Reluctant Consent Page 4

  “I object to the use of any kind of discipline. I am not a dog, nor a child.”

  Kincaid nodded politely. “I understand. And yet you are voluntarily entering into this marriage, are you not?”

  “No. I am not. I’m marrying him for the simple reason that I have to in order to protect my brothers.”

  “Your reasons for marrying Mr. Cross are clear: You do so because if you don’t, custody of your brothers falls into hands you find unacceptable.”

  Denise nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Is anyone physically coercing you to marry Mr. Cross?”

  “No.”

  “Is anyone threatening physical harm to anyone if you don’t marry Mr. Cross?”

  “They will be harmed – badly -- if they have to live with my aunt.”

  “You believe your brothers will be harmed if they live with their aunt. Therefore you are choosing to marry Mr. Cross. That is a choice, Ms. Marrow.”

  Denise opened her mouth to speak. Kincaid cut her off.

  “Unpleasant though the outcome of the choice may be in either situation, it is still a choice. You are not being coerced into marrying Mr. Cross.”

  “You’re splitting hairs. It’s nothing but semantics.”

  “Legalities are all about semantics and split hairs, Ms. Marrow. Many would argue that morality is about the same issues. The fact that you don’t like your choices does not equal coercion. You may feel coerced. But your thoughts and decisions are directing you. That does not legally equal coercion.”

  Denise looked down at her lap. Andrew put his hand on her shoulder briefly. She supposed he meant it kindly but if felt incredibly condescending. She shrugged and shoved her body forward at the same time, to dislodge it.

  “So, Ms. Marrow, you are not being coerced into this marriage.”Kincaid was helpfully summing up his comments, just in case little Miss Dumb and Ditzy Fiancé had missed any important points.

  “You understand that final authority in this relationship rests in Mr. Cross’s hands.”

  “That must be so annoying,” Denise interrupted. “I never thought about it before. Going through life with people calling you Mr. Cross.” She beamed at Andrew. “So appropriate.”

  Andrew gave a half smile. It looked genuine. She had failed to get under his skin. It would be really nice to kick him somewhere vital and soft.

  “Within the authority you are giving Mr. Cross comes the understanding and acceptance of physical correction of yourself by Mr. Cross.”

  “I do not accept it.”

  Andrew looked at her calmly, one brow raised. “So we are not marrying?”

  “Yes, we’re getting married. I don’t accept your paternalistic, chauvinistic way of living.”

  “This is not the arena for a debate.” Andrew said calmly. “This is to clarify: if we marry these are the terms. And I’m not going to have this debate, or waste any more time clarifying terms, Denise. You have a fine mind. You get it. You don’t like it. I get that. You are agreeing to submit to it, and you are agreeing voluntarily, no one is forcing you to do this though you don’t like either one of your choices. Agree, now. Or this conversation is closed and will not be resumed.”

  In one small fraction of a second silence filled the room completely. Denise stared at her lap. Blood pounded in her head.

  Andrew stood up.

  “I agree,” her voice so low it was almost impossible to hear. Her eyes were fixed on her lap.

  “Look at me, please.”

  Welcome to my life.

  She brought her head up.

  “Say it again so I can hear you.”

  “I agree to marry you.”

  “The debate is over, Denise. The stubborn, making –me- pull- answers-out-of-you is over. Make an adult statement of what you are agreeing to. Do not look away from me.”

  Denise bowed her head briefly. Tears dripped down her cheeks. Panic strangled her. He was going to leave. She had to get herself under control. “Just a second. Please.”

  Her hand shot out and grabbed a tissue from the desk. She blew her nose then forced her head up to meet Andrew’s stern, unyielding face.

  “I am voluntarily agreeing to enter into a marriage where I accept your authority as final.” She dragged air into her lungs and licked her lips. “I accept your use of discipline. Including physical.”

  She turned and looked at Kincaid. He gave her a small, kind smile and nodded.

