Authors: Shelly Pratt
ALEX
White hot fury rages through my body. Her deceit causes my blood to spike, and I can feel the sudden throb of adrenalin as it pitches at my heart. Each and every time I see these little episodes of defiance from her it enrages me to the point that I want to lash out irrationally at the woman I need to own completely.
Her behaviour is unacceptable. It’s as though each lie slips from her lips, trails the air between us and then reaches my ears like poison and starts to infect my mind. I’ve never been able to stand liars, making it very easy for me to spot one a mile off. Evie’s jittery, nervous demeanour only makes the lie ten times more visible.
While I’m flying off the handle, I can’t help but get a little aroused as well. The sudden sweep of the plates off the table was enough to strike fear in her heart. She flinches back, unable to contain her weakness to my hold over her. I am the commander, she my subject.
My dick springs to life as I lunge forward to release my wrath. She will bow down. She will submit. She will do everything I ask, when I ask, and how I ask. It’s time to teach this Princess a lesson on becoming a good Queen.
‘Don’t fucking lie to me!’ She flinches, arms reflexively rising to cover her beautiful face.
‘No, no Alex, it’s not like that. I only wanted the best for you darling, the very, very best. I thought if I bought you something so much better than what I could make for you then it would make you happy.’ Her pleading has no effect on me whatsoever; it only pushes me to desire a ‘reset’ in her personality. An adjustment, if you like.
I strike while the iron is hot. This is not a negotiation. There will be no terms met except my own, and I will secure exactly what I want with brute force. Her eyes dance as they flicker about every little tic and move my body makes. She’s watching closely, anticipating the moment my hand will find her face. She doesn’t have to wait long. I give her exactly what she’s expecting, and she just about comes out of her chair from the force.
Although she was expecting the blow, the shock still seems to stun her. The backhand to her cheekbone causes the skin to instantly welt. Wild doe-eyes find mine, with only questions remaining. They will go unanswered
, as I answer to no one. Both my hands find the arm rests of her chair. She sits as still as stone, unaffected by the tipped over champagne bottle on the table that still leaks its bubbly liquid right onto her lap.
Her nipples harden from the wind blowing at the sticky, wet liquid that soaks her dress. The sight is enough to make my erection painfully obvious in my pants. I need her hot body encasing me like a glove. I need control again
, and there is only one way to feel that so completely.
There is little resistance as I snatch her wrists up with my hands. Her blonde hair has come loose, falling around her face and masking the tears I know are there. She’s so light, it takes nothing of my strength to hoist her from her chair and lean her over the table.
‘Alex…’ There is desperation there, but it’s falling on deaf ears. The roar of blood and sex swirls about my senses making me single-minded in my thoughts. I bend her, chest down over the table as I hold her thin neck with my hand. Her bottom is in the air, teasing and taunting my already aroused cock.
‘Please.’ The word is so subtly delivered that I almost miss it. But it was spoken, muffled and distorted as it left her mouth amongst the torrent of things happening. I move closer to her, rubbing my dick against her backside as my lips move to find her ear.
‘Please?’
‘Yes, Alex, please don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
‘Please don’t hurt me.’
‘Oh, Princess, I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to love you. Forever.’
‘This isn’t love, Alex!’ She bucks and thrashes beneath me which sends a flicker of rage through my body. She has never dared to insinuate that what we have is anything but. I’m shocked she even has the balls to say such a thing with the position I have her in. Her words only anger me more. Grabbing her hair, I pull hard, making her back arch beautifully, graceful as a swan. I whisper harshly in her ear.
‘This
is
love, Princess. The only kind of love you’ll ever have again, so you better get used to it. Your audacity astounds me. First you insult me with store-bought food, and now this crap? If I wanted anything but the best I would have a maid, not a wife. It’s your job to honour me, honour me in a way a wife should honour a husband. If you wanted to give me the best then you should have taken the time to make my dinner yourself!’ With a flourish I pin the side of her head back against the table.
A sharp breath of air escapes her lips and her eyes roll into the back of her head. I still have her hair in my hand, which I use to manipulate her any way I please.
‘Am I in any way unclear, Evie?’
‘No, Alex.’
‘Good! Now you can love me in a way a wife should,’ I hiss.
Pulling off her undoes me. Her dress has shifted up her arse and revealed the see-through black panties I had picked out for her. All my anger switches to red-hot lust that is almost uncontainable. With my free hand, I quickly un-buckle my belt and free my cock from the restrictions of my briefs. I press the engorged head of my dick against her bottom, the cool champagne that still soaks her clothes pleasantly cooling the tip. Evie becomes completely still, my intent clearly felt against her skin.
