A Thousand Deaths (Sumettikul's Universe Three)

{3} What Next?

I gaze in horror at the red marks all over my chest and thighs. Hickeys! I have hickeys! I am married to one of the most respected businessmen in Asia, and he’s given me goddamn hickeys. How did I not feel him doing this to me? I flush.

My subconscious peers over his half-moon specs and tuts disapprovingly, while my inner goddess slumbers on her chaise longue, out for the count. I gape at my reflection. My wrists have a red welt around them from the handcuffs. No doubt they’ll bruise. I examine my ankles—more welts. Holy hell, I look like I’ve been in some sort of accident. I gaze at myself, trying to absorb how I look. My body is so different these days. It’s changed subtly since I’ve known him...I’ve become fitter, and my hair is well cut and properly styled. For the first time in my life, I’m well groomed—except for these hideous love bites.

I don’t want to think about grooming at the moment. I’m too mad. How dare he mark me like this, like some teenager. In the short time we’ve been together, he’s never given me hickeys. I look like hell. I know why he’s done this. Damn control freak. Right! My subconscious folds his arms— he’s gone too far this time. I stalk out of the en suite bathroom and into the walk-in closet, carefully avoiding even a glance in his direction. Slipping out of my robe, I pull on my sweatpants and a shirt. I pick up the hair brush to brush my hair.

“Bui,” Bible calls and I hear his anxiety. “Are you okay?”

I ignore him. Am I okay? No, I am not okay. After what he’s done to me, I doubt I’ll be able to wear a just my shorts for the rest of our honeymoon. The thought is suddenly so infuriating.

How dare he? I’ll give him are you okay? I seethe as fury spikes through me. I can behave like an adolescent, too! Stepping back into the bedroom, I hurl the hairbrush at him, turn, and leave—though not before I see his shocked expression and his lightning reaction as he raises his arm to protect his head so that the brush bounces ineffectively off his forearm and onto the bed.

I storm out of our cabin, bolt upstairs and out on deck, fleeing toward the bow. I need some space to calm down. It’s dark and the air is balmy. The warm breeze carries the smell of the Mediterranean and the scent of jasmine and bougainvillea from the shore. The Fair Lady glides effortlessly through the calm cobalt sea as I rest my elbows on the wooden railing, gazing at the distant shore where tiny lights wink and twinkle. I take a deep, healing breath and slowly begin to calm. I’m aware of him behind me before I hear him.

“You’re mad at me,” He whispers.

“No shit, Sherlock!”

“How mad?”

“Scale of one to ten, I think I’m at fifty. Apt, huh?”

“That mad.” He sounds surprised and impressed at once.

“Yes. Pushed to violence mad,” I say through gritted teeth.

He stays silent as I turn and scowl at him, watching me with wide and wary eyes. I know from his expression and because he’s made no move to touch me that he’s out of his depth.

“Bible, you have to stop unilaterally trying to bring me to heel. You made your point on the beach. Very effectively, as I recall.”

He shrugs minutely. “Well, you won’t take your shorts off again,” He murmurs petulantly.

And this justifies what he’s done to me? I glare at him. “I don’t like you leaving marks on me. Well, not this many, anyway. It’s a hard limit!” I hiss at him.

“I don’t like you taking your clothes off in public. That’s a hard limit for me,” He growls.

“I think we’ve established that,” I hiss through my teeth. “Look at me!” I pull up my shirt to reveal my chest. Bible gazes at me, his eyes not leaving my face his expression wary and uncertain. He’s not used to seeing me this mad. Can’t he see what he’s done? Can’t he see how ridiculous he is? I want to shout at him, but I refrain—I don’t want to push him too far. Heaven knows what he’d do.