Page 103 of Obsession (Dark Revenge)
“Yeah, but you’ve been very lenient with me,” I said, evading the underlying truth.
“Lenient?”
“I mean, you haven’t punished me... I mean Astrid. You’ve only been deflecting my advances. You mentioned that the more you say no, the more she hears a yes. I think you might need to be rougher,” I suggested.
Jared didn’t seem taken aback by my observation. Had he already considered it? If so, why hadn’t he been rougher?
“Weren’t you going to teach me my place?” I taunted, hoping to elicit a reaction. However, Jared remained focused on the ground. “Jared?”
“I’m not sure my punishments would work on her,” he admitted.
“Why not?”
“Because she enjoys these things.”
“Yes, to use them, not to have them used on her.”
“I’m not so sure. What if it doesn’t work? What if I merely arouse her? I’d want to burn the hand I’d used to spank her with after knowing it had brought her pleasure,” he confessed.
I could see how conflicted Jared felt about this. He was disgusted by his own wife and the prospect of giving her something enjoyable after she had done something terrible to him. It was a complex predicament, and he was right—we couldn’t prepare for every possible scenario. Maybe Astrid wouldn’t mind if Jared employed his punishments on her. Perhaps it would only fuel her need to retaliate twofold. Would this define their marriage? A constant battle of escalating provocations with each missile strike resulting in an even larger counterattack? It seemed like it would be utterly exhausting.
“But you’ve reminded me of something crucial,” he said, changing the subject. “I can’t let her bait me. I can’t chase her around, risking being cornered. Your move was clever, Alison.”
I was taken aback when he praised me, and it quickened my heartbeat. I didn’t quite know how to react to the compliment because I knew he meant it. He wasn’t playing a game.
“Well, um... it just came to me,” I murmured.
He nodded slightly, then turned away, clearly needing some time to think. So, instead, I went downstairs and retrieved the cane, but I didn’t return it to the blue room. Instead, I placed it in Jared’s room. Even though Jared had been quicker than me, I believed it could serve as a useful weapon. I knew I might be alittle paranoid, but considering everything that had transpired, I had good reason to be.
I carefully slid the cane under the bed on my side. The fact that I shared a bed with him was still somewhat unusual, but Jared hadn’t returned me to my cage, and I only had four days left with him.
Glancing over my shoulder, my thoughts were consumed by Jared. I knew he probably didn’t want to talk at this moment, so I headed to the kitchen in hopes that the aroma of breakfast might draw him in.
Chapter 42
-Alison-
Jared had not come to the kitchen, and as lunchtime approached, my worry grew. Where could he be? I had been in a state of limbo, lingering around the living room, waiting for his orders or for our game to continue. Eventually, I decided to get properly dressed and left my robe behind, opting for a pair of pants and a t-shirt. With growing unease, I ventured into the little unused office, searching for him, but to no avail. I checked the extra bedrooms and even peered into the blue room, but Jared was nowhere in sight. My search took me downstairs, out to the backyard, and through the dining room, only to bring me back to the entrance once more.
“Jared?” I called out, and then I heard a faint echo to my left, emanating from the narrow hallway leading to the garage.
Following the sound, I found that the door was not entirely shut. I reached for the handle and slowly pushed the door open, revealing Jared diligently working on his bike. I froze, takenaback by this unexpected sight. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised that he possessed some mechanical skills, but the image before me was still a shock.
He glanced over his shoulder, noticing me standing in the doorway, but then he turned his attention back to his work. I cautiously took a few steps closer, making sure not to disturb him physically. Instead, I walked around his bike, my arms crossed over my chest, trying to examine it. Despite my complete lack of knowledge about motorcycles, I could at least identify its color—black—and the brand, which read Yamaha. As for what he was doing or why he was disassembling certain parts, I had no idea.
“What are you doing?” I inquired.
“Working,” he curtly replied.
I rolled my eyes, approaching his side, and then crouched down beside him. “I can see that. But what are you working on?”
“My bike.”
“Ha. Ha,” I responded dryly. He sighed and shook his head before turning to face me.
“Maybe I’m not so discreetly trying to tell you I want to work in peace,” he confessed.
“Yes, I got that,” I acknowledged, smiling at him as I slid down onto my knees.