I’m about to delve into the warm depths of her body and consume her whether she’s ready or not. Hooking my thumb over the edge of her panties, I pull them aside to reveal the milky flesh of her arse. Peeking ever so subtly below the base of her bottom is her pussy. Tiny droplets of sticky champagne leak from her dress and run down the cheeks of her arse, making it glisten in the soft light. It’s all the invitation I need.
I release her hair from my grasp, my hands taking up residence on her hips. My firm grip of her tiny waist allows me to feel a power so great it’s almost palpable. My dick, now released, springs forth to claim its prize. Blood pumps around my shaft, engorging it in anticipation of consuming every inch of Evie Stratford.
The moment I enter her, I’m bathed in the heat of her body. Although she doesn’t move an inch, it does nothing to curtail the passion I’m feeling. Willing participant or not, tonight I’m in need of roughly dominating my wife back into her rightful place—which is below me.
I thrust back and forth, building the climax that is closing in on me. I’ve never been one to come so quickly, but tonight’s events have had a devastating effect on me physically. My body is in such a state of hyperbole that I’m physically about to go off the rails.
Evie’s moaning below me incites short, sharp jabs into her pussy. No doubt her moans are not derived from pleasure, rather the pain of our intense fucking. The sound, nonetheless, is arousing me to the core. My surroundings disappear. Even the table serves to leave my sight, as though Evie’s body is merely suspended in air while I pump furiously away at her. In a final bid to hold on to her with everything I’ve got, I clutch her shoulders with both hands from behind and stabilize her body while I come with devastating force inside of her.
The release is as intense as the first time I ever hand-fucked myself
—surprising, exultant and completely gratifying. I flop heavily against Evie’s back, catching my breath while I breathe in her scent. Evie—she will always be
mine
. Heaven help anyone who gets in the way of the life I’ve carved out for us.
When my dick starts to soften, I pull out of my wife with a little more care than when I entered her. Her head is tilted to the side, her mane fanning out around her. If she didn’t have a bruise already showing on her cheek she would actually look quite stunning sprawled out on the table at dusk with the beautiful skyline behind her.
I zip myself back up and survey the mess on the balcony. Evie is seemingly vacant, not moving spare the sporadic blinking of her eyelids. Perhaps she’s fighting tears—of which I have no time for. All I want now is a hot bath and a good scotch.
‘Happy birthday to me, huh?’
It’s a rhetorical question, so she dutifully doesn’t answer. ‘Get this mess and yourself cleaned up before you come to bed.’ I leave her, knowing full well I have just broken her a little more. To most, that would be an abhorrent thought. To me, I feel like the most fortunate man in the world.
EVIE
All that stares back at me is an empty soul. Dark circles emanat
e under my dull eyes and I look… broken—completely and utterly broken. There’s bruising on my face, which I’m currently trying to apply concealer to. It shames me that last night came to this. I know better. I should have done what was expected of me rather than whiling my day away with fanciful thoughts of a life I just can’t have. This
is
my life. It is all it will ever be. It’s almost masochistic to give oneself hope when there is no obvious out.
And yet, the craving for more seems to bubble ever so slightly below the surface. Even his beatings will not diminish this little flicker of hope that boils within. I will not give up. I will not give him the satisfaction of being his toy forever. Sooner or later, on
e of us won’t survive the power play of this relationship.
There was no sleeping in today. The phone next to the bed made sure of that. I was thinking that it perhaps might have been one of Alex’s work colleagues, but it was a bigger devil on the end of the line
—my father.
Dad had
always been a silver-spoon man, born to a family that had come from generations of wealth and titles in Europe. What Dad hadn’t realised while he was racking up millions on the family credit ledger was that many years of bad debt were crippling the family. By the time his parents had passed and he realised the full extent of the situation, it was too late to do anything about it.
He was left with a wife and teenage daughter to provide for while trying to beat the banks away with a stick so they wouldn’t repossess the remaining assets the family held in their name. With mounting pressure and no one to turn to, he took up gambling. For a while he was pretty good at it. But as they say
—the house always wins.
It was during a fateful trip to Sydney’s Star Casino that my dad, Jonathan Christie, met Alex. It would forever change all of our lives. He’d gone with the last of the money
—withdrawn the very last red cent from the bank and gone to gamble the lot of it at the tables. Within an hour he’d folded out, unable to continue because the ‘house’ wouldn’t extend him a line of credit, either. When you run a casino intent on making profit, you soon learn who the players are.
A drink in the bar to drown his sorrows saw Jonathan face to face with my future husband. Now, the thing about being down and out is that you should never sell your soul to the devil
—it just might end up costing you everything you hold dear. And by everything, I mean your only child.
