, watching him. He was genuinely freaked out. To be fair, I could probably scream rape and assault at this point considering the bruising on my ass.

Maybe seeing his handiwork would be enough to snap him out of it. And also, maybe I could use this to my advantage.

“Want to see?” I asked softly.

“See... see what?”

I bit my lip and turned slightly, pulling the edge of my skirt up over my butt. I looked over my shoulder at him and watched his face as I rocked my weight from leg to leg, letting my ass move sensually. The bruising hadn’t blossomed yet, but the welts were a dark red.

There was a war going on inside his mind and I wanted to know what he was thinking. “Penny for your thoughts, chef?”

Reuben stared at my ass for a long time, and then licked his lips. His expression slowly changed, melting from discomfort into something dark and sinister. He finally looked away from my ass and met my gaze.

“Fucking beautiful.”

“So...” I wiggled my butt a few times and then pulled my skirt back down. “Are you still going to cook me dinner?”

His eyes widened and he ran back through the hallway to the kitchen. I scrambled after him only to catch him grimacing as he pulled a smoking pan off a burner. He shoved his shoulder into the window nearby and opened it with his elbow, letting the smoke escape.

“Well,” he sighed, “I’m not making you sautéed mushrooms and chicken.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” I said, fanning some of the smoke towards the ceiling window, though I was so short I doubt it did any good. “I hate mushrooms.”

He looked at me over his shoulder as he scraped the burnt food into the trash. “How do you not like mushrooms?”

“Well first,” I said, counting on my fingers. “They taste like dirt.”

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