by Stella Gray
“No. It was a last resort. Dmitri’s a good guy, but he’s not on call 24/7 to watch you.”
I sighed with relief and leaned into his chest. “Can you just…please keep me informed when my bodyguard is going to be keeping an eye on me? I want to be able to trust you.”
“I can do that,” he agreed. “But you have to stop fighting me. I’m trying to protect you.”
He poured some conditioner into his hands and began to massage my scalp again.
When he framed it like that, I didn’t mind at all. Being protected by Stefan made me feel safe and secure.
After rinsing out the conditioner, Stefan soaped up his hands and began to rub soft, sensual circles against my skin, from my shoulders to my toes. I let my arousal wash over me, tilting my head back as the hot water flowed down my body.
I could see he was already hard again, but when I reached for his cock, he batted my hand away, kneeling on the floor instead. Roughly—just the way I liked it—he forced my legs apart.
“Hold on to something,” he said, and before I could ask why, he was sliding his tongue along my slit.
I was wet and hot and more than ready for him. Gripping the shelves on the wall, I held on for dear life as he pleasured me with his mouth, his tongue lapping into me, making me even wetter, before following with a deep thrust of his thick fingers. First one, then two, and finally three. Even though I was still a little sore, it felt fucking amazing. I loved the way he stretched my body open for him. Like I belonged to him. Like I was his and his alone.
With one hand, I threaded my fingers through his wet hair, holding him steady so I could grind against his fingers as he teased my clit with the tip of his tongue. When he growled against my most sensitive spot, I could feel the vibrations sending shockwaves through me. My hand tightened against the back of his head with my impending release. I was so close, it was driving me crazy. The water was hot and steamy around me, but the only thing I felt was Stefan and his fingers and his mouth, pulling me toward the edge. My moans pitched higher and he moaned an affirmation against my pussy, and suddenly it felt like we were the only people in the world—just the two of us and the water and the heat and the pleasure. I never wanted it to end.
Except I wanted, I needed, that release. His mouth rolled over my clit again, sucking hard, and all I could do was cry out at the overwhelming sensations, the sound echoing through the bathroom as Stefan fucked me with his fingers and his mouth.
Throwing my head back, I arched my body, helpless to hold back any longer. My orgasm rippled through me, so deep and powerful that my entire body shook as I came. I was panting his name, mindless with ecstasy, coming so hard that I lost track of everything but my own pleasure.
Once my body stopped vibrating, Stefan turned the water off and grabbed towels for both of us, gently drying my body and then my hair before enveloping me in his arms and carrying me back to bed.
He was still hard, but when I reached for him again, he gently moved my hand away. I understood that this wasn’t about his release, and let him tuck me in, the warm blanket coming up around both of us.
This was everything I had been waiting for. We were finally repairing the broken things between us.
I had told myself I was going to get over him, but now that I was wrapped in his arms again, I had to admit to myself that I hadn’t even been close. The little girl part of me still thrilled at the word husband attached to this green-eyed god, this strong, protective, gorgeous man. He was mine. All mine. I was still in a dreamy haze over the orgasms he’d just given me, the way he’d been so rough and then so gentle, the way he held me now in our bed.
I snuggled deeper under the covers, pressing my naked body against his, completely lost in the perfection and bliss of the moment.
“It’s good you’ve finally come around,” Stefan said. “It’s for the best.”
“Come around?” I asked, not comprehending.
He nodded. “You’ve finally realized what your place is, and you’re fulfilling your responsibilities. I expect you to have your things moved back to our room again tomorrow.”
And just like that, he reminded me that I was an object. Just a trophy for his shelf, candy for his arm, a toy for his pleasure. I only mattered because I belonged to him—because I was his belonging. My purpose was to make him look good, to uphold the illusion that he and his father had created. And to fuck him when he commanded it. That was all. In short, I was no more to him than all the other women he thought he “owned” at the agency.
Rolling away from him, I muffled my tears, crying into a pillow. Even though Stefan was right there next to me, already drifting off, the room suddenly seemed cold and lonely. “Our room,” he had called it. As though I was half of a couple.
When we both knew I wasn’t anything at all.
Tori
Chapter 14
For the time being, my husband had won. I moved my things back into the master bedroom and forced myself to play nice during the few hours each day that he was actually at home. It was tough, but admittedly an improvement. Our marriage might still be one of convenience, but now that Stefan and I were having sex again, I allowed a glimmer of hope on the horizon. Things could still change. They could still get better. Who could say?
Part of me knew it was foolish to have such thoughts, but I was tired of locking myself up in the guest room, passively waiting for something to change. I hadn’t at all forgotten about KZM’s women, or my vow to help them, I just needed some time to figure out what to do next.
Later that week, I got a call from Emzee just after my Linguistic Landscapes class.
“What’s up, lady?” I answered, plugging one ear against the noise in the crowded hallway.
“Not much. I have a few days off between photography gigs and I thought I’d nag my sister-in-law to join me for a ladies’ night,” she said. I could hear the smile in her voice.
“Oh my god I’d love to, but I have midterms coming up and it’s crunch time,” I told her truthfully. “I don’t think I can swing it this week.”