Over many glasses of scotch, Alex’s proposal put forth the notion that the Christie family could rise back into the green with the banks and hold a generous sum of cash to boot. It was more than generous. It was absurd. But what could one man, who for the most part of his life had been a spineless and weak fellow, offer in exchange for his only path at redemption?
I’ll tell you what—me. He made a deal with Alex, signed the contract and then put in motion every manipulation in the book to see that I would marry the one man who should never win the hand of daddy’s dearest.
Alex was suggestive enough to plant the seed and nurture it perfectly while they consumed copious amounts of alcohol. What would be better for Jonathan than having his debts cleared completely, a heart-stopping amount of cash deposited into his bank account the very next day
and
his daughter marrying one of the country’s most eligible entrepreneurs?
It may sound harsh, but what would have been better was if dear old Dad had blown his brains out and left the rest of us to carry on with our lives. Money isn’t everything, but I don’t think he ever realised that until the ink was dry on the contract.
Perhaps I’d been a bit of a catalyst in helping him get to that point, along with my mother as well. The illusion of wealth does make you think that the bank accounts are endless. Maybe if mum hadn’t spent as much, maybe if I didn’t insist on ballet classes and horse-riding lessons, then he wouldn’t have felt compelled to sell me out.
I do know, though, that I never would have promised my child to a man who I didn’t even know.
Dad’s only stipulation in the contract was that if he or my mother were to ever call requesting to see me, then Alex would comply without question, regardless of where we were living in the world. Alex reluctantly agreed, knowing that this would be the deal breaker. As Jonathan signed his name on the dotted line, Alex was content in the knowledge that the months he’d been stalking me had been well invested. Pretty soon I was his to control.
Alex wasn’t always a monster. He kept his perfectly crafted image in check while we courted,
so that he could sell the lie to my parents completely. At first, he was intoxicating and magnetic. He oozed confidence and power, he was masculine and everything a girl of my standing should hope they would end up with. The minute the marriage was consummated, all that changed. Insecurity set in. Manipulation and control became the norm for me. Ever so slowly, life became my worst nightmare. And all because my father had choreographed the whole thing, just so that he could still sit inside his mansion and sip on his port.
In the early days of our marriage I still had my rose-coloured glasses on. While I thought Alex was controlling, I thought it was just his way. I thought he did it out of love. It made me feel loved
—wanted. When I look back, I realise that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
It was one day while we were visiting with my parents that I happened to come across the contract that had sealed my fate. I needed my birth certificate to arrange a passport for travel with Alex to Italy on business. While rummaging through the filing cabinet in my dad’s office, I came across the contract. Sitting right there in the same folder as all the other important documents pertaining to my life, was the one that I was never intended to see. It would change me irrevocably. Nothing, and I do mean nothing, would ever be the same again.
For what seemed like ages, I sat there, all alone in the study, poring over the document. Reading over each and every horrible word made
Fatal Attraction
seem like a romantic love story.
The very thought of it all made me sick to my stomach. Eventually my mother came looking for me, startling me out of my mortification.
‘Darling, have you been crying?’
‘No… I, ah
…’ I sniffed, desperately placing a smile on my face to ensure there would be no further discussion.
‘Of course you have, Eve. Whatever’s the matter, love?’ I quickly stuffed the papers back into the folder in the cabinet and retrieved the birth certificate I had been looking for.
‘I’m okay, mum, I was just reminiscing my childhood. I really miss you, you know?’
‘Oh dear, I miss you too! It’s not the same without you in the house, but your dad and I are learning to cope with being on our own again after twenty-two years.’
I remember the look on her face that day. It is the only comfort I have, because I know she had nothing to do with my father’s deception. She was naïve and unsuspecting to it all. She missed her daughter, but had no idea of whose clutches she’d fallen into. She is the only reason I still facilitate these visits with them. I could have made up some lie, spoke to them directly and told them that we were too busy, but I just couldn’t do that to mum, despite my father being the snake who signed me up for this ludicrous deal in the first place.
So, when Alex informed me we were visiting with my parents today, I put up no resistance. I acted normally. I made breakfast. I showered, and now I apply
make-up to cover the bruising of my cheeks and the split lip that cracks every time I open my mouth. The metallic taste of blood lingers on my tongue, but that’s okay. It’s a reminder; a reminder that with increasing urgency I need to get the hell out of this life for good.
The reflection that stares back at me agrees. I will not be subdued, manipulated or become the timid, compliant woman Alex wants me to be.
I’m Evie, and I’m strong—stronger than all of the men in my life who seek to make me a fearful, meek woman who can never say no. I will say yes to a happy tomorrow, I will say yes to a life without violence. Most importantly, I will say yes to a life without Alex.
With a final application of lipstick, I wonder just how I can set all of my plans in motion.