Consent (The Loan Shark Duet Book 2)

by Charmaine Pauls

  “We’ll have breakfast, first. My wife is pregnant, and she needs to eat.”

  “Of course. What may I get you?”

  “Everything,” Gabriel says, “and my men will order from the menu.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gabriel’s guards follow, but they keep enough of a distance to give us privacy. We’re escorted to an indoor garden where a table is set with silverware and paper-thin bone china. Evergreen creepers ornate the glass walls that give a view of the mountains and the valley.

  “Not too cold?” Gabriel asks as he takes my coat.

  There’s a bite in the autumn air, and the day is overcast. “It’s warm enough inside here, thank you.”

  He seats me before taking the opposite chair. A waiter arrives with coffee and an assortment of herbal teas. I opt for a mint infusion, as coffee doesn’t agree with my stomach, of late. More waiters deposit silver-covered platters on the tables lining the sidewall. They lift the lids to reveal every kind of breakfast food imaginable. There are sausages, bacon, fried potatoes, eggs, porridge, pancakes, cereal, fruit, nuts, croissants, sweet pastries, cheese, and a variety of cold meat cuts. Gabriel’s men are not seated with us, but there’s enough food to feed ten times the small army.

  “This is too much,” I protest.

  “I didn’t know what you could stomach. Besides, I didn’t want to waste time pouring over a menu. It was easier to simply order everything.”

  “The guards can eat with us. At least not all the food will be wasted.”

  “The guards are fine.” He turns to the headwaiter. “Pack up whatever we don’t eat and deliver it to the homeless shelter.”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Gabriel turns to me. “There. Happy?”

  “Shall we serve, sir?”

  “We’ll manage, thank you.”

  The staff exits discreetly, leaving us alone.

  “We need to get some food into your body,” he says. “What do you fancy?”

  “Just some fruit.” I look at the spread. “I’m sorry, but the smell of everything else makes me queasy.”

  “Don’t ever apologize for how you feel.” He gets up and places a selection of fruit on a plate, which he carries to the table. “Orange?” He spears a piece on a fork and brings it to my mouth. Piece by piece, he feeds me until half of the plate is gone and I assure him I can’t eat another morsel.

  “You didn’t eat enough in Durban.” His expression turns somber. “Your stomach probably shrunk. We’ll have to fix that.”

  “It’s just the pregnancy. Aren’t you hungry?”

  The way his gaze trails over me detonates sparks on my skin. He still wants me, and my body hasn’t stopped wanting him. Not for one second. Not even after he bullied me into marriage. The conditioning of old kicks in. My panties turn damp as he takes my hand and rubs a thumb over my wrist.

  As quickly as he took my hand, he lets it go. An uncomfortable silence follows as he serves himself a full English breakfast and eats while I sip my tea.

  He only speaks again when he pushes his empty plate aside. “We need to talk. I know you don’t want this, Valentina, but there’s no turning back. You asked me why I gave up my bachelorhood to protect you. You’re going to be the mother of my child. You and our child are my responsibility, and I’ve never been scared of my responsibilities. You’re family, now. Your debt has been wiped clean. You never have to fear for your or Charlie’s life again. We’re going to be a family, and I know it won’t be easy. All I ask is that you try. I won’t deny you anything within my means to give. Ask and you’ll have whatever your heart desires.”

  I swallow at the end of his speech. “Charlie and I, we owe you nothing?”

  “You have no more debt.”

  What he offers is noble, but I have to understand if we’re equals. “Are you saying I’m free?”

  A stony expression replaces his earlier tenderness. “No.”

  “Then nothing has changed in terms of what I owe you.”

  He leans back in his chair, putting distance between us. “Oh, but it has. Everything has changed.” He holds my eyes. “Before, it was nine years. Now, it’s forever.”

  The statement startles me. I bite my lip to stop it from trembling. How clever. He changed the game, the rules, and the implications. What did I think a ring on my finger meant? I’m still a toy. The only difference is this time it’s for life.