  “I promised you our private business would not be played out in front of your brothers.” Andrew’s voice was soft but rang solid never the less.

  Denise nodded.

  “I want to be clear that a great portion of that is within your control. I certainly do not intend to use corporal punishment in front of your siblings. I hope not to have to use it at all. But the authority of my relationship will at times be plain to anyone paying attention, depending on your behavior. That is yours to control. If you fail I will exert my authority.”

  Denise shot fire at him from her eyes.

  “You understand?”

  She nodded.

  “I expect a verbal answer.”

  God she longed to slap him. This was her life. This right here was what she was signing on for. She wouldn’t talk to her brothers this way in front of other people.

  “Yes.” She snapped.

  “I would hope not to have this conversation in front of other people. It embarrasses you and that’s not the relationship I want. But I will exert my authority publicly. You were very rude to Mr. Kincaid.”

  Denise’s head snapped up.

  “Stand up and apologize to him.”

  Denise stopped breathing. She looked at Kincaid, her mouth open in disbelief. Kincaid made no comment, or betrayed in any facial way that anything extraordinary was occurring. “I have already apologized to Mr. Kincaid of my own volition.”

  “Now you will stand up and do it again at my demand, Denise.” Andrew’s voice rang steely and cold.

  She pulled air into her lungs and ran her tongue over dry lips. She stood up with as much dignity as she could muster. Joan of Arc heading for the stake.

  “I apologize again for my rudeness Mr. Kincaid.” She started crying again which pissed her off but apparently she wasn’t even going to be allowed control over her own tears. You Flaming Dick.

  “Put your hands flat on Mr. Kincaid’s desk,” Andrew said.

  Denise whirled to face him, staring in disbelief.

  “I want a physical demonstration of your acceptance Denise. I wish to know I’m not going to have to resort to cave man tactics when we’re married. While you apologized to Mr. Kincaid, punishment is certainly in order.”

  Denise sucked air into her lungs in a futile effort to control herself.

  “Yet you claim you won’t use physical discipline for small problems with my brothers? But you’re going to spank me for rudeness?

  “I won’t accept childish behavior from my wife. As a rule, I do intend to confine physical discipline to privacy. The lack of privacy in this instance serves a purpose. As I said, I am demanding a physical demonstration of compliance.”

  Denise trembled with rage but managing to keep her body from instinctively fleeing and her mouth from making a bad situation any worse.

  She turned away from Andrew and placed her palms down on the desk. She spoke distinctly.

  “I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Lift your skirt and drop your pants.”

  Denise whirled around again.

  Andrew cocked a brow and crossed his arms.

  Tears streamed down her face. An intro to psychology class had mentioned a tidbit Denise could now attest to: powerlessness provoked anger which if suppressed did lead to tears.

  Facing the desk, Denise slid her hands under her dress, lowering her underwear to just below her bottom. Then she hiked up the skirt. Biting her lips, she placed her palms back on the desk.

  She could hear Kincaid’s breath hitch. W
asn’t this the male fantasy?

  Fear bloomed and ripened inside her. She heard a sound she understood was Andrew’s belt being pulled through the loops of his pants.

  She jerked involuntarily from the desk. Forced herself back in place and squeezed her eyes shut.

  She expected the belt. The flat of Andrew’s hand cracked without warning across both cheeks of her bottom without warning, strangely intimate. She jumped, more from shock than pain, and again forced herself back to her place on the desk. Kincaid had pushed himself away from his desk, the prick. He wanted a good view. She could see his lap. The bastard had a hard on.

  Andrew’s hand met her bottom several more times. They were sharp slaps, stinging, incredibly embarrassing more than anything. From the corner of her eyes she saw the belt, doubled, idly hanging from his other hand. Her hair had come loose into a curtain partly hiding her face, a small blessing.

  Zander, her youngest brother, would be 18 in 6 years. Would she have to stay married in order for him to get the money for college? Something to figure out. Let’s assume so. So say ten years. Then she’d kill the mother fucker.

