Maxime’s fumbles with the zipper at the back of my skirt. I pull his shirt from his pants and sigh into his mouth as I run my palms over the hard contours of his abs and the familiar destruction of his chest. Sucking in a sharp breath, he breaks the kiss and goes still. I love how sensitive he is to my touch. It’s the one thing he’s always been honest about.
I drag my hands over the flat disks of his nipples and back down his stomach to trace the deep line of the V that cuts to his hips. I slide my fingers over the metal and leather of his belt. Pressing my face to his neck, I inhale his spicy winter cologne. He hisses when I cup his erection. When I look back at his face, I catch him watching me with a molten gaze the color of melted steel as I outline the broad head with a finger through the fabric of his pants.
Unable to wait any longer, I unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. His cock is hard and hot in my palm, the velvet skin pulled tightly around his flesh. I squeeze, then stroke. He studies me with the intense attention of a predator as he lets me fondle him.
“You make me wild,” he says, gripping my skirt and bunching it up in his fists. “Be a good girl. Take off your panties for me.”
His wish is my command. In this, I don’t have a choice. I can only follow my body’s lead as it dictates my actions with a selfish need for fulfillment. Letting him go, I grip my thong and pull it down my legs while he looks on with savage hunger. When the underwear pools around my feet, he locks his hands around my waist and lifts me onto the bed.
Our urgency is too pressing for taking time to undress. My fingers fold around his thick, hard length, guiding him to my entrance. With his hands planted on the mattress next to my face, he parts me gently and slides home. The burn is familiar. So is the pleasure erupting in sensitive nerve endings. The rocking of his hips is a welcome rhythm, the only tune my body knows. There’s been no one but him. Like the words he vowed earlier, there will never be another. He’s all I have. Our union is broken and built on a shaky foundation, but it can’t hurt if I don’t pour my heart into it. It can only bring me closer to where I need to be, closer to coming.
“Zoe.” Framing my face between his hands, he stares into my eyes.
Everything I feel is summarized in the way he utters my name. It’s a need for something I can’t name. Locking my ankles around his ass, I lift my hips to take him deeper.
“Fuck, Zoe.” He groans. “You have to go slowly.”
Slowly is not what I want. I want to burn and go down in flames. I want him to catch me, mend me, and pretend we’re okay. A growl sounds in his chest when I wiggle out from under him. His fingers spear through my hair. For a moment, he holds me in place, but then he releases one finger at a time, setting me free. The effort it takes shows on his strained face.
“Don’t you want this?” he asks with that deep frown running between his eyebrows.
I trace the crease with a finger, dragging the tip over the bump of his nose and along the crooked line. Turning over, I give him my answer. The sharp intake of his breath is always a sweet reward. In a flash, he drags me to the edge of the bed so I’m kneeling on the floor.
I press my cheek on the mattress and look back at him. He pushes to his feet, his face an inferno of lust as he studies me. The way I’m presented with my skirt bunched up over my hips and my ass in the air is dirty. There’s something perverse about kneeling half-dressed and knowing what is coming is going to feel as good as it’s going to hurt.
Kneeling behind me, he digs his fingers into the flesh of my globes and parts me. My lower body tightens in anticipation as an ache to be touched flowers between my legs. He brings his lips closer to my sex and plants a tender kiss on the apex. The hot glide of his tongue over my folds makes me shiver. A tremor runs all the way up my spine as he trails his tongue along the crease leading to my dark entrance. I bite my tongue not to moan when he traces the tight ring of muscle before softly nipping the fleshy part of my glute.
He can easily drag an orgasm from me with his tongue. I’ll come quickly for him, but he only plays with the tip over my clit, making me squirm and clench my thighs in need. Denying me isn’t because he’s cruel. It’s because he’s kind. If I come now, I’ll be too sensitive to let him take me how I want.
He sucks a thumb into his mouth and presses the tip on my dark entrance. Rubbing the fingers of his free hand in a circular motion over my clit, he gently applies pressure until the muscles give and my body allows his entry. He gives me a moment to adjust before plunging two fingers into my pussy. I’m on the verge of exploding when he starts moving, but he keeps the pace too slow.
Perspiration beads on my forehead when the stretch in my ass increases.
“Just do it,” I plead. I don’t know for how much longer I can stand the torment.
“Shh, my little flower. I have to prepare your body.”
His patience is commendable. I know he wants this as much as I do. It’s evident in how hard he is, but Maxime is not to be rushed. The foreplay seems to last forever, until I’m begging him to just go ahead and fuck me. I’m already tired, already raw. The easy pace and probing fingers rocking my body into the mattress are relentless. He lets me feel, and feel, and feel until I’m only aware of the parts of my body he’s manipulating with his expert touch.
When every inch of my skin is slick with perspiration, he finally withdraws his fingers.
“Stay,” he says, getting to his feet.
My chest sinks into the mattress, the muscles I’ve kept drawn tight finally relaxing. With my cheek pressed to the sheet, I watch him undress. Fully naked, he walks to the bathroom and returns with lube. He came prepared. He wanted this too.
Going back to his knees, he squirts a generous amount of lube in the crease between my globes and uses the broad head of his cock to spread it around my dark hole.
