Reluctant Consent Page 3

  She forced herself off the floor and stripped her clothes off. Numbness slid over her like cold air. She wrenched the taps for the shower and stuck her hand under experimentally. When it was finally hot enough she stood in the damp heat until she was no longer shaking.

  Grimly determined, she walked to her mother’s room and rifled the medicine cabinet. She swallowed several sleeping pills dry and crawled shivering into her bed, insisting her mind echo nothing but emptiness. She needed to sleep.

  In the morning she drank an entire pot of coffee and then sought the privacy of her room. Just in case he demanded she pay him some weird verbal homage over the phone. She paced the room several times before picking up the phone.

  “We didn’t talk about the boys.” Denise said.

  There was a soft release of air before he spoke. “Good morning, Denise. What do you want to discuss about the boys?”

  She swallowed, opened her mouth but nothing came out.

  “Denise?”

  “They’re… well -” Swallowed again. “Andrew they’re good kids!” Her words resounded in his silence, and bounced around in her head. She sighed.

  “Well, no. They aren’t good. But Andrew -“

  “They are good, Denise. Their behavior is pretty rotten from my recollection. But they are good kids.”

  Denise found her spine. “I want you to agree to leave them to me. If we do this.”

  “I assume you are referring to us marrying, Denise?”

  Denise held back a scream and clamped her back molars together so tightly her orthodontist would have cringed.

  “Yes.” She snapped the words and waited for him to get all Mr. Discipline on her.

  “I can’t do that, Denise.”

  “Please!” She wailed the words out. Really, it would be perfectly legitimately to have called it begging. “Please! I can’t do it otherwise!”

  “Calm down, sweetheart. What are you worried about?”

  “I don’t want them with my Aunt Lucinda and my Uncle Benson, but I’m supposed to hand them over to you?”

  “What do you mean, ’Hand them over‘, Denise?”

  “Oh for Christ’s sake! You’re the Neanderthal who thinks he can spank his wife! I can just imagine your plans for handling a 12 year old suspended from school because he set twelve dozen white mice loose in the science lab.”

  “Denise.” His voice remained friendly. “I’ll raise them the way my father raised me. I turned out ok, didn’t I?”

  She snorted. “Well no, Andrew. You’re a sicko.” She bit her lip. These were her brothers. She couldn’t back away.

  “You’re worried I’ll physically discipline them?”

  “And bring them up to think that way too! They’re impressionable, Andrew. And they adored you. I don’t want my brothers turning out like you. I’m sorry. I know that must sound horrible to you.” Her voice turned bitter. “And I suppose you’ll want to whip me or something to get even.”

  He blew out a long breath, praying for patience.

  “I will never ‘whip you’ as you call it because you tell me honestly how you feel. I’ll expect you to be respectful in your speech, but honesty is crucial to a relationship, Denise.”

  There was a very long moment of quiet.

  “I can’t promise I’ll never feel the need for physical discipline with the boys, Denise. But I’d be really surprised if it was called for, and I can promise you it won’t be over something like a school prank.”

  “What would it be for?”

  “I don’t know, Denise. I know I’d discuss it with you. Hitting you maybe, something unforgiveable or completely unacceptable in anyone. My father never used physical punishment once I hit puberty. I think what you’re really worried about is yourself.”

  “No it isn’t.” She snapped.

  “I can promise what occurs between the two of us will be our private business.”

  She felt a quake of relief and more tears in her eyes. He’d been right. He fucking knew her better than she knew herself.

  “I’ll be in touch.” She said the words very quietly. “Thanks for your time.” And she closed the phone with great care.

  ***

  Later that day Andrew opened the car door for her and guided Denise in with a hand on her elbow. He stood while she settled into the seat before he shut the door. She quivered. A strong tremor momentarily shook through her, leaving her weak. By the time Andrew opened the driver’s door to slide in Denise’s eyes were safely scanning scenery she’d seen at least one thousand times. Probably more like a million since she’d live in this house since birth.

