Diamonds in the Dust Read online

  Standing naked in front of me, she asks bitingly, “I’m supposed to need this?”

  I take in her firm breasts and pink nipples, her narrow waist, and curved hips. The dark, unshaven triangle between her legs. She’s voluptuous, small but rounded where it matters. “You’re very beautiful, Zoe.”

  The pink of her cheeks flares again. “What now, Maxime?”

  “Come sit on my lap and tell my what you did while I was away.”

  Her lips part. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  She pads over uncertainly. When she stops in front of me, I uncross my legs and spread them. Turning sideways, she steps between them. I hook my hands under her arms to lift her onto my thigh, arranging her with her legs draped over the armrest and her back in the crook of my arm.

  I brush her curls over her shoulder before trailing my fingers down her arm, keeping the touch light. “Did you explore the house?”

  Goosebumps break out over her skin. “Yes.”

  I drag my fingers up to her shoulder and back down to her wrist. “Do you like it?” Up, down, and up again. “And no more sass like earlier.”

  She shivers a little. “What do you want me to say? You have a nice house. A little spooky, but impressive.”

  I smile at the spooky bit, tracing the arch of her neck. “It has a great view. Have you looked outside?”

  She turns her face to me. “You told me I wasn’t allowed to go outside.”

  I explore the elegant curve of her collarbone with my fingertips. “On the balcony.”

  “No, but I went up in the tower.”

  “Mm.” I brush the back of my knuckles over a pink nipple. The tip hardens. The darker skin around contracts. “I don’t go there much, but women seem drawn to it. It must be the princess in the tower thing.”

  She stiffens. “I was just curious. I didn’t go up there with some repressed fantasy.”

  I place my palm on her waist, the touch meant to be calming. “That’s not what I said.”

  “No, what you said is that you bring many women here.”

  “You’re the only one here now, aren’t you?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  I bring my hand back to her breast, stroking the underside with a thumb. “Did you meet Fran?”

  “Yes.” She leans her full weight against me, settling in deeper. “She speaks English very well. She almost doesn’t have an accent.”

  I move to the other breast, tracing the areola with a finger. The tip buds beautifully, growing hard even before I flick a finger over it. “She studied at a culinary school in London. Her food is very good. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  She squirms when I move lower, tracing her navel. “How long has she worked for you?”

  “A couple of years.” I drag a line from her navel to the apex of her sex, rolling my middle finger over her clit.

  She sucks in a breath and presses her knees together. “I gave her a letter. She said you’ll mail it for me.”

  “To your brother?” I trace her pussy lips with my thumb.

  “Yes,” she says, hardly suppressing a moan before biting her lip. “I wanted to tell you before Francine mentions it.”

  Ah, she was hoping to get her letter mailed without my knowledge but realized Francine will never undermine me. “You can write to Damian as much as you like.”

  She gives me a surprised look. “You don’t mind?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  At the declaration, her body sags. I use the opportunity to part her slightly, playing just inside her opening without penetrating her with my finger. Her back arches. She moans. I slip a hand between her thighs and push them open wide, then urge her to settle back in my hold. She’s so goddamn pretty spread over my lap with her nipples tight and arousal glistening on her pussy. Her breathing is shallower, her stomach rising and falling faster. I’m harder than before, painfully so, but I ignore the torturing feel of her ass on my cock, focusing only on her as I promised.

  My play is soft and teasing, enough to stimulate but not enough to make her come. I won’t take her pleasure unless we’re fucking, unless I’m taking mine, or unless she asks me. I carry on with my stroking, extending the caresses to the inside of her thighs. She’s trembling with full-blown shivers now.

  Lowering my mouth to her ear, I press a kiss to the shell. “Do you want to come?”

  “No,” she says quickly, unwilling to surrender and admit defeat.

  “It’s no big deal.” I tease her earlobe with my teeth. “We all need release. All you have to do is say yes.”