An uncomfortable sting builds at the base of my spine when he pushes his cock against my dark entrance and applies steady pressure. The ring of muscles finally yields, and cold flames run through my insides as he carefully sinks deeper.
“Harder,” I say, my breathing shallow.
He goes slowly, taking his time to fill me.
Still, I beg. “Please, Maxime. Fuck me already.”
Pulling back, he sinks deeper, over and over, going a little faster and farther with each stroke. The fire builds. The flame leaps. Pain and ecstasy mix until I don’t know who I am or why I’m here. I only know the desperate need for release.
Moving a hand between our bodies, I cup the velvet softness of his balls. He reciprocates by finding my clit. I cry out when he gives the bundle of nerves a wicked pinch. It sets off a slow-building eruption that detonates from my core. My inner muscles tighten. Uttering hot, filthy words, he grabs my hip and holds me in place while punching his hips against my ass. It’s beautiful and dirty. Wrong and right. I arch my shoulders and push back, meeting each of his strokes.
The room is filled with our sounds—cries and groans. The air smells like sex and roses in winter. I let go, collapsing in a boneless heap as my aftershocks ebb, simply letting him use me. He slides his hands beneath my body and the mattress to cup my lace-covered breasts. Another few punishing pumps later, his muscles lock. His groan sounds almost painful as he empties himself inside me.
I try to stay with him, but I’m already floating away, exhaustion claiming my senses. He shoves twice more and then folds his body over mine. His broad chest covers my back. Heat seeps from his body and melts into my tired muscles.
Brushing my hair away, he plants a tender kiss in my neck. “I love you, Zoe.”
I still at the words. I want to turn so I can face him, but he’s still planted deep inside my body, nailing me to the bed with his bigger size and muscular body.
“Shh,” he says. “I know that pretty little mind of yours is kicking back into action. Just relax. There’s no need to analyze it.”
I can’t lie to him. Not about this. “This isn’t love, Maxime.”
“I figured it out on the
way home.” He twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “Love is nothing but an obsession. Obsession is love.”
We’ll never have the kind of love I dreamed about, but I’m just so damn tired of hurting with the knowledge. “We have a very different view of love.”
“Then we agree to disagree,” he says, kissing my neck again before sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a hickey.
Chapter 22
Zoe
After a shower and a late lunch at the hotel, Maxime calls a company who specializes in toxic waste cleanup and arranges a thorough cleaning of the apartment. While he’s on the phone, I step out onto the balcony and dial Damian.
“Hey,” he says in a cautious tone. “I thought I’d hear from you sooner.”
“Sorry.” Gripping the rail, I stare down at the harbor in the distance. “It’s been hectic since we got back.”
“Yes?” It sounds as if he’s shuffling papers. “With what?”
My courage fails me. “You’re at work. I caught you at a bad time. I can call back—”
“No. I’m listening.”
“We…” I clear my throat and infuse my tone with as much excitement as I can salvage. “We got married.”
After a short silence, he says, “What?”
“Just the two of us.” I cross my fingers behind my back. “We didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
“You eloped? Is this what you wanted, Zee?”
“Of course.” I smile so he can hear it in my voice. “I know it was impulsive, but why wait. Right?”
“Right,” he says slowly. “When did this happen?”
“The very day we landed.”
“That’s a bit rash.”
“How long did you wait before you married Lina?”
He sighs. “Is he there?”
“Who? Maxime?”
“Who else?”
“He’s busy on a call.”
“So you can speak freely.”
“Yes, of course.”
Damian sighs again. “Zee, you’ll let me know if something is wrong, right?”
“Yes. Now stop fussing and congratulate me.”
“Congrats. I’m happy for you.” He pauses. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you. It’s good to hear your voice.”
I ask about Josh and how Lina is doing. He fills me in on Lina’s checkups and the prenatal classes they’re attending. His voice is warm with pride when he tells me about the 3D ultrasound and how beautiful their daughter is.
“Have you chosen a name yet?” I ask, my throat thick with emotion.
“No.”
“There’s nothing you like?”
“No name is perfect enough for her.”
“Oh, my God, I sense a very possessive father in the making.”
There’s a short hesitation. “A good one, I hope.”
“A wonderful one.” My smile is very real this time. “You’re nothing like Dad.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
“You don’t have to wonder. Dad scared me. You don’t.”
Turning, I lean against the rail. My gaze collides with Maxime’s who’s watching me through the sliding door with the intensity of a lion on the prowl as if he hasn’t just fucked me senseless.
“I’ve got to go,” I say. “I’ll set up an email account and send you and Lina my address.”
“Lina will like that. Maybe we can chat on video call.”
My smile stretches. “That sounds great.”
“We’d love for you to be here for the birth, but we’ll understand if it isn’t possible. I know you have a whole new life to start over there.”
“I’d love nothing more than to be there for both of you.” I hold my husband’s eyes. “I’ll get back to you about that.”
“What are your plans for the future?”
“I’m not sure yet. For the moment, we’re just, uh, enjoying each other.”