  Andrew was handsome. Brutally handsome. -He didn’t look like one of those soft angelically beautiful men. His looks had never been the problem. Probably they’d led to the problem. He was so damn good looking she’d fooled herself about other important things.

  Denise gave her head a sharp shake. She really needed to focus.

  “We’re going to eat,” Andrew said. “Then we’ll talk.”

  Denise shuddered. “I don’t have an appetite, Andrew.”

  “I know. I’ll help.”

  “What? You’re going to force food down my throat?”

  He ignored her comment. Very big of him.

  “Tell me about the boys -- your brothers -- remind me.”

  She shook her head. “I’m too nervous. I’d like to just get it over with.”

  Andrew shot her a look. Level, calm, but a look. “So you’re really looking forward to this idea, eh?”

  “Give me a break, Andrew. How do you expect me to feel?

  “I’d like it if you felt happy. Excited. Relieved. But I get it you don’t. I’m sorry it feels so bad to you Denise. I swear it’s not going to be.”

  Denise sighed and rolled her eyes. He wasn’t the one marrying a throwback to the Revolutionary Period.

  Andrew grimaced. “One day soon, Denise, I am going to tell you not to roll your eyes when we’re having a disagreement.”

  She stared at him, mouth open. Tears were forming in her eyes and she was so mad she wanted, yearned to fling herself from the car.

  He patted her leg. “One day. Not today though because believe it or not, Denise, I am cutting you a break.”

  Denise shut her mouth and pretended to look out the window. She was bewildered. By many things of course, including the fact her crotch was suddenly, blazingly, hot and damp.

  “Please Andrew. I’m too nervous to eat. Can you please just tell me what you expect?”

  “I’m not trying to torture you, Denise. You need to eat and I thought you’d want to talk in private.

  “Well I wouldn’t. In public I can’t get mad at you and call you a dick so you won’t have to whip out your belt in front of decent citizens and startle them into heart attacks.”

  “You’d be surprised how many decent citizens discipline their wives.”

  “God I hate that word. Just tell me.”

  “Discipline?” He shot her a glance. “I’m sure you do hate the word. It goes against your life style.”

  “Then why?” The words burst out of her mouth. “Why did you fall for me? Since I am so undisciplined? You never did love me, did you? You want a woman you can crush and force to do your will!”

  Andrew’s hand shot into the air and grabbed her own waving one, forcing it firmly down to his thigh where he kept it. Not hurting, but not letting go either. “I did love you, Denise. I still love you, and I have no desire to crush you.

  “This isn’t the time for a philosophical discussion. You won’t be able to hear it --“

  “I’m just a dumb emotional woman, Andrew? Too dumb to understand?”

  He let go of her hand, a laugh escaping. “God. You’re really trying to push my buttons! Look, Denise, it’s simple. And I do realize it is foreign to you. “

  “And the other 90 % of the world save some primitive tribes with plates through their lips.”

  “That’s racist. Which is beneath you.” I say again, you w
ould be surprised by the number of people who live the way I am suggesting.”

  Her mouth opened, and he waved a finger. “Ah Ah! Quiet!”

  Again, the horrible discomfort and confusion of realizing her vagina was wet. What. The. Fuck. Was the mere presence of a barbarian enough to make her DNA de-evolve?

  “I know this stuff is new to you and I promise to help you any way I can. There are books you can read. Women you can talk to…“

  “The Stepford Wives,” Denise muttered.

  Andrew ignored her.

  “I’ll be patient. Now is not the time. What do I expect, you asked?”

  Denise nodded.

  “I lead.. You follow.”

  Denise snorted.

  Andrew ignored it.

  “I expect you to tell me honestly how you feel and what you think. I promise to listen and carefully consider. But someone has to be in charge, and that’s me.”

  “Never heard of egalitarian relationships, bud?”

  “They don’t work. And I said we’d talk philosophy another time. Zip it.”

  There. Her brain said. That wasn’t too bad, was it? He commanded, I obeyed. And my pussy is wet. Again.

