Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel Page 22

  She’s panting when I finally let her breathe. When I feel between her legs, I find her wet for me, and it’s not just her period and my cum from earlier. It’s sweet, slick arousal.

  Looking into her eyes, I ask the question I’ve been carrying in my heart for so long it’s branded into my soul. “Do you want me, Lina?”

  The truth makes her flinch. More tears run from her eyes as she whispers, “You know I do.”

  “Say it.”

  “Damian.” A sob catches in her throat. “Please don’t make me.”

  “Say it, Lina. Tell me the truth.”

  “Yes,” she cries on a defeated whisper. “I want you.”

  “Then ask me to fuck you.”

  “Damian.”

  Her nails dig into my shoulders. I know she needs this, the physical closeness. She wants it desperately after how I’ve treated her in the study. She needs it after her breakdown. It’s no great psychological analysis. It’s just human nature.

  “You only have to ask, Lina.”

  “Please, don’t.”

  I nuzzle her temple with my nose. “There’s no shame in asking.”

  She stares at me for so long I’m terrified I’m going to lose the gamble, but then she opens her sweet little mouth and gives me the words I want to hear.

  “Make love to me.”

  “Anything you want.”

  Lining my cock up with her pussy, I slide in slowly, watching her face as I stretch her and her body adjusts to take me. I give her what she asked for, loving instead of fucking, slowly and gently filling her until we’re buried so deep in each other our groins are grinding together.

  Our lovemaking is a languid dance of give and take. This time, I let her participate. She wraps her arms around my neck and her legs around my ass, pulling me to her as close as I can get. She initiates the kiss, giving me the sweetest of bliss as she tangles her tongue with mine. Her tears make way for panting until her moans fill the room and my head. Her scent is in my nose and in my memory, the smell of sweet poison that will kill me, but what a happy death it will be. I’m sliding my hands everywhere there is skin, touching with a need born from six lonely years, but she’s touching, too.

  She runs her hands through my hair and down my back, over my ass. I know she needs me to touch her clit to come, but when I push up on one arm, she pulls me back, not accepting the small space I put between us. Instead, her hand moves between our bodies. I take my time with her as she plays with her clit. My strokes are too lazy to stimulate another ejaculation, especially so soon after the first, but feeling her pleasing herself is all it takes. When we come, we’re looking into each other’s eyes. Hers are brimming with defeat, and I know mine will be shining with raw desire and conquest. I drink in her expression, imprinting it to my memory, the moment she submitted her body to me.

  Lina

  Everything Damian didn’t give me in the study, he gives me after we’ve made love in his bed. He carries me to the shower and washes me, always touching, always having a point of contact. Even when he squeezes shampoo onto my head, he does it with one hand, the other securely resting on my waist. He dries me and brushes my hair. I finally escape from his lavish attention to the bathroom with the box of tampons while he strips the bed of the mess we’ve made. When I come back, I stare at the bare mattress with longing, wishing I could crawl back under the covers to hide from myself and my significant, not to mention humiliating, loss of our war, but it’s only late afternoon.

  Dressed in a pair of jeans, he watches me from the edge of the bed with crossed arms. I gingerly walk to the dressing room, pretending I don’t notice his stare. He doesn’t crowd me but gives me space to dress. I pull on jeans and a T-shirt before joining him in the room.

  “Come here,” he says.

  Conscious of the ache between my legs, I cross the floor and stop in front of him.

  “Give me your hand.” I lift my right hand. “The other one.”

  My hesitation lasts only a second, but Damian’s eyes darken. Quickly, I extend my left hand. He takes a ring from his pocket and slips it onto my finger to fit against the wedding band. The teardrop diamond has been beautifully set inside a cluster of black diamonds. It catches the light, giving off a sparkle that seems ironic, given the circumstances.

  “There,” he says, twisting the ring until it fits right.

  I can’t bring myself to say thank you. It would be false.

  Instead of commenting on my lack of enthusiasm, he asks, “Hungry?”

  “Yes,” I reply softly.

  Offering me his hand, he leads me through the empty house to the kitchen. It’s nice with just the two of us, when there’s no Zane to glare, no Anne to gloat, and no Russell to watch me.

  I’m surprised at how at home he is in the kitchen, throwing together an early supper of omelets and salad. He makes me sit at the table as if I’m fragile, but I’m too mentally and physically exhausted to argue. Resting my chin in my hand, I watch him move to and fro as he works. When he dashes past me again with the pan in his hand, he stops to wipe a thumb over my lips.

  “This mouth is mine,” he says teasingly. His smile vanishes, and his face grows serious. “You’re mine now, Lina. I own you in every way.”

  Before I can reply, the very people I wanted to escape file into the kitchen. Zane stops just inside of the door, his arms stiff and hands fisted as he watches Damian serve an omelet on my plate. Damian doesn’t acknowledge Zane, but his body tenses. Something happened between them. Anne plants a newspaper next to me.

  “Didn’t want you to hear it from someone else,” she says with fake sympathy.

  I glance down at the open page. There’s a photo of me lying on the pavement with Damian straddling me. The headline reads, Another suicide attempt for newlywed Mrs. Hart? A passerby must’ve taken it.