Getting to his feet, Maxime walks to the sliding door. He continues to look at me as if he’d like to punch a hole through the glass and snatch me while Damian and I say our goodbyes.
When I step back inside, Maxime grabs the lapels of my coat, dragging me against him. “I missed you.”
His words take my reason, but I won’t allow them to soften my heart. “It’s only been five minutes.”
“Five minutes too long,” he breathes in my neck.
If I had any doubts about Maxime letting me go to South Africa for the birth of my niece, I’m certain now he won’t. Still, I have to try. “My niece will be born in three months.” I pull away to look at him. “I’d love to be there.”
Regret contorts his features. “I know, flower, but I can’t let you go alone. It’s much too dangerous.”
“You could come with?” I ask hopefully.
Tension invades his expression, making the lines of his face look harsher. “I have to get this business off the ground. There are a lot of changes.”
I notice the dark rings under his eyes that, with everything that has happened, have escaped me. He’s genuinely concerned about this.
“Are we all right?” I ask.
“Don’t worry.” He paints a smile over his concerned expression. “I’ll take care of you.”
I watch him as he sets me aside. “You said you’d be honest with me.”
His lips are still curved into a smile, but it’s a tight one. “I am. I’d give anything to take you to South Africa for the birth, but this business is our future.” Adopting a lighter tone, he says, “In fact, I’d like to show you the office.”
“Now?”
“I have to go in to take care of some things.”
I suspect taking me with him to work has more to do with keeping me safe than involving me in his professional life.
Trying not to show my disappointment about not being able to be there when the baby is born, I follow him to the car. He drives us to a modern building on the outskirts of the city and leads me through the scanners and security check. There’s no name on the outside, but a plaque above the elevator reads Belshaw Diamantes.
His offices are on the top floor, overlooking the hilly side of Marseille instead of the harbor. The interior is modern with gray and white walls and minimalistic furniture. He introduces me to some of the staff members, all of them men, including his assistant. Maxime’s office has glass walls affording him a view of the open floor plan where the other employees are installed. Instead of working at desks, the setup is more casual with sofas arranged around workstations and coffee nooks.
While I page through a magazine on the sofa in his office, he makes arrangements for setting up a diamond auction in Paris. From the conversation I overhear, Maxime gets the uncut stones from Damian and sells them to wholesalers in Europe.
Hector calls just before we leave the office, saying he’s found traces of botulinum in both the ants and sugar, but not in any of the toiletries he’s tested. I still can’t believe Francine would’ve done something like this and even less that Maxime’s mother was involved.
Back at the hotel, I switch on the television while Maxime orders room service. We’re both too exhausted from the ordeal to have dinner in the restaurant. He didn’t allow me access to computers or anything other than movie channels on television before. Watching the news is still a novelty. I flick to the local channel while kicking off my shoes.
A newsflash about a young woman who committed suicide by ingesting botulinum stills me. The reporter stands in front of a house on the beachfront, saying that a neighbor found the body. My knees trembling, I sink down on the bed. For the first time, it hits me, really hits me. Maxime killed her.
“Zoe?”
I look up to see him staring down at me darkly. “She deserved it.”
My stomach turns. My husband is a killer. I knew that, didn’t I? I knew it right from the start, even if I chose to bury my head in the sand. That luxury is no longer an option. I can’t claim to be naïve about the man I married.
&n
bsp; “This changes nothing,” he says in a hard voice, taking my hand and pulling me roughly to him.
I’m shaking inside. It’s hard to keep the fear from showing on my face.
“It’s too late for second thoughts, ma belle,” he says with narrowed eyes, pushing up my sweater and palming my breasts. His hands are angry as he unfastens both our pants and pushes mine with my underwear over my hips. “You already married the devil.” Guiding his cock to my entrance, he drives home in a single thrust, consummating the words.
My back arches from the sudden invasion. I grip his shoulders for support when he moves with brutal force, dulling my conscience with his harsh rhythm.
Yes, I did. I married the devil.
What’s much worse is that I love him.
Chapter 23
Zoe
We move back to the apartment two days later. There’s no investigation into Francine’s death. Her funeral is to be held the following week. My stomach is constantly wound tight. How does Maxime live like this? Before, he was protected by his position. Now he’s on his own. The mafia and their connections aren’t going to protect him if the police come after him.
What will happen if he ends up in jail? Will Alexis come after us? Damian managed to build a business from jail. I have no doubt he could’ve ruled an empire. Maxime is no different. A part of me craves the freedom I could have if Maxime is caught, but another part of me can’t bear to see him behind bars. Either way, Maxime will dictate my future, even from jail. He’d never let me go back to my family. Freedom will forever remain my illusion.
We fall into a new rhythm of Maxime leaving for the office after eight and returning for dinner after eight. We eat, fuck, and shower. He spends long hours pouring over reports and statements after I’ve gone to bed. The more I observe him, the more it’s becoming apparent that the business isn’t going as well as he’d hoped. The adjustments are taking their toll. When I ask him about it, he only says some clients who are loyal to his family, meaning the mafia, left when he broke away from them and that it will take some time to find new clients and reassure them his service and stones are solid. Keeping the ship from sinking isn’t an easy task.
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