I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found(17)

"You don't know what the f*ck's going on," he said, dangerously quiet.

"You're right, I don't. It's almost like no one's telling me."

"I can't report back to you every hour, on the hour. I have more important things to do."

"Oh, like fielding phone calls from those sweet little journalists they always send? The ones practically falling over their own delicate feet when they walk in the door? 'Oh, I've never interviewed a billionaire before, Mr. Thorne, please be gentle,'" I breathed, in what I thought was a pretty damn good imitation of at least one of them.

"So that's what this is about," he snapped. "You know, Maddy, you and your petty jealousy are really the least of my concerns right now."

"Well, that's incredibly obvious," I fumed. "Do you think I can spend the night in my bedroom, or will you be having more phone sex with your broker at midnight?"

His mouth twisted. "Don't worry, I won't be staying here tonight."

"Good." I stormed up the staircase, anger and guilt like a pit in my stomach. I was out of line - I knew I was. This was simply no time to bring up my stupid hang-ups over his interviewers, and the last thing he needed right now was to worry about my feelings. But after being ignored for so long, it had all come spilling out of me. I couldn't help it.

I sat on the edge of the bed, tears welling in my eyes. All I'd wanted was for him to look at me, to turn to me for support, to…do anything at all, really. Just to show some sign that he remembered I existed. That he hadn't just grown used to me after all our time pretending - that he really did love me.

I tried to remember the last time I'd heard him say it. It was many months ago, I thought, while we were in bed, basking in the afterglow. When we were just pretending, we were more conscious of appearances, and we used to end every phone conversation with "I love you." But now that we really were together, we'd fallen into a pattern that seemed to be more natural for both of us. We weren't romantics, certainly. But it would be nice to be reminded every once in a while.

I heard the door creak open. Was he coming to pack? I turned around, looking at him curiously.

His face had a dark shadow over it, but not the one I would have expected. It was one I recognized, and it made goose bumps rise on my skin.

"Turn over," he said, his voice low and quiet.

I blinked the tears away, turning to look at him.

"What?" I asked, my voice still thick from crying.

"You heard me," he said, flatly. He was taking off his belt.

I sat there, frozen, for a moment. I knew what he was intending to do - or thought I knew, at any rate - and I didn't know if I was ready. But what I'd said on the side of the pool in St. Lucia, which now felt like it was a thousand years ago, was still true.

I just couldn't say no to him.

I turned around, slowly lying down on the bed, facedown, the way I knew he wanted me. As strange as it might seem to someone on the outside, doing this sort of thing - letting him take control - was actually incredibly calming, incredibly grounding, for both of us. On the surface it might seem frightening or unbalancing, but whenever he got that look in his eyes, I could actually feel my heartbeat regulate, my breaths coming slower and deeper. It was like a drug. I wouldn't be surprised if my pupils dilated, too.

Well, for more than one reason, admittedly.

I lay there silently, like I was waiting for a massage, except I was very much not. I felt calmer than I had in days, my jangling nerves quieted down to a slight quiver. And not an entirely unpleasant one, at that.

Was I ready for this?

He'd stop, if I told him to stop. If.

I felt something resting on the small of my back, and I knew without looking that it was the belt. I held my breath.

When it lifted and came back down again, slightly lower, I winced more at the sound of it cracking through the air than I did at the sensation. My jeans were thick enough to absorb the brunt of it, and he must have known that.

It had been too long since he'd done anything like this. I'd almost forgotten the intense feeling of well-being, enough to make me lightheaded - more than anything I'd ever experienced at yoga or during my meditation classes, or anything else. I melted into the bed. The sharp thwacks kept on coming, but their intensity no longer felt like pain.

Finally, I heard him toss the belt aside, and then he grabbed my wrists and flipped me over, climbing up on the bed and kneeling between my legs.

"You need to learn to think about someone other than yourself," he said, very quietly.

My jaw clenched. "All I do is think about you. I don't have much of a choice."

He shook his head, like he didn't understand what I was saying, or didn't want to accept it. "That's not what I mean." He was still holding my wrists down. I squirmed underneath him, no longer sure if this was just a game. Then again, I supposed I'd never been completely sure. "Not because I'm the reason you have this life. That's not how I want you to think about me."

I frowned a little. "That's not what I meant, either," I said. "I…"

I wanted to say it - I did - it was so easy, just three simple words. But after he'd gone so long without the words passing his lips, I didn't want to be the one to break the silence. He looked at me curiously for a moment. It was obvious I'd cut myself off mid-thought. But when he realized I wasn't going to finish it, he leaned down further, his weight coming down on my wrists. I winced a little, but it was nothing I couldn't handle.