  The next thing to meet her butt was no hand. She flew away from the desk whirling. “You cocksucker!”

  Andrew blew out air.

  Kincaid muttered, “Jesus! Keep your mouth shut woman!”

  “A couple more, Denise.” Andrew said.

  Was that kindness in his voice?

  “You’re doing great, baby.”

  “Don’t you fucking call me baby!” The doorman probably heard her.

  Kincaid moaned.

  “We’ll worry about language during discipline another time,” Andrew muttered, and delivered five more strong wallops to her backside.

  His hands, reaching for her panties and skirt, sliding them into place, startled Denise. She was sobbing uncontrollably now. The belt had been very unpleasant but she understood the real pain and her tears were about the feelings of powerless suffocating her heart and soul.

  She jerked away from the desk.

  Andrew handed her a tissue and stood while she blew her nose. His hands reached out to grasp her arms, as if to pull her to him. Denise punched his chest with both fists, pushing back at him with a ferocious rage he ignored. Moving around her, he placed his hand at the small of her back, and then ushered her past the desk and opened a door. “Take a few minutes.”

  She fled into the bathroom. In the cool stillness she sat crouched on the toilet sobbing. The sobs increased when her inflamed rear hit the seat

  When she could, she got up and lowered her underpants, hiked her skirt around her waist, and aiming her butt at the mirror, turned to look over her shoulder in disbelief. He butt was bright red, with even darker streaks slashed across her buttocks. She sat down on the toilet seat and immediately started crying again. It hurt. It took her a moment before her urine flowed. Her vagina was soaked with her own juices. She intended to marry a perv who had publicly spanked her and apparently she was a perv too because her stupid body had responded with enthusiasm. Disbelief made her sob even harder.

  Chapter Four

  Married life was not newly wedded bliss. The frown decorating Andrew’s forehead deepened as he turned the car into the drive. He listened as the gate hummed for several seconds before it finally lurched into gear and performed roughly ¼ of the job before abruptly stopping. Andrew stabbed the button again. After long seconds the gate retraced its path and remained shut. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, sensing a possible metaphor for his life with this family.

  He let a full minute pass before he tried again. The gate remained solidly in place and eyeing it with skepticism, he pressed the button with precision and closed his eyes, keeping them shut for the duration of the humming, rattling, wheezing, and the final clank at the other end of the journey.

  The nose of the car crept forward and a hoard of dogs raced to meet the car, branching off at the last point before activating the invisible fence, to run frantically back toward the house and surrounding buildings. Andrew sighed. It was unlikely he’d make it out of the garage without at least one pair of feet landing on his chest.

  He swung his legs out of the car and at least ten of the dogs raced back to greet him. He hissed at them, glaring and showing teeth. They slunk back and Andrew left the car, reaching blindly into the back for his briefcase, thereby keeping his gaze fixed on the dogs. He hissed once more for good measure.

  From under the stairs leading to the porch, a feral cat hissed. Inside, the house was quiet though everything was out of place, nothing quite right, really clean, or working properly. He sat his satchel on the bottom stair and headed to the back of the house where he expected to find the boys, at least.

  Having insisted Denise demonstrate acquiescence the once, they had married immediately to meet the custody terms of her parent’s will. Andrew then felt a little room, some extra space, was appropriate, even gentlemanly. Since then she’d walked an ever wide berth around him, speaking politely, formally from a great distance.

  “Dude!” Lucas said, eyes never leaving the screen in front of him. A zombie surged up from a pile of gore.

  Zander chortled, thumbs working furiously, and the thing exploded into green gook. “Fucking zombie whore!”

  Andrew let his eyes travel through the gloom and eventually spied William. The kid was hanging upside down from the back of an immense settee to the left of a fireplace large enough to roast a horse. Ear buds in his ears, he held an IPad much closer to his face than was recommended. Aware that the kid was an e-genius, he hoped William wasn’t hacking into the Pentagon at the precise moment his new step-father stood looking at him.