  She sighs, tilting her head to give me better access. I love how responsive she is to my touch, how I can coax her into the pleasure I want her to have. I love the smell of roses in her silky hair and the velvety petal smoothness of her skin. I love how wet and slick she is for me and how her ass lifts a little every time I rub a finger over her swollen clit. She’s spread and on display, her lower body resting snuggly in my lap. Her eyes are closed and her head thrown back. She’s a sight to behold. Since she’s not saying no, I gather her wetness, careful not to overstretch her sensitive skin, and slip the tip of my finger into her heat. The hot tightness is torture. I can’t help but imagine sinking my cock into her just like last night.

  She gasps, her arms going rigid at her sides. It doesn’t take long for her hips to follow my shallow thrusts. When her inner muscles go softer around my finger, I push in all the way to the knuckle.

  Her thighs clench on my finger. “Maxime.”

  I lay her out like a sacrifice and bring my mouth down to kiss her nipple. I lick it lightly at first, then close my lips around the hard, little tip and lathe it with my tongue. She tastes delicious. I can’t stop myself from French kissing her breast, covering her skin with sloppy kisses until her curve is wet. Her nipple hardens when I finally let go and cooler air washes over it.

  Whimpering, she lifts her arms and rests them on her forehead.

  “Do you want to come, Zoe?”

  She keeps her eyes hidden from me, her expression sheltered under her arms. I feel her desire, how badly she wants to give in, but I won’t take if she doesn’t give it to me freely.

  “Will it be bad if I say yes?” she asks in a small voice.

  “No, Zoe. It won’t be bad. Quite the contrary.”

  Her cry is defeated, a tremulous sigh. “Yes.”

  I increase the pace of my finger, pressing my thumb on her clit. She’s so close, it only takes a few seconds before her body pulls as tight as a bow, her legs forming a V as the arrow hits right where I intended—in her soft little heart.

  Women like Zoe feel the physical explosion of an orgasm on every level, most of all with their emotions.

  She comes undone with a climax that locks her inner muscles around my finger and a tear that rolls over her cheek. It’s victory and defeat, all rolled into one.

  I withdraw slowly, taking care not to hurt her. Then I take her arms and arrange them around my neck where she most needs them to be, even if she doesn’t know it herself. I hold her and give her something to hold onto as she comes back down to reality, to seeing herself naked in my arms like a shameful Eve saw herself for the first time before paradise turned into the garden of sin.

  Grabbing the throw from the chair back, I cover her body, not only because the logs in the fire is burning out, but also because she’ll feel vulnerable when the haze of passion dims. Reality is like winter, cold and unforgiving.

  Her tears wet my neck, but she doesn’t pull away. She burrows closer. I revel at the victory. There’s nothing that can feel better, not my own release, not even the success of saving our business. The tenseness of my muscles is gone. The anger I felt when I entered this room has dissipated, vanished in the throes of her orgasm.

  “There now.” I kiss the top of her head. “It’ll get better.”

  It’s the vow I made to myself long before I made the promise to my father.

  As we sit quietly in front of the l
ast embers of the fire, Zoe dozes off. We didn’t sleep much last night. The journey was tiring. I’m reluctant to wake her—I much prefer to stay like this with her in my arms—but it’s dark outside. She has to eat.

  I brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her forehead. “Are you up for a shower?”

  She yawns. “What time is it?”

  I check my watch. “Almost six.”

  She stretches like a lazy cat. “I suppose.”

  My arms tighten around her involuntarily. She’s cute, this little flower of mine. Balancing her in my arms, I stand to adjust my erection. I haven’t forgotten about punishing her mouth. I’ve just moved it back to prioritize her needs. I unlock the door and carry her to my room. The hallway is lit, courtesy of Francine.

  In the room, I switch on the light and turn up the heat before ordering Zoe to the bathroom.

  She obeys wordlessly. The water in the shower comes on. I walk closer and put my ear to the door, listening to the sounds of cascading water, imagining her under the spray and wishing I could be there with her. Not yet. She’s not ready for that.

  A knock sounds on the door. I go over and open it. Fran stands on the step.