  Damian reads over my shoulder. He gives the article three seconds of his attention before taking a seat next to me. He acts nonchalant, but his knuckles turn white around his fork.

  Jana and Russell come walking in, chatting and laughing. They stop when they see us.

  “Are we interrupting?” Jana asks. “I can come back later to finish dinner.”

  Damian digs into his omelet. “We’re having an early one, but don’t let us stop you.”

  “Macaroni and cheese, everyone?” Jana asks.

  Zane huffs. “Do I look like I’m ten?”

  “Tell you what, Jana.” Damian wipes his mouth on a napkin, giving Zane a cold look. “Zane and Anne are old enough to fix their own dinner. Why don’t you go home early?”

  “Are you sure? I mean, I’d love to, but I don’t want to leave you in the lurch.”

  “I’m sure they survived before you,” Russell says with a wink.

  “All right, then.” She gives us a bright smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The tension is so palpable, it’s difficult to enjoy my food. I don’t miss the way Anne’s gaze remains fixed on Damian’s naked torso. He looks succulent in those faded jeans, and now that I know what it feels like to have him inside me, I’m afraid of the other woman’s attention I once considered welcome.

  As Damian promised, he takes me to the gym the following morning. On the way, he stops at a sport shop to get me an appropriate outfit.

  “I would’ve been fine in shorts and a T-shirt,” I say, parading the Lycra pants and sports bra on his insistence in the small change room sitting area.

  “You’re yet to spend my money.”

  “I never said I would.”

  “Turn around.”

  I sigh and show him my ass, assessing him from over my shoulder.

  “Perfect,” he says, his eyes turning heated. “Too much, maybe.”

  I charge to the change room before he can make me try on another outfit. “I’ll take these.”

  His chuckle follows me down the narrow corridor, but when I push on the change room door, his hand covers mine. His chest presses against my back. We’re the only people in th
e changing area, and I become intensely aware of our isolation as he pushes the door open and walks me inside.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper-cry as he locks the door. There’s a wide enough gap at the bottom for a body to crawl through, enough to not make me panic.

  His fingers steal under the elastic of the bra, finding my nipple. “Tell me you want me.”

  He’s made me say it at least ten times since yesterday. The novelty of it can’t seem to wear off for him. Every time, my admission has been accompanied by heavy petting, which isn’t permitted in the store.

  “Damian.” I gasp when he pushes me against the wall. “They’ll throw us out.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Will you let me go if I do?”

  His grin is boyish. “Maybe.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “You’re dragging this out. Maybe you’re enjoying it so much, you’re doing it on purpose.”

  “I’m not!”

  “Say it.”

  “Fine. I want you. Happy?”

  “Yes.” He grabs my wrists and lifts them above my head.

  “What are you doing?”

  He pushes the bra over my head and up my arms, leaving it just above my elbows. In this position, the tight Lycra constrains me. With him pressed up against me, I can’t lower my arms or step away.

  “Damian.”

  “Shh.” He presses a finger on my lips. “They’ll hear you.”

  “Please, don’t—”

  I swallow the rest of my words as he slides down to his knees, hooking his fingers into the elastic of the exercise pants and taking them with him. I start to protest, but he hushes me again and puts his mouth on my clit. One suck and my back hollows from the hot flush of ecstasy that shoots to my core. I bite back a moan. He watches me as only Damian can, with intense concentration, as he nips and licks. He knows how to read my expressions. He knows the nonverbal language of my body. This is what all the studying and gawking while I fall apart and come in his mouth awarded him. He knows exactly at which moment to bite, and how to suck away the hurt. He knows I’m going to moan too loudly, and he already straightens and covers my mouth with his broad palm before the sound of my climax leaves my lips. He lets me pant into his hand for all of two seconds before he pushes me to my knees.

  My arms are still constrained and in the way between us, but his cock is in my mouth before I can argue. I barely have time to relax my jaw before he hits the back of my throat. He holds me down by my hair as he likes to, fucking my mouth until I’m certain my jaw will unhinge and I’ll never breathe sweet air again. I only give over because I trust him in this, because he’s proven he won’t let anything happen to me. It’s when I surrender that he comes. He thrives on this, on hurting and dominating me. He thrives on pulling me into his lap and kissing me dizzy, until the taste of our arousals is intermingled.

  A loud knock on the door shocks me to my senses.

  “Sir? Ma’am?” a female voice calls. “You can’t be in there together. I have to ask you to step out.”

  Stern and judgmental, that voice makes me feel like a teenager caught in a car parked on the banks of the river. That’s where the kids from my class used to make out. I never made it there, to those banks and normalcy. I made it to Willowbrook and to Damian Hart.

  He smooths down my hair. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” I push away the untimely memories and hold out my arms for him to free me.

  “Sir. Step out. Now.”

  “In a moment,” he says. “You don’t want me to come out naked, do you?”

  “Oh, my God.” Her groan is disgruntled. “I’m calling the police.” Her footsteps hurry away.

  “Come here, angel.”

