Page 62 of Until the Day You're Mine

Today, thisboynot only drools after his spouse but has the audacity to sneak hateful little glares at him. Like Rian is lower than scum and he couldn’t comprehend why Harris would ever marry him.

Rian doesn’t give a shit anymore and hopes they would start having sex soon. Judging by the thirsty looks Landon is throwing every now and then, and by the unamused reaction of Harris, they are not fucking just yet.

Oh, he is definitely interested. Rian knows the signs too well. Harris would enjoy playing with his new toy for long, long hours. Hopefully, that would keep him out of the house so Rian could spend some quiet evenings with Bran, instead of anxiously waiting for the moment Harris comes home and exacts his horrible rape fantasies on him. Rian wouldn’t have to wait for his husband to be done hurting him and fall asleep so he could slip away and spend the rest of the night on the recliner in Bran’s room.

He cringes remembering how good the sex had been in those first months of their relationship. His nausea hits a new high remembering how much he had enjoyed it. How he had craved it. How he had begged for it. Harris had been a god to him, taking his virgin ass and turning him into a needy cock-hungry babbling mess.

These days, in the private space of their home, where he was alone with his husband, with no place to hide and no other choice but to be the sole focus of his unhinged emotions, Rian endured the same motions of fucking or “lovemaking”, as Harris preferred to call it. The act that was supposed to be pleasurable only humiliated him and broke down a piece of his soul, every time he had to submit to it.

On some nights, he found himself within an inch of losing his sanity and the will to live. In those moments, he wished there was a force in this world bigger and more powerful than his possessive abusive husband, that could simply allow him to walk away from their life with enough dignity and some semblance of a soul. Just enough to be a good capable dad and provide everything Bran might need.

The conversations around him are hushed, and he glances from his scripted questions looking about the room. Rick meets his eyes, and there is something new there. He doesn’t flush red or look away like he normally does. Rian holds his gaze until their wordless exchange is interrupted by Harris asking Rick something about his travel itinerary for his upcoming business trip next week, right after the interview. Rick scurries out of the office to get his laptop to verify his flight times. Rian follows him out of the room with his eyes, and his heart skips a beat when his carbon copy glances over his shoulder at him, then closes the door behind him, leaving Rian with Harris and a few of his managers taking notes and discussing strategies.

He checks the time on his phone discreetly, hoping this bullshit meeting he has been dragged into will be over soon so he can pick up Bran from daycare on time. He knows if he says anything about it, Harris will delay them on purpose so he would have to ask the housekeeper to do it making him look like a pompous asshole. She wouldn’t mind of course. Margarita loves Bran like he is one of her own grandkids. But the looks he gets the next day, after she has to pick Bran up on occasion, are positively cringe-worthy.

Yes. Rian is intimidated by affluent stay-at-home soccer moms. Those bitches are vicious.

Rian has been lost in his thoughts, not realizing the conversations around him had wound down. The rest of Harris’s team has left the room and Rian is now alone with Harris. He looks up at his husband startled, only to find Harris glaring back at him, from the other side of his enormous office.

“Can you at least pretend to give a shit?” he hisses angrily.

Rian tries to hold his gaze, mumbling, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting.”

Harris scoffs and looks away, not appeased at all. Rian lowers his eyes to the smooth surface of the table and tries to sit as still as possible. The written text he has been pretending to read swims on the pages as his heart rate quickens.

Harris wouldn’t dare hit him here, in his office, where there might be people who would care about the abuse or use the knowledge of it to blackmail him. If Rian provoked him now, he would pay for it later when Harris came back home.

He could see with his peripheral vision his husband pacing slowly in front of his desk.

Like a wild beast,Rian thinks to himself, bile rising in his throat.

He has seen this performance before, yet it never ceases to turn his stomach, even if he knows exactly what is about to happen next.

Step one.

Harris pauses his stride and turns to Rian. Rian feels his intense gaze practically burning holes through his flesh. So much fucking hate and disdain.

Why? What did I ever do to earn this?

Rian has spent countless hours trying to figure out, why his husband did what he did to him. Why did it bring him pleasure to see Rian humiliated? Why did he keep him captive if he hated him so much?

These days, he chooses not to waste his time trying to rationalize in any way this depraved behavior. Instead, he focuses his energy on getting through the violent episodes and surviving.

Step two.

Harris crosses the distance between them.

Step three.

He grabs a fist full of Rian’s hair, and yanks it back, contorting his neck in a painful way.

Step four.

“Ung,” Rian grunts but keeps his lips sealed. If he were to call for help, nothing would come of it.

Harris unzips his pants and yanks them down quickly, just enough to reveal his erection and heavy balls, then forces Rian’s head down on his rock-hard dick, slamming all the way in.

Step five.

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