Our gazes remained locked as he takes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a few bills.
The vendor clears her throat. Her voice is husky when she asks, “How many meters would you like, ma’am?”
“Three, please,” I say, ripping a number from the sky.
Maxime’s lips lift in one corner. The smile makes his unconventionally beautiful-unattractive face seem more predatory than friendly.
Leaning closer, he presses his lips against my ear and says in English, “Let me buy this for you.”
The foreign accent hits me between the knees. We’ve been speaking French since my return. I’ve forgotten what his deep timbre sounds like when he whispers in my mother tongue. He smells like the king of winter, of cold weather and citrusy days. The perfume of chemical dye retreats as that winter heat rushes over me. The man and everything he stands for overwhelm my senses.
That my mind can focus on his words is a miracle. I think back to his story, to the man who had two choices, the kidnapper who could take his target kindly or with force. I don’t want force. I don’t want kindness. I want honesty.
“Why?” I ask with a dry throat.
His breath strokes over my ear. His words are self-assured and seductive. “Because I can.”
Pulling away, he creates an avalanche of cold when he takes his heat with him. I look down to where he’s rubbing the fabric between his fingers in a gesture that seems oddly like a caress. I shiver as if feeling that caress on my skin.
Because he can.
The nuance of the situation isn’t lost on me. It’s foreplay. It’s a preview of what will happen if I follow him home. I don’t fight it. I’m already beaten. I lost the minute my gaze landed on him. He hit me full-on when my defenses were lowered, and my armor wasn’t in place.
I’m healthy. I’m alive. I’m just a woman. I feel him in the ache between my legs and the heaviness of my breasts. I feel the memory of him in the heat that floods my stomach. I remember him in the anticipation that tightens my lower body.
The woman hands him a parcel. Her hand shakes slightly, and her voice is breathless. “Here you go, sir.”
Does everyone feel the sexual tension in the air?
“Thank you,” he says, accepting it with a smile without looking away from my eyes.
When he offers me his hand, I take it. I would’ve taken it if he was leading me to hell. I may have sealed my heart in a dark room, but this is the part of me Maxime fully owns.
Chapter 18
Maxime
Zoe is nervous when I let her into the apartment. Her small body is tense. She should be, seeing that I’m about to strip her naked and fuck her until she can’t walk. It’s been too long. For too many months, I haven’t felt the shape of her breasts under my palms or the warm tightness of her body sucking me deeper. I’ve seen her naked for three torturous days. I’ve punished myself, abstaining from the release of a hand job in the shower. I won’t last much longer.
I know her. If she’s to enjoy this, I have to put her at ease. I have to go slowly. I can’t jump on her like a tiger and hold her down with my teeth while ramming my cock into her body until she’s accepted every inch of me.
I drop the parcel on the table so I can take her coat. “Tea?”
Her shoulders sag with visible relief. “Please.”
After hanging both our coats on the stand, I go to the kitchen and boil water.
“How did you find me?” she asks in an uncertain voice, rubbing her hands together as she takes baby steps toward the island counter where I’m putting out mugs and a mix of organic raspberry and rose petal tea leaves.
“Your phone.” Picking up the remote, I turn the heat up a notch. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
She slips onto one of the tall chairs. “You can’t follow me around forever. I’m sure you have lots to do at your new job.”
I flash her a smile, my eyes meeting hers briefly before I scoop the leaves into the teapot. “I have enough to keep me busy.” I dust my hands and make eye contact again. “But you always come first.”
Her cheeks flush pink. It makes me want to grab her face between my hands and kiss her, but I miraculously succeed in focusing on the task at hand, which is switching off the kettle before the water reaches boiling point and not kissing her before I’ve brought us back to a place where she can be naked and comfortable with me.
“Talking about phones…” She wrings her fingers together like she does when she’s nervous. “I’d like to call my brother to let him know we’ve arrived safely.”
I pour the water over the leaves. “Then call him.”
“But…” She takes her phone from her pocket and looks at the screen.
“I’ve already spoken to him just after we arrived so he wouldn’t worry about his baby sister, but you can call your family any time you like.”
“You mean…” She looks at the phone again.
“Yes.” The word is curt. Reminding her of her previous limitations isn’t where I want to go right now. “You can dial anywhere in the world.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I don’t say she’s welcome. It’s not a novelty she should be thanking me for. Having access to communication is a given in any normal person’s life. I don’t want her caged. It’s no longer necessary. I’ve effectively clipped her wings with my ring on her finger. Which reminds me of a subject I shouldn’t bring up, not ever and certainly not now, but I can’t put it out of my head. I can’t stop calling up images and allowing my imagination to torment me in every waking minute of my days and every dream-filled hour of my nights.
“Did