  “So I listen to your opinions -- which you have expressed respectfully -- but I make the decisions. I have no desire to micro manage your life, Denise. But I want to know what you’re doing with your life and if I have a problem with how you’re doing something, something important, I’m not talking about the way you make the bed…“

  “Why don’t you make the freaking bed?”

  “I’ll be happy to make the bed. Quit interrupting me. If I have a problem with something I’ll tell you about it, explain my expectations. You can tell me what you think. Maybe I’ll see it your way. If not…” He paused.

  She looked up and met his eyes.

  “I’ll expect you to follow my wishes. If you don’t,” Andrew shrugged, “we have a problem. And I correct you.” His eyes found the rear view and after a quick look he steered the car to the edge of the highway, and idled.

  Denise was flushed, looking down.

  “Don’t look away from me Denise.”

  Oh my god. We’re starting now. This was no joke, like the friendly teasing “zip it” from earlier. Heat crept up her neck. She pulled air into her lungs.

  “Bring your eyes back here, Denise.” His voice was kind. And completely no nonsense.

  Denise clamped down on her back teeth and forced herself to look back up. She found a nice spot just past his right ear.

  His lips quirked in an almost smile. “Pretty good. Another inch this way.”

  He’d made it easy, again.

  She made her eyes go the next inch and he smiled warmly at her.

  “So. I expect. You fail. I correct. Got it?”

  She nodded, dumb.

  “No, Denise. Not good enough. I want to hear verbal confirmation.”

  He smiled at her, apparently knowing how hard this was and yes, he was trying to help her and she felt so grateful. But at the same time she wanted to scream obscenities. Do violent harm to him. And run away.

  Denise wet her lips. “Got it.”

  He kept his eyes forward but let his hand drop to the space between them. Fingers wriggled, beckoned for hers and she reluctantly placed her hand in his palm. He looked at her and lifted both of their hands, caressed her cheek with the back of his fist, knuckles sliding down her cheekbone and resting on her mouth.

  She pursed her lips and gently kissed his fist, immediately blushing and turning away.

  Andrew’s eyes widened in surprise. His cock twitched to life. Quite unknowingly, she’d offered him a gesture of compliance and acceptance.

  Chapter Three

  Denise stood in a plush elevator as it ascended regally into the heights of The Old Arcade. Under normal conditions she loved this building and liked to take the old iron stairs, climbing slowly, watching people stroll the balconies and the bottom floor, teens blindly descending the stairs while thumbs flashed over keyboards, mobs of younger children racing upwards, shrieking. One of the oldest buildings in the city, it was a rare example of Art Deco architecture and Denise could spend days here wandering around. Today she stood rigid in a relatively fruitless attempt to prevent visible shaking. One arm crossed and pressed against her stomach, the seat of all her nervous reactions.

  This is not a big deal. I’m getting married in order to raise my brothers. Women have entered into these types of arrangements for years. Let’s face it. Loads of marriages stay intact for convenience sake, companionship and safe sex too -- for the lucky --though even those were often missing. Wonder how many ’convenient’ marriages incorporate the additional joy of being married to Mr. Male Chauvinist Spanko Freak?

  The elevator door opened and Denise pulled herself upright, dropped her arm, forced her chin up, and stepped out.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised to find Andrew waiting for her, but she wished he hadn’t. She could have used the short walk to the office door to add a little more steel to her spine.

  He took her elbow and brought her to a stop with gentle pressure. She yanked away from him instinctively, but she did stop her progress.

  Andrew leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good morning, Denise.” He smiled down at her. “I’m going to take your arm again.”

  Denise breathed out through her nose, stuck her tongue in her cheek and refrained from slamming her elbow into his gut. Andrew cupped his hand around her elbow – probably because he sensed what she wanted to do with it – and steered them into an office. A young woman sprang up and rushed in front of her desk to greet them before zipping back towards the door she protected.