Honestly, I was desperate for some girl time after all the heartache I’d been through lately, even if I was sworn by Stefan (and bound by my own humiliation) not to discuss the specifics of my marriage, the KZM models, and everything else that had been going on.
“Aww Tori,” she wheedled. “What if we just grab a lunch real quick? Someplace near campus, even. You still owe me for bailing on the family dinner. Talk about painful.”
I cringed. “Guilty as charged,” I admitted. “Sorry you had to deal with all that testosterone by yourself. I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it.”
“I survived. Don’t sweat it. But you can make it up to me by saying yes to ladies’ lunch. Unless you have back to back classes every day?”
“Tuesdays and Thursdays I’m free in the afternoon,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
We made plans for lunch and I was glad to have a distraction to look forward to.
On Thursday morning, I let myself dress up. I tended to go a little more casual and basic for school because I didn’t want to rub Stefan’s wealth in the faces of my fellow students, and I liked blending in—but because I’d be meeting Emzee, who had her own similarly expansive wardrobe, I didn’t feel guilty about wearing my nicer things. I slipped into a gorgeous Missoni sweater dress, a pair of knee-high designer boots, and accessorized with a super thick cashmere scarf that screamed cozy luxury. For a little glitz, I added the wristful of gold bracelets Stefan had gotten me for the fundraiser. I loved the festive sound of them clinking together. Hopefully it would cheer me up enough to get me through my morning classes and off to lunch with a smile.
When I walked into the sleek Asian fusion place in Hyde Park that Emzee had picked, my sister-in-law let out a low whistle at the sight of me.
“Look at you, you saucy little stunner! You really need to let me photograph you sometime,” she said, giving me a hug and then two butterfly-light kisses, one on each cheek.
I blushed and waved the compliment away. “You look great, too,” I told her.
It wasn’t just her menswear-inspired vest and wool hat—though she always looked sophisticated and chic in her head-to-toe black outfits—it was the happy flush she was wearing.
“You’re glowing,” I told her, once we had ordered. “Tell me your secret.”
This time she was the one who blushed, trying to hide it behind a sip of her drink.
“Well,” she finally said, still fighting an uncontrollable smile, “I sort of met someone.”
I clapped my hands together and let out a little whoop. This was exactly what I needed right now, and I was thrilled to listen to Emzee go on and on about the new flame in her life.
They’d met at a gallery, where Emzee had gone to check out the opening night of a new photography exhibit that had been getting a lot of pre-show buzz all over town.
“So I was gushing about the way the artist had captured the sort of rapacious hunger of the city—without showing even a single glimpse of literal food—and just the genius in that, where you barely realize what’s missing even though you can just feel what the photos are all about—and he interrupted me and said, ‘That’s exactly what this exhibit is all about. You understand perfectly.’”
“Wow,” I said. “You guys totally meshed.”
“I know,” Emzee said, nodding. “Turns out he hadn’t had time to write up his artist’s statement or the description cards for the photos, but he asked if I’d stay after the show and help him do it, which of course I said yes, and then he insisted on taking me to dinner to thank me, and later we ended up at his apartment and…” She blushed again. “He is fiiine. And hung.”
I laughed along with her. I’d never seen her so giddy. She continued dominating the conversation, telling me how brilliant he was, how he traveled as much as she did and loved all the same places, how he’d recently moved to Chicago from his former home base in Brooklyn.
“I didn’t want to tell him who I was at first,” she confessed as we ordered another round of spicy edamame and virgin mojitos. “Guys find out I’m a Zoric and they suddenly get all weird, like they think they can get something out of it. It’s like I’m not even a person anymore.”
I rested my chin on my fist, nodding, completely sympathetic. Even though I hadn’t grown up with her family’s reputation and wealth, I knew what it was like to be judged for your family’s name. As a senator, my father had been famous in his own way, and people had always had certain expectations of me—not just who I should be, but also what I could do for them. There had been plenty of times I’d been fooled by a friend or a friend’s parents or even a teacher who had expressed interest in my life, only to discover they wanted to use me to get close to my father (and his power) in some way.
“Does he know now?” I asked, reaching for a California roll.
Emzee nodded. “He didn’t even care—he said he understood why I kept it from him!” She got a dreamy, starry-eyed look as she stared off into space. “When he slept over last week, I woke up to find he’d not only made me the most perfect goat cheese omelet, but he also hung my new curtains up over those crazy floor-to-ceiling windows in my living room and walked my dog. Can you believe that shit? I feel like I’m making this up! He’s like…amazing.”
I smiled at her. “He better be,” I said. “You deserve nothing less.”
“I think he’s going to ask me to move in with him,” Emzee confessed. “And I don’t know, I think I want to. I feel like he could really be the one…”
“So what’s holding you back?” I asked.
“I’m just so in love with my apartment. You know how hard it is to get a loft space in this town? And what if Munchkin doesn’t like it? French bulldogs are totally prone to anxiety, and he gets destructive when he’s upset. I just want to make sure it’s the right thing, for both of us.”