  Leaning over the table, he grips my chin, but there’s nothing tender in the gesture. It’s dominant and brusque. “It’ll be easier for both of us if you don’t let your disappointment show so easily.”

  With a jerk of my head, I free myself. “Why must it be forever?”

  “You’re mine, Valentina. I’ll never let you go.”

  “Why?” I whisper again, needing to understand so badly it eats a hole in my soul.

  “I don’t need a reason. When I first saw you back at Napoli’s, I wanted you, so I took you. Now, I’ve decided to keep you.”

  The teacup is shaking so much in my hand I have to put it down. “What about what I want?”

  “I said I’d do everything in my power to make you happy. Our time together doesn’t have to be miserable. It can be good. Just accept the way it is, and things will be easier for you.”

  The part of me that needs to be loved rebels. “I’m still your property.”

  “As my wife, you’ll be respected and protected.”

  “As long as I stay.”

  His expression darkens. “You ran from me once, but I won’t let you run twice. The next time it happens, the person who’ll suffer is Kris. I’ll ruin her, break everything she’s built in her life, and kill her. Do you understand?”

  The food pushes back up in my throat. It feels like a knife is twisting in my stomach.

  “I asked you a question, Valentina.”

  Tears blur my vision. I don’t want to cry in front of him. I don’t want him to know he has an effect on me. Blinking away the moistness, I give him the answer he wants in a voice hoarse from suppressed tears. “Yes.”

  “Good.” Pushing back his chair, he comes around to my side of the table and wraps his arms around me. “In time, you’ll get used to it.”

  I don’t say anything. A deep-sated knowledge presses down on me. Gabriel is a man of his word. He did what he said he would. He found a new kitten, and this time, he’s not letting it go. All I can do is pull up a protective barrier around my heart. If I’m to survive this new arrangement, I need to be strong, but the first cracks are already showing. He’ll break me, after all.

  After our wedding breakfast, Gabriel takes me for a walk in the garden. True to his word, he tries to make this good for me. He has his arm around my shoulders, ensuring I don’t slip on the stepping stones that are wet from dew, and points out bird species.

  At the edge of a pond, we stop to admire the view.

  “I was thinking,” he says, “that maybe you’d like to do charity work.”

  I look at him quickly.

  “Now that you’re not studying or working,” he continues, “you’ll have time on your hands. I know you had your heart set on being a vet,” he rubs a finger over the knuckle of my missing thumb, “but how about starting a dog rescue program? I’ll sponsor all the money you need.”

  It’s too much, too fast. I haven’t made peace with my new future, yet. I need time for everything to sink in and to adjust to my new circumstances.

  “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

  He touches my cheek. “You’re pale. Still nauseous?”

  “A little.”

  “Come on. Let’s get you to the room.”

  I don’t ask for how long we’re staying or why, assuming this is our pretense of a honeymoon.

  The room is spacious and comfy with decorations in neutral colors. We have no luggage, but the bathroom is stocked with everything I need, including a toothbrush, comb, fluffy robe, and slippers. The tub stands against a ceiling to floor glass window that reveals mo
re stunning views of the valley.

  “Do you mind if I have a bath?” I ask. “I’ve been washing in a basin for three months.”

  A shadow crosses over his face when I mention the basin, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Sit over there.” He points at the wicker chair in the corner. “I’ll run you a bath.”

  Emotionally, I feel depleted. I flop down in the chair, watching Gabriel prepare a bath with oil that smells of lavender. My life is no longer my own, but I’m too tired to fight it. Sometimes, swimming upstream becomes too exhausting. Will it be terrible if I, just for a while, go with the flow? Maybe, when I get my strength back I’ll fight again, but now isn’t that moment.

  “Come here,” Gabriel says when the bath is filled with steaming water, holding out his hand.

