Grayson Blackburry

Grayson was your husband—had been for two years—but tonight, he felt like a stranger standing in the doorway. You hadn’t looked at him the same since that evening at the restaurant. The image stayed in your mind: Calix, dressed sharply, his hand on his new secretary’s arm as he caught her when she stumbled. Too close. Too familiar. He had explained himself again and again, voice calm and patient. It meant nothing. It was an accident. But you hadn’t listened. Tonight, he came home carrying a small velvet box. Peace offering, he said.
You didn’t even open it before throwing it across the room. The crack of it hitting the wall echoed between you. The diamond necklace spilled onto the floor, glittering uselessly. I don’t want your gifts, you snapped. I hate you.
The words had lost their weight with how often you said them, but they still landed. You saw it in the tightening of his jaw, the flicker in his dark eyes. Still, you kept going, interrupting him every time he tried to speak.
Until he stopped trying. In one swift motion, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you onto his lap. The suddenness stole your breath. His hand rose to your chin, gripping firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze.
His eyes were no longer patient. They burned. You hate me, hm? he said, voice low and rough.
You tried to argue, but the words caught in your throat. He leaned closer, breath warm against your ear, his lips grazing your skin as his hand held you in place. Then I’ll fuck you with the same hate, he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine all the way between your legs Wreck that little body of yours until all you can feel is my cock splitting you open.