  She rapped once, and then pushed the door open. “Mr. Cross and his fiancé.” Stepping back, the woman gestured them into the room.

  “My name is Denise Marrow. Not ‘His fiancé’.” Denise stated.

  It was 2011 so the young woman rolled her eyes as she returned to her desk. Wonder if she’ll get a spanking?

  Andrew grinned. He dropped Denise’s elbow and crossed the room, one hand at the small of her back -- herding me like a sheep -- the other shot out to shake the man’s hand.

  “Denise Marrow,” Andrew said. “Charles Kincaid, my lawyer.”

  Ignoring Kincaid’s outstretched hand, Denise nodded curtly and plunked herself in a chair.

  “Allow me to apologize for my fiancé,” Andrew said. “This is a big step for us.”

  Denise considered belting him with her bag for apologizing for her. Probably a bad idea. Her stomach wrapped itself in a series of even more complicated knots.

  She knew herself to be, by nature, charming and gracious. She enjoyed putting people at ease. Now she had been deliberately rude to this man, and not for anything he had done. Not like her usual self. And now she was keeping her mouth shut after being insulted. Also not like her. Welcome to my freaking future. Passive aggression and sulking will be my recourse.

  She tossed Mr. Kincaid her most sincere high voltage smile and leaned across his desk, hand outstretched. “I am sorry, Mr. Kincaid. I’m not angry at you. I’m angry with ‘Mr. Meet My Fiancé’. You’ll understand under the circumstances I can’t honestly say I’m pleased to meet you.”

  Kincaid couldn’t get his eyes down to his desk fast enough. “Well I am happy to meet you, Ms. Marrow. Congratulations on your betrothal.”

  Andrew sat relaxed, non-reacting in his chair. “Denise knows I want a prenuptial agreement, Charles.”

  Andrew turned to Denise. “However, this agreement isn’t about money, Denise.”

  “No?” Denise raised an eyebrow.

  “If you want a prenuptial agreement for financial matters I’d like you to contact your lawyer. Ask her to work with Charles on it. I’ll sign anything you want. We’re here for a different reason.”

  Andrew looked at her and she promptly rolled her eyes. If Kincaid’s receptionist got to roll her eyes at clients she damn well got to roll them at
future husbands. “Please don’t keep me in suspense.” She kept her tone completely neutral tone still managing to insinuate how close to dozing off she actually was.

  Andrew looked at Charles who cleared his throat and reached for a file. “I understand Denise that you and Andrew are entering into what is commonly referred to as a Domestic Discipline Marriage.” The lawyer looked calmly at Denise.

  Denise felt herself begin to flush. She met the man’s eyes however. Very coldly.

  “In these situations it is advisable to have a written agreement between the husband and wife documenting the consensual nature of the agreement.

  Denise gave a semi discreet snort and cocked her head as though she was at least willing to pretend to keen interest.

  “Such a document, standing alone, wouldn’t necessarily prove anything, if a wife were to claim she had been assaulted. But coupled with other things -- testimony from people who have witnessed the relationship, lack of medical reports, etc., it would certainly go a long way to demonstrating consent.” He gestured to a small object on his desk. “In addition, all of my contacts are recorded, sound and video.”

  Denise looked at Kincaid coldly and then turned to include Andrew. “Let’s be very clear here. Your language about consent refers to the fact that Andrew intends to use physical force within our marriage. And I am certainly not consenting. I object, strenuously on a variety of levels.”

  “Objection and non-consent are not the same thing, Ms. Marrow.”

  Kincaid shot a look at Andrew.

  “Go on, Charles. I think it’s good to have a neutral person go over these details.”

  Denise, utterly unable to help herself, rolled her eyes one more time. Fury rampaged around her stomach, and roared up through her chest to batter at the gates of her brain. Honestly, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything as juvenile in a serious situation as roll her eyes. This damn condescending moron’s infantilizing behavior was already affecting her and they weren’t even married yet.

  “You object to Mr. Cross’s intent to use physical discipline where he finds it appropriate. Is that correct?”