  Except for the one “dude” the three boys ignored Andrew completely. He took in the piles of dishes, gear, and clothing strewn across the room. A cat slept on a coffee table, curled in a box that still held a piece of pizza. The situation was appalling. Something had to be done and he knew it. No doubt that was why an immense rock had taken up permanent residence in his stomach.

  The rest of the house wasn’t a complete disaster. The housekeeper appeared to maintain some order in the areas of the house where she might expect to find Andrew. He located Denise in the open living area on the second floor. Playing solitaire.

  Stacks of books and an open laptop sat on the floor next to her. When she saw him she stiffened.

  Andrew sat down on a loveseat and looked at her. “How are you?”

  “Fine.” Her eyes went back to the game. “And you?”

  He didn’t bother to answer. She couldn’t have exhibited less interest if she tried.

  “Did the boys go back to school today?”

  She didn’t look up. “NO.”

  Nothing else. Not even the slightest recognition his question contained dangerous flammables. Personally, he was inflamed by her intelligence and stubbornness. “Shouldn’t they?”

  “There’s no rush, surely. They just buried their parents. No one expects them to just carry on.”

  “I do.”

  Her head snapped up and her eyes meet his. She flushed. “What?”

  “I do. I expect them to just carry on. And you. I expect you to carry on too. That’s what people do.”

  Denise’s face remained a polite mask but he could see the slight movement in her throat when she swallowed. “What are your plans?”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened but after a second or two she closed it without saying anything.

  “Would you like to go back to school? Do you want to look for work?”

  Denise looked back down at her cards. “No.”

  “This place is a disaster, Denise. Do you want to live here? Or get another place?”

  No answer. He watched her play a card. Her eyes blinked -- she was holding back tears. Denise had never been weepy, and for a moment, the he hated the stress he had created in her life.

  “I’ll help, Denise. I’ll help you figure it all out.” He sat up straight and placed his palms on his
thighs. “It won’t just go away. We need to deal with it.”

  Having said that, he got up and walked out of the room.

  ***

  Denise lifted her eyes and watched him go. She had no idea what she wanted. She had no idea how to make things right. She had no idea how to talk to him. She’d like to pretend he didn’t exist.

  ***

  Evan Martin looked at Andrew and shook his head. “It won’t work. You have to begin the way you mean to go on.”

  Andrew let out a breath of exasperation. “I did. I told you about the prenup.”

  Evan, older than Andrew by at least ten years, waved a hand to stop him. “Yeah. You did. And since then? What have you done?”

  Andrew chewed on his lip.

  “Like I thought. Diddly squat.” Evan snorted. “That’s your problem. You may have started, but then you stopped.”

  Andrew flashed Evan a look that would have done a teenager proud and the older man grinned.

  “Yeah. You’re welcome. What have you done this week-hell this day!-to be the Head of the House?”

  “Christ. I’ve gone to work. I’ve tried to give her space…”

  “Space. Why? How the hell does that help? What woman needs space? Space is trouble my friend. That woman doesn’t need space! She needs you all over her shit.

  Evan pushed out of his chair. “The kids aren’t in school? What have you done? She hasn’t made any decisions? Have you told her she’d damn well better make some? Have you fucked her? Reddened her ass? No! Don’t bother answering me, kid. It’s obvious. Step up and quit whining.”

  Andrew opened his mouth but Evan wasn’t waiting around; he waved Andrew towards the door.

  “Think of your old man, kid.” Evan tossed the advice at the younger man from the desk while Andrew headed out the door. “Picture him after some crisis. Now get the hell out of here and go fix your life!”

  “Jesus. Thanks for the sensitive advice.”

  Evan roared out a laugh. “You need sensitivity you came to the wrong place! Now if you want your wife happy…”

  Andrew grinned and rapped his knuckles on the receptionist’s desk as he went by. “See you Mrs. Flintstead.”