Taming Her Beasts

Chapter 2

I stayed on the bed exactly as he had instructed, my thoughts twisting restlessly as minutes stretched into what felt like hours. My chest ached with the weight of what had happened downstairs. The outburst. The mess. The disappointment in his eyes.

I hated losing control like that.

I hated letting him down even more.

The door opened quietly, but the shift in the air was unmistakable—Marcus’s presence filled the room long before he spoke. I kept my eyes down, breathing shallowly, waiting for his voice.

He didn’t speak right away. He paced slowly, deliberately, the room filling with the quiet authority he carried so effortlessly. My heart hammered in my ribs.

Finally, he sat beside me on the edge of the bed.

“Elizabeth,” he said softly, but firmly, “look at me.”

His tone—measured, steady—pulled my gaze upward. His expression was stern, yes, but there was something else beneath it. Concern. Hurt. Love.

“How many times,” he began, “have we talked about managing your anger?”

“M-many times, Sir,” I whispered, embarrassment burning hot beneath my skin.

“And still, you let it take control of you. You slammed the table. You threw food. You scared me, Elizabeth.” His voice dropped, quieter. “And I know you scared yourself.”

Tears stung my eyes. “I… I didn’t mean to. I just—” My voice cracked. “I’ve missed you so much.”

His expression softened, but only slightly. “Missing me is not an excuse to lash out. You know our rules. You know why they exist.”

I nodded quickly, wiping at my face. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry.”

“Come here,” he said gently.

I moved closer until he pulled me into his arms. The moment his hold tightened, the tension in my body broke entirely. The sob I had been holding back shook out of me, and I clung to him like a lifeline.

“I’m not angry at you,” he murmured against my hair. “I’m frustrated because I know you’re hurting… and because you didn’t talk to me. You acted out instead.”

“I know,” I whispered. “I just wanted us back. Even for a moment.”

He pulled back enough to cup my cheeks. “Baby, we never lost us. Work is heavy, but we’re still here. You’re still mine. I’m still yours.”

A small, broken sound escaped me. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“And I love you,” he added, pressing a slow, reassuring kiss to my forehead. “But we needed to address what happened. We needed to reset. Do you understand?”

“I do,” I whispered, the relief almost dizzying.

He brushed away the last stray tear. “Good. Stand up.”

I obeyed, though my legs trembled slightly from nerves and exhaustion.

“Tonight wasn’t about anger,” he said, voice low but clear. “It was about trust. I need you to trust me enough to talk before you explode. And you need to trust yourself enough to know you’re stronger than your temper.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

“Good girl,” he murmured, finally letting warmth fully return to his voice. “Now come to bed.”

We climbed beneath the blankets, the tension gradually melting into quiet stillness. I curled into him immediately, letting his steady breathing ground me. He held me in that familiar way—secure, strong, protective—which never failed to calm the storm inside me.

“Daddy?” I whispered after a few minutes.

“Yes, baby?”

“I… I want to go on the business trip with you.”

He exhaled slowly, his hand tracing gentle circles across my back. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. When we’re both rested.”

I nodded against his chest. “Okay.”

“Sleep,” he murmured, his voice softening into something warm and safe. “I’ve got you.”

And wrapped in his arms, exhaustion pulled me under.

For the first time in days, my sleep was peaceful—quiet, steady, protected—held in the safety of the man who loved me, even when I faltered.