  Her eyes dart toward the bathroom. “You’ve been away for less than a week.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning that,” she points at the bathroom door, “was fast.”

  I swallow down my irritation. Fran is a loyal employee. “My private life isn’t your concern.”

  “No?” She tilts her head. “It used to be.”

  “It’s over, Fran. We’ve been through this.”

  Her eyes cloud over. “A couple of rolls between the sheets are enough to make you grow tired of a woman?”

  Sadly, yes.

  She motions with her head toward the bathroom. “How long do you think she’ll last?”

  “None of your business.”

  “She asked me to mail a letter.”

  “She told me.”

  “Why are the phones locked away, Max? Why isn’t she allowed to leave the house?”

  I clench my jaw. “As I said—”

  “Not my business.”

  “Exactly.”

  She takes a step forward, putting our bodies flush. “I’m loyal to you.” She snakes her arms around my neck. “You know that.”

  I grip her arms to pull them away. “But?”

  “But I can’t deal with having another woman flaunted—”

  The bathroom door opens. We both turn our heads that way.

  Zoe freezes on the threshold in a billow of steam. Clutching a towel to her chest, she looks between Fran and me. I don’t like what I see in her expressive eyes. I don’t like that wounded look or the sag of betrayal that sets in her shoulders.

  I untangle Fran’s arms and put her a step away from me.

  Giving Zoe a cold look, Fran says, “Dinner is ready. I’ll leave it in the warmer drawer before I go.”

  My voice is measured. “You do that.”

  With a last glance at me, Fran leaves.

  “More than just your cook, I see.” Zoe’s chin is lifted but her eyes brim with emotions that spoil our earlier moment.

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Then you don’t deny it. You fucked her.”

  I’m not going to lie. Not about that. “Yes.”

  “Thanks for that.” She walks past me to the suitcase that lies unpacked on the bed. “I needed the reminder.”

  I catch her wrist. “You’re not going to do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Look for excuses to shut me out.”

  “They’re not excuses. They’re facts, and why would I shut you out if you’ve never been inside to start with?”

  I drop my voice an octave. “Careful, little flower. You don’t know me. If you did, you wouldn’t push me.”

  She yanks her arm free. “I know you better than you think.”

  It’s a laughable generalization, a terrible misjudgment. Putting my hand on her shoulder, I push her down to her knees.

  She fights it, straining back, and then fights the towel that threatens to fall open.

  Unzipping my fly, I stare down at her shocked face. “I said we were going to punish that mouth. You owe me twice already.” I pull out my cock, heavy and hard, thick with need. My balls ache with unspilled release.

  She knows where I’m going with this when I stroke myself three times and aim for her lips. She clamps them shut. I grab her jaw and squeeze the pressure points next to her ears. It opens her mouth wide, wide enough to slide my cock through those plump lips. She gags and tries to pull back, but I grab the back of her head.

  “You’re going to take me,” I hiss, “and swallow everything.”

  She grabs my thighs when I push her face forward, making her swallow my cock. Not caring so much about the towel now, it falls to the carpet, leaving her naked on her knees. Stunning. Struggling for air. I let her. She needs to learn this little lesson. Her very breaths belong to me. I can be kind or what she makes me out to be, either a cultured gentleman or the monster of her nightmares.

  I count carefully, controlled. I’m in charge even as her saliva coats my dick and her tongue is warm on the underside, making me want to explode. I twist her locks around a fist and pull out when I get to ten. She gulps in air. Her big, blue eyes are watering, spit running down her chin. I’m being easy on her. She should be able to hold her breath to thirty without effort. I give her time for one more drag of air before I drive back. Then I move. I pump with two short thrusts and a long one, my cock hitting the back of her throat at every third count. I fuck her face on the beat of a waltz. It’s a dance designed to limit her gag reflex and prevent her from vomiting.

  My balls draw tight. Her lips are stretched thin around me, the noises she makes only spurring me on. I can last for a long time. Practice makes perfect. I can drag this out until she faints. I give her two more breathing reposes before I let myself go, aiming my cock deep and shooting my load down her throat. Her delicate white neck convulses as she tries to swallow with the intrusion in her throat. I spend every last drop, not sparing her before I pull out.