  Damian helps me into my clothes before he takes care of himself. We’re more or less respectable when we exit. My cheeks burn as we pass the shop assistant who waits accusingly at the entrance of the changing area.

  “There are hotel rooms for that,” she says, looking us up and down. Her evaluation pauses on my scars.

  Damian shrugs. “The bedroom never seems to be enough.” He shoots an appreciative look in my direction. “Not for my wife. Nope, ma’am. Can’t ever get enough of her.”

  The woman’s gaze slips to my finger. When she spots the diamond, she slightly relaxes her stance, as if the fact that we’re married makes what we did less wrong. She can have us arrested for public indecency.

  Taking my hand, Damian pays for my purchases and leads me to his car under the burning stares of the staff. He opens my door and helps me inside, not at all acting self-conscious. Does he have a guilty bone in his body? From the way he laughs softly, he enjoys the embarrassing situation.

  When we pull off, I decide to exploit his good mood. “I’d like to get a driver’s license.”

  He glances at me. “Of course.”

  “Really?” Harold denied me a license because he knew how dependent that made me on him in a city with no to very little public transportation. I don’t know why I expected Damian to behave the same.

  He takes my hand and squeezes my fingers. “Anything you want. I’ve already told you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  His smile is warm, approving almost. Then he lets me get lost in my thoughts until we park in front of a popular gym franchise. It’s a double-story building that stretches over the whole block.

  “Here?” I expected something small and obscure.

  “This is where I train. It’s the closest from home.”

  A manager, who greets Damian by name, meets us inside. Phillip looks too young to be a gym manager. He has big muscles and tattoos on his arms and chest. His banter is friendly as he shows us the health bar, sauna, tanning beds, and collective course halls where they offer yoga and stretching.

  At the end of the tour, he turns to me expectantly. “What do you think?”

  “It’s all very impressive, but it’s not what I need.”

  His face drops while Damian smothers a chuckle.

  “What is it you need?”

  “Fitness and strength training.”

  Scratching his head, he takes us to the upstairs level where there’s a circuit and free weights section.

  “If you’re new to this, you’ll need a program.”

  “Schedule it,” Damian says.

  We sit down on the leather couch overlooking the weight training section to fill out the necessary paperwork while enjoying complimentary cappuccinos. A signature from Damian later, and I’m enrolled. I can’t remember feeling this excited about anything since food.

  Wrapping my arms around Damian in a stupidly impulsive reaction, I whisper, “Thank you,” in his neck.

  He squeezes me tightly. “Whatever you need.”

  To any outsider, we must appear as a normal, happy couple. At times like these, what Damian and I are, what defines our dynamic, is so muddled, not even I can make sense of it.

  During my next appointment with Reyno, Damian waits in the hallway, and I venture inside on my own. Normally, I would never have been this brave, but I have my own agenda in overcoming my fear of doctors and closed doors.

  “How are you?” he asks when I take a seat.

  “Are you really interested?”

  He smiles. “It’s my job to ask.”

  “Have you ever been good at it?”

  He thinks for a while. “I suppose there was a time I was worth a shit.”

  “What happened?”

  “Greed. One wrong decision. Debt. I don’t know. Sometimes it’s hard to pin it on a single reason. It’s not clear-cut like a turn in a road that changes our direction, but hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to do the psychoanalysis, remember?”

  I give a wry laugh, nervously staring at the door.

  “Does that bother you?” he asks. “The closed door?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?’

  “I have my reasons.”

  “We can work on that
if you like.”

  “Finding your missing conscience, are you?” I tease.

  “I’ll be honest. Your husband only requires me to prescribe medicine for you when needed, but since you’re here and I owe you an hour, it can’t hurt to talk.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “So, let’s talk about closed doors.”

  “Let’s talk about how you can really help me.”

  He lifts a brow, waiting for me to continue.

  “Here’s the deal. I need money, and you’re going to give me a job. Paying under the table. And Damian isn’t going to know.”

  He laughs softly. “Why would I do that?”

  Pulling my phone from my pocket, I play the recording I’d taken of our first meeting. I activated my phone under the pretense of looking for a tissue before Damian and I entered the room.

  When I get to the part where he all but admits to knowing Damian forced me into marriage, I press pause. “Need to hear more? My favorite part is where you admit to taking bribes for prescribing drugs.”

  “No.” He shakes his head as if he finds me funny. “I get it.”

  “Good. I start next week.”

  “With what?”

  “I don’t know. There must be tasks a psychiatrist needs help with.”

  “You’re a piece of work, you know that?”

  “Thanks.” I’m glad I had the foresight to record the meeting. I was worried Damian was going to have me locked up, and I wasn’t going down that road without putting up my best fight.

  “Damian has no idea, does he?”

  “Of what?”

  “Of how cunning and strong you really are.”

  I shrug and cross my legs. “I don’t think Damian is interested in my psyche.” He’s all about the physical.

  The smile he gives me is disarming. It’s both sympathetic and pitying. “I think you’re wrong.”

  I don’t like it. It’s as if he knows something I don’t. “Next week, same time?”

  “If you say so.”

  When I leave the office, Damian waits for me at the door.