“Go with your gut,” I told her. “You’ll know when it’s right. And if he’s really the one, he won’t mind waiting.”
I sipped my drink, filled with both happiness and a little jealousy. At least whatever she had with this photographer, she’d know it was real. I couldn’t say the same for my own marriage.
But even as Emzee continued to open up to me like we were really sisters, I couldn’t help wondering how much she really knew about her family’s business. If she was in the dark the way her brother Luka had been, or if she’d stumbled upon the truth at some point like me.
“You’ve been doing a lot of work for KZM lately, haven’t you?” I asked, trying to go the diplomatic route.
She nodded. “I love branching out and doing my own stuff, but yeah, it’s good to have steady work through the agency, and my dad still lets me get creative with our models, so.” She gave a shrug. “To be honest, commercial photography isn’t really my thing. But it’s helpful to have it on your resume when you’re trying to build a name and a portfolio. Especially since all of the women we sign are so unbelievably beautiful.”
“They are, aren’t they?” I commented idly, swirling the ice in my glass. “I wonder if they ever feel uncomfortable about the jobs they’re sent on…”
I watched Emzee’s face, looking for any signs she might get defensive or bristle at the implication that any of the KZM models were being sent to do things that they might not like.
Instead, she just laughed.
“I guess I wouldn’t blame them,” she said. “There’s a reason I stay behind the camera. I mean, if you think about it, modeling is weird. Prancing around in string bikinis, getting sprayed with baby oil in front of a huge fan, wearing nothing but a pair of sunglasses and a boa constrictor around your neck? Bleh. I’d totally feel like an object. And it’s hard.”
“Yeah…” I said, though her examples weren’t at all what I’d been referring to.
“But I’m pretty sure they’re used to it. Modeling’s their dream, you know? And the agency treats them well. We take standard commission when they book a gig, but we also pay them a salary on top of that, and we help with immigration if that’s something they want.”
Either my sister-in-law was a really good actress, or she had completely bought into the bullshit PR campaign that the agency had been feeding her and everyone else. I couldn’t really judge her for being naïve about the treatment of the models, though. I myself had been just as ignorant up until recently, and that was on top of how little I’d known about my own father’s corruption. It was hard to see the bad in people when they’d raised you, fed you, kept a roof over your head, and said that they loved you.
Maybe Konstantin did love his kids. At least, maybe he loved Emzee—enough to keep her in the dark, to protect her from his corruption. But was it for her own good, or for his?
It didn’t make me hate the guy any less, but I was glad that Emzee seemed totally unaware of the seedy underbelly her father was hiding. I didn’t want to see her hurt. I cared about her, deeply. She was like the sister I’d never had growing up, but had always hoped for.
I also knew I couldn’t possibly have these kinds of fun, girl-talk-fueled dates with someone who was complicit in human trafficking. Just imagining the horrors that the Zoric family put their models through in order to pad their own wallets made me sick.
For a moment, I fought my impulse to tell her the truth. Because even though I would hate to destroy her image of her father and her family, I also dreaded the idea of her finding out the way that I had.
“So that’s how I know that Munchkin’s an excellent judge of character,” she finished saying. “But everyone knows dogs can sense evil. That’s probably why he hates my dad.”
Emzee giggled, but I had to force myself to laugh along with her. She really had no idea.
In the end, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything. I wasn’t going to be the one to ruin Emzee’s life with the truth. Not only that, but I’d be putting both myself and my sister-in-law in danger. Stefan had said as much, and I was well aware that Konstantin was a m
an to be feared.
“How about you guys?” Emzee asked, startling me out of my thoughts.
“Sorry?” I had lost the thread of conversation.
“You and my brother. Are things going any better with you guys?”
She’d caught me completely off guard. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said, playing dumb. “Did Stefan say something to you?”
“Yeah, right,” Emzee scoffed. “Stefan’s personal life is harder to get into than a locked iPhone. I figured there was trouble in paradise because he’s been grumpy as hell for weeks. But he’s been more like his usual self the past few days. I assume it had something to do with you.”
She gave me a pointed look.
“I mean, I guess we’ve been getting along better,” I said. “In some areas.” I couldn’t help but blush.
Emzee cackled with glee. “I knew it! He thinks he’s so tough, but I can still read him.”
I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t imagine I had anything to do with his attitude at work, unless the sex had been as good for him as it was for me. Maybe he secretly craved the occasional tenderness of human connection in between all his rages and cold-hearted business deals. Maybe there was still a bit of human left beneath the monster I usually saw.
“I know he’s a lot to deal with,” Emzee went on. “He comes off all controlling and stubborn and impatient.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “He wasn’t always like this, though.”
“You mean before your mom passed?” I asked. I tried to imagine Stefan as a sweet, playful little boy, before his world had been shattered by tragedy. A tragedy I understood well.
“Maybe. But I mean, he wasn’t even this hard back in high school,” she said. “When we were teenagers he’d drive me around with my friends and take me to the movies. He was one of my best friends, weird as that sounds now. Did he tell you he brought me to his senior prom?”
My jaw dropped. “No. Stefan did?”