My breathing is too erratic to speak.
“Did you miss me?” he asks in a husky voice.
I did, and I feel like a failure for it. It only makes me close my heart off to him even more, turning off my thoughts and giving over to the physical sensations he extracts with such cruel precision.
“Are you close?” he taunts. “Do you want to come?”
He used to make me ask for it before I ran. I broke every time. Now is no exception. I mewl when he traces a line with his finger down my spine. My body draws tight when he follows the crease between my globes to tease my dark entrance.
“You know what will be even hotter than finger fucking your cunt?” he asks. “Fucking your ass at the same time.”
I don’t know what had gotten into him tonight, only that this dirty talking is new. He’s more intense than ever. I’m so close I don’t even fight him when he pushes a digit past the resistance of the tight ring of muscles of my dark entrance. He slips the intrusion in slowly, stretching me with a burn that adds more flames to fire raging through my body. His movements are synchronized, pushing me higher and closer to oblivious ecstasy.
“Every hole in this body is mine,” he says with a voice thick with lust. “Say it.”
I’m past caring about my modesty or pride. “Yes.”
“To do with as I please. Say it.”
“Yes,” I mumble with my face pressed against the sofa.
“Do you want my cock?”
There’s only one answer. “Yes.”
“Why?”
This is the only way I can give myself to him. “Because you give me no choice.”
“Damn right. There is no choice. You’re mine. Forever.”
I mourn the answer even as my thoughts start to splinter and my body flies. The orgasm crashes through me in waves, leaving me weak in its aftermath. It’s quick and powerful. There’s nothing gentle or sweet about it. I’m shaking from the intensity.
Making me go down to my knees, he unzips his pants and frees his cock. His fist is tight in my hair as he grabs my head and lifts it just enough for my mouth to stretch around his cock.
“Suck me like a good girl,” he says, spreading his legs.
I barely have time to take a breath before he thrusts past my lips, hitting the back of my throat.
“This is us, Zoe. Me and you. Get it?”
I’m only half cognizant of the question. The meaning of his words doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m degraded and beyond saving, a wife but still a whore. I take what he gives. I breathe when he lets me and allow him to use me to get off. This is what I accepted when I agreed to return to France with him. It’s the price I’m paying for keeping Damian and his family safe. I’ll do it again and again, whatever it takes.
He comes with a groan, emptying himself down my throat. I don’t have a choice but to swallow, but I do so greedily, taking the only thing I’ll ever allow myself to take from him again.
“That’s it,” he says, stroking my hair. “You’ve been so good.”
I’m far from it. I’m his dirty toy, his object to manipulate and defile.
“Now tell me that wasn’t perfect,” he says.
I don’t say a word, because in its own, perverse, ugly way it was perfect.
“I love you, Zoe,” he says, stroking my back.
The words cut deep, because he can’t possibly mean them.
Chapter 24
Maxime
The sun is barely up when I wake. Leaving Zoe to sleep, I have a shower and dress in a pair of black Italian fitted pants and a dark purple tailored shirt with a matching tie. The ankle boots and gray wool coat I choose to round off the ensemble are Italian, too. I like to dress well. It makes up for my lacking physique. My body still fills out the clothes well. The diamond business is less physical than my previous position. I’m no longer using my fists or fighting skills like I used to, but I make sure I stay in shape by working out every evening at an old boxing gym not far from the apartment. It’s not about vanity but about survival and being strong enough to keep Zoe safe. I’m no longer in the mob, but Alexis will always pose a danger. I can never let my guard down.
After combing my hair and splashing a dash of cologne on my cheeks, I close the bedroom door so I won’t wake Zoe. I switch on the coffee machine and gather my files from the table where I worked last night. I stuff everything into my laptop bag before taking out the leaflets I printed yesterday at the office, alerting the residents of an unauthorized entry into the building. What happened when Alexis got in can never happen again.
While I sip my coffee, I study the dress on the form that stands in front of the circular window. It’s just long enough not to be indecent, but the short slits on the sides defy that decency with an almost rebellious intent. The neckline is low, framed by a broad lapel that gives it the look of a male jacket as if challenging femininity. Three-quarter-long sleeves with a fold-back cuff that repeats the sharply pointed lapel add balance to the otherwise too-short hem. It’s a dress that demands confidence. Not just anyone will be able to pull off the look.
The worry that ate its way into my mind last night returns. The design isn’t like Zoe. She’s changing. She’s slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to stop it. Last night I tried to restore the balance by showing her I’m still in charge. As long as I can manipulate her lust, I can control her body, but it no longer seems to be working. What has changed?
She won’t step
