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“Don’t think I won’t kill every goddamn person in this house to save you from shame. Their blood would be on your hands, all because you can’t keep fucking quiet and take my cock like a good girl.”
“If you wanted to rearrange my furniture, you could’ve just asked me.”
“Then maybe you should spread these legs so you can show me how pretty you look when you come for me.”
There are so many questions I have about myself—questions I didn’t realize I desperately need to know the answer to. I had never thought to ask them before because so much of my life revolved around being a mother and a wife.
