Read Online Dominating Amy by Emily Ryan-Davis - Free Book Online
Authors: Emily Ryan-Davis
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to that.” Mac’s jaw clenched. “I’m trying. If you’re not going to try, too--”
“I’m not perfect,” she snapped. She turned her head away so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. “You can’t expect that from me.”
“I can expect you to follow a simple directive. Or have I misunderstood what you want from me?” Mac turned her face back to him. He didn’t squeeze, but the heat of his palm against her pulse promised he would force her to meet his eyes if she didn’t comply of her own volition. Heat coiled deep inside, responding to his power.
“So punish me if I’m being bad ,” she challenged.
His features hardened and he lowered his hand. “Amy.”
“Mac.” She searched his eyes intently, picking out layers of emotion when she could read them. Frustration, helplessness, desire, love, fear--all made a puzzling combination. Regret surfaced as well. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she would have missed all those layers, for as soon as she identified them they vanished behind a neutral mask.
“Get up and come with me.” He backed off the bed and left her there, clearly expecting her to follow.
She didn’t have to do it. She could change her mind. Retain the upper hand in their relationship, stay with the safety of knowing their marriage would be over soon. One or the other of them would eventually file for divorce. Their separation would hurt, but it would be comfortable, and she wouldn’t be vulnerable to anybody but herself.
A rustle of paper reached her ears, coming from the vicinity of the living room. Would divorce paperwork sound like that? Her throat convulsed on a silent sob and she covered her ears to block the sound. She sat abruptly and forced herself off the bed to go to him.
He sat on the edge of their couch, on the middle cushion. She studied him from the doorway. Morning beard shadowed his jaw and strain creased his brow; he held his head in his hands and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. She couldn’t imagine a home without him.
Breathing deep to brace herself, she said, “I’m not perfect.”
Mac’s hands stilled. He looked up at her and frowned. “I never demanded that you be perfect.”
“You tell me I am, and I have to live up to it. I can’t do that. I can’t be flawless, never making mistakes. I’m going to make you mad. I’m going to do the wrong thing sometimes. I’m going to have to fake an orgasm once in a while, and every now and then I forget a check I’ve written and overdraw the checking account. I’m going to get pissed off at the world and take it out on you. I’m not perfect.”
“Amy--”
“Please let me finish.” She scrubbed at her cheeks. Her fingers came away wet with tears. Crying. Again. Mac dragged his hand through his hair, but nodded permission to go on.
“You can’t let me make mistakes without pointing them out to me—without some kind of punishment. I know you don’t want to hurt me, but I need you to acknowledge I’ve done something wrong. If you don’t—if you just take it, roll over and go on with your life, never telling me to stop being a bitch or stop being selfish, or whatever it is I’m doing—if you don’t make me stop when I do it, then I don’t know I’ve done it at all until you’re hurt.”
Her voice broke on the last word. She hid against the doorjamb, clutching the wood as if it were a life raft and she was drowning. “Mac, I love you more than life,” she whispered.
“Come here.” It wasn’t a request. His voice was thick and rough, and it cut through her tears. She didn’t want to leave the safety of the door, but she’d asked him to be the order-giver, the law-enforcer of their household, and she forced her feet to move. She stopped with the coffee table between them.
“Not there. Here. ” He pointed to the space between his denim-clad knees.
She moved again. He leaned back and looked up at her. “You understand what you’re asking of
“I’m not perfect,” she snapped. She turned her head away so she wouldn’t have to look into his eyes. “You can’t expect that from me.”
“I can expect you to follow a simple directive. Or have I misunderstood what you want from me?” Mac turned her face back to him. He didn’t squeeze, but the heat of his palm against her pulse promised he would force her to meet his eyes if she didn’t comply of her own volition. Heat coiled deep inside, responding to his power.
“So punish me if I’m being bad ,” she challenged.
His features hardened and he lowered his hand. “Amy.”
“Mac.” She searched his eyes intently, picking out layers of emotion when she could read them. Frustration, helplessness, desire, love, fear--all made a puzzling combination. Regret surfaced as well. If she hadn’t been paying attention, she would have missed all those layers, for as soon as she identified them they vanished behind a neutral mask.
“Get up and come with me.” He backed off the bed and left her there, clearly expecting her to follow.
She didn’t have to do it. She could change her mind. Retain the upper hand in their relationship, stay with the safety of knowing their marriage would be over soon. One or the other of them would eventually file for divorce. Their separation would hurt, but it would be comfortable, and she wouldn’t be vulnerable to anybody but herself.
A rustle of paper reached her ears, coming from the vicinity of the living room. Would divorce paperwork sound like that? Her throat convulsed on a silent sob and she covered her ears to block the sound. She sat abruptly and forced herself off the bed to go to him.
He sat on the edge of their couch, on the middle cushion. She studied him from the doorway. Morning beard shadowed his jaw and strain creased his brow; he held his head in his hands and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. She couldn’t imagine a home without him.
Breathing deep to brace herself, she said, “I’m not perfect.”
Mac’s hands stilled. He looked up at her and frowned. “I never demanded that you be perfect.”
“You tell me I am, and I have to live up to it. I can’t do that. I can’t be flawless, never making mistakes. I’m going to make you mad. I’m going to do the wrong thing sometimes. I’m going to have to fake an orgasm once in a while, and every now and then I forget a check I’ve written and overdraw the checking account. I’m going to get pissed off at the world and take it out on you. I’m not perfect.”
“Amy--”
“Please let me finish.” She scrubbed at her cheeks. Her fingers came away wet with tears. Crying. Again. Mac dragged his hand through his hair, but nodded permission to go on.
“You can’t let me make mistakes without pointing them out to me—without some kind of punishment. I know you don’t want to hurt me, but I need you to acknowledge I’ve done something wrong. If you don’t—if you just take it, roll over and go on with your life, never telling me to stop being a bitch or stop being selfish, or whatever it is I’m doing—if you don’t make me stop when I do it, then I don’t know I’ve done it at all until you’re hurt.”
Her voice broke on the last word. She hid against the doorjamb, clutching the wood as if it were a life raft and she was drowning. “Mac, I love you more than life,” she whispered.
“Come here.” It wasn’t a request. His voice was thick and rough, and it cut through her tears. She didn’t want to leave the safety of the door, but she’d asked him to be the order-giver, the law-enforcer of their household, and she forced her feet to move. She stopped with the coffee table between them.
“Not there. Here. ” He pointed to the space between his denim-clad knees.
She moved again. He leaned back and looked up at her. “You understand what you’re asking of
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