  She sags in my hold, her chest heaving as her small body sucks in air. I don’t let her go down. I keep her up by her hair. Using the long, silky tresses, I wipe my dick clean. Then I go down on my haunches, putting us on eye level.

  Tilting back her head, I make her face me. “The choice, little flower, is always yours.” I kiss her ravaged lips. “One punishment down. One to go.”

  Only then do I release her.

  I go to the bathroom and shut the door. I need a shower. I strip and turn the water on the hottest setting I can handle. I let the burn scald me until fire rains over my skin.

  I’m a depraved man.

  I’ll defile my little flower’s body many times yet to come.

  Chapter 15

  Zoe

  * * *

  Hunched over, I catch my breath on the floor. My shoulders rise and fall rapidly with the air I try to suck in quietly, but I can’t stop the loud panting completely. It’s the sound of my humiliation. The warm tears blurring the pattern on the carpet is the sight and the carpet burns on my knees the feel. The taste is a lingering afterthought in my mouth. This is the portrait of degradation.

  As oxygen feeds my lungs, the harshness of my breathing evens out. It turns from a perverse fight for air and dignity to searing anger that flares my nostrils and curls my shoulders outward like the edges of a piece of paper furling in a flame. Sitting back on my heels, I wipe the saliva from my chin. I still feel Maxime in the stretch of my lips and in the little tears in the corners. I still taste him on my tongue. The message was clear. My behavior has consequences. Play nice and be treated in kind.

  My pride won’t let me.

  I want to hurt Maxime like he’s hurting me. I want to insult him and crush him in every way I can, even as I give him my body. He just showed me he won’t let me. He won’t let me use him
as a punching bag to gain the satisfaction of extracting some kind of revenge. He wants everything. He’s not happy only with my body. He wants me to give it with a pretty please and a kind thank you. That’s why he wants me to like the house and the food. He wants me to adapt, accept my fate, and give my body freely in return for his protection.

  He’ll make it as good for me as I make it for him.

  Rationally, I know all of this, but my pride is a monster and my anger a dragon that live in my chest. They breathe fire into my soul until I’m blind to anything but the flames burning in my gut.

  Fixing my gaze on the bathroom door, I push to my feet. I keep the target in sight as I move forward with balled hands and shoulders rolled inward. I grip the handle and fling the door open, stepping into the steam.

  Maxime’s body is a blurry image, an apparition in the fog through the glass. His back is turned to me, his head tipped back and big hands with bruised knuckles brushing over his skull. He’s huge. His body dominates the space, but I don’t miss a beat. I yank the shower door open.

  He spins around, his gray eyes widening as he takes me in. Before the shocked expression on his face has vanished, I draw back my arm and slap him hard enough across the face to make his head fly sideways. Turning his face back to me, he touches his fingers to the imprint of mine on his cheek.

  The fight leaves me with the outlet of violence. Just like that, the fire burns out. I’ve never been a physical fighter. I never wanted to be, not after my father, and shame and disappointment replace the anger, becoming the new monsters in my chest.

  He doesn’t give me a second to process what I’m becoming. Fast like the lash of a whip, he strikes out, grabbing my neck and arm and jerking me inside the shower. The breath leaves my lungs with an oomph as my back hits the tiles. Fear finds the front seat in my chest now as he stares at me with a clenched jaw and retribution burning in his eyes.

  I expect him to hit me back. An ugly part of me wants him to so I can hate him more. Men like my father, those I understand, but Maxime is a complex mix of confusing signals. If my words made Maxime all but suffocate me with his cock, the mark I left on his skin should do much worse. I can’t look away from his eyes. I watch their molten gray transform to a darker storm. With grinding teeth, he stares at me, his fingers tightening around my neck and pinning me against the wall. Just when I think he’s going to snap my neck, he brings his head down and crushes our mouths together.