  Disobedience comes with a price. Pushing to my feet, I cross the floor and stop in front of him. A moment of silence follows as he looks at me, his thoughts impossible to read. When he finally acts, it’s with determined, strong movements. There’s nothing insecure or hesitant in the way he grips the hem of the T-shirt and drags it over my head. Burying his fingers under the elastic of my underwear, he pushes both the panties and sweatpants to the floor. As his fingertips skim over my legs up to my hips, my body heats, coming alive under the light caress. The power of his touch is familiar. I’m both devastated and ecstatic to discover his magic still works on me. I crave his body, but feel guilty about wanting the man who tied me to him with the invisible chains of marriage, and worse, Kris’ fate. As always, he leaves me no choice. I’m powerless to prevent his touch or my arousal. I’m powerless to do anything but feel.

  A flutter of nervous anticipation races through my belly, burning my core as his hands fasten on my waist. Instead of lifting me into the bath, he walks me backward to the window until my back presses against the glass. The crisp chill of the autumn air penetrates my skin, but heat runs down my spine. He arranges me like a butterfly pinned for framing and takes a step back. For several seconds, he only looks at me, his gaze trailing from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. There’s fire in his eyes, but it’s his hands I want. I crave them on me with a desperation that makes my breath shallow and my breasts heavy. When he finally comes closer again, his clothes brush against my skin. It takes all of my self-control not to rub up against him in search of the contact I need.

  Holding my eyes, he reaches between my legs. My body trembles when he lightly outlines my folds.

  “I’ll understand if you don’t want this,” he says. “I know how it is with a pregnant woman.”

  The fact that he’s giving me a choice comes as a big surprise. It’s the last thing I expected from him. But I do. I want him there and deeper. Cupping his hand, I guide his middle finger inside.

  He lets out a groan and rests his forehead against mine. “You’re wet. I trained your body too well.”

  There’s no arguing that fact. Every long and frightening night of my freedom I yearned for him, for the way he now gathers my moisture and spreads it to my clit. I gasp when he presses the pad of his finger on the nub and holds the pressure without giving me the stimulation I need. Forcing my hips to be still, I wait for permission to have my release. His breath chases over my face as he keeps the stance, his hard-on a thick rod against my hip.

  His jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. I don’t know why, but he fights wanting me. Me? I’ve given up a long time ago. I’m a realistic girl. I know I’m an object, something to satisfy his sexual cravings for dominance and manipulating my pleasure, but I’ve come to accept his control over my body as I’m coming to terms with my new captivity. I’ll never be free or loved, and I’m not going to deny myself the only thing I have––unequalled physical passion. If this is what my life has been reduced to, I’ll take what I can get. I’m not masochistic enough to refuse the breadcrumbs when I’m starving. There will be other things that can fill the hole in my heart and the hankering for love in my soul. A career, a child, finding joy and gratitude in each moment. In this moment, I can have a piece of Gabriel by giving him what he wants most. My pleasure. My submission.

  Cupping his beautiful, masculine, scarred face, I guide his lips to my breast, showing him what I’m prepared to take and give.

  “Valentina.” My name is a broken sound on his lips. He brushes his mouth over my nipple. “Are you sure about this?”

  I drag my hand through his hair, tugging on the strands. “Isn’t this what husbands and wives do on honeymoon?”

  He looks up at me with the kind of intention that’s fierce enough to scare. “No.” The word is loaded. It slips out on a huff of strained control. “This is not how husbands and wives behave.”

  I know what he means. Husbands and wives make love. They don’t devour each other with a hunger that borders on obsession, on something so perversely pleasurable it feels wrong.

  The air leaves his lips on a gush, a moment of sublime surrender. The fight to keep his distance melts into the kiss he plants on my breast. He groans when his tongue touches the tip. With a catch of his breath, he draws me deeper.

  My knees buckle at the scorching hotness of his mouth as he licks and bites. Gone is the cotton wool in which he wrapped me earlier, and back is the man I’m addicted to. He lets go of my sex to squeeze my other breast between his fingers. His mouth moves to that peak, sucking with a force that pulls blood to the engorged tip. When I moan, he lets go with a pop.

  He rubs a palm over the curve. “Jesus, I gave you a hickey on your tit.”

  I don’t care. My body has worn his marks before, marks harsher than the red spot on my breast. His name falls needy and breathlessly from my lips.

  Contained desire replaces the predator look of a moment ago. Once again, Gabriel is in control. He kneels in front of me and hooks my leg over his shoulder. Folding his hands around my waist, he helps me keep my balance while his mouth goes to the juncture of my thighs. He watches me as he teases my folds with his tongue, running the tip over my heated flesh. When he bites lightly into my labia, I jerk and try to move away, but his big hands keep me in place. It’s the grueling way in which he sucks on my clit and runs his teeth over the aching nub that has my toes curl with unbearable pleasure. He pulls back, all the while holding my eyes, and parts my pussy lips. His gaze leaves mine to study the flesh in the V of his fingers.

  “You are so fucking beautiful,” he whispers. “You have the prettiest cunt I’ve ever seen.”

  I flush at his vulgar compliment, but he doesn’t give me time to process how I feel about the crass words, because he sinks the thumb of his free hand into my channel. My thighs tremble when he pulls out and pushes back in a few times.

  “That’s it, beautiful. I want to make your whole body shake with pleasure.”

  That’s exactly what happens when he uses two fingers pressed together to spank my clit.

  “Gabriel!”

  My nails dig into his shoulders for support as my body prepares for release.

  “I know you like this.”

  Yes, he does. He knows this from the first time he spanked my pussy with his belt.

  “Come for me,” he growls, looking up at me with dark possession.

  Two more taps, and I do as he demands, coming with a violent spasm that locks my muscles and arches my back. He covers my clit with his lips and sucks me through the orgasm until I’m trembling with aftershocks. My head is tilted back, and my eyes are closed, but I feel him straighten and work open his fly.

  He kisses the shell of my ear. “I’m going to fuck you right here against this window.”

  No one can see us––our bathroom is practically overhanging an abyss––but the thought of being seen in such a compromising position makes me tense. The slick head of his cock touches my stomach. I open my eyes to look at him. His face is close to mine, not turned away to shelter me from the scars as before.

  He brushes our lips together. “What a gorgeous sight you must be with your ass cheeks pushed up against this window.”


  He grabs my ass and spreads the cheeks, opening me up to the view of the outside world. “What a turn-on to see those wet pussy lips.” He nips at my neck, freeing his cock. “Any man on the other side of this window will come in his pants.”

  As he speaks, he aligns his cock with my entrance and presses an inch inside. I moan at the thick intrusion, needing him to drive deeper, but Gabriel isn’t to be rushed. Male grunts and female whimpers fill the space as he enters me painstakingly slow. It takes him a while to work himself fully inside. I’d almost forgotten how big and thick he is. By the time he’s buried up to his balls, he’s perspiring, and his face is contorted with strain. He flattens me against the glass with his body, bends his knees, and gives a few shallow pumps.

  “Mine. Mine. Mine.” He accentuates each word with a shove that drags his cock over the sweet spot that makes my womb tighten with a new building need. It’s too little and too much.

  “Pleeaasse,” I beg.

  He pulls out almost completely to give me more friction, and penetrates me carefully. He cups my hips between his large palms as if I’m as fragile as our breakfast china. His heat envelopes me from the front while the cold window cools my back. At this rhythm, the contraction that announces my orgasm is a slow-detonating pool of pleasure that ripples out over my entire body.

  “Ga––” I swallow the rest of his name as I come.

  “Yesss,” he grunts, “come on my cock.”

  My inner muscles clench around him as he speaks the wicked words. My skin is still tingling from the orgasm when he pulls free, turns me toward the bath, and places my hands on the edge of the tub.

  “Hold on for me.”

  With much gentleness he enters me from behind. His thumb presses on the pucker of my ass, adding extra sensations as he pumps in and out of my body, swaying us both with an easy rhythm.

  “Look at that,” he says, grabbing my hair and turning my head toward the mirror on the wall.

  The muscles of his legs and ass bunch as he pulls out, drives in, and grinds our groins together, over and over. The motion makes my breasts sway. Holding onto one hip, he palms a breast and rolls my nipple, making me contract around him.