Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel

by Charmaine Pauls

  Gripping her face between my hands, I push my dick between her lips. She parts them without hesitation. My cock slides over her wet, hot tongue. A shiver works its way to the base of my spine. Pinpricks of pleasure pierce my balls as her tongue wraps around the agonizing hardness of my cock. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks me deeper. That’s all it takes to shatter my control.

  I push all the way in, until my balls hit her chin and her throat convulses around my shaft. Her eyes go wide. She gags. She fights me. Her nails scratch over the fabric of my pants, trying to find purchase. Me, I’m beyond saving. I’m fucking her throat like a savage, counting the breaths I’m stealing from her so I can time my pace. After every suffocating stretch, I pull out just enough to give her air. When she’s filled her lungs, I fuck her hot mouth like it’s the last mouth I’ll fuck. The only gentleness left is in my hands. I hold her tenderly, reverently wiping the tears running from her eyes away with my thumbs as I ram my cock down her throat enough times to create a stunning mess of her face. I choke and make her gag until convulsions ripple her throat and spit runs down her chin. Not once does she look away from me. She stares into my eyes as she fights for her air and heaves when I grant her a breath. She lets me see her panic and tears as my cock cuts her oxygen. She lets me hear the sloppy noises she makes as my dick pulls out before sinking deep. I’m fucking her mouth too roughly, but goddamn I can’t stop. She’s an angel on her knees with a devil debasing her. I’m a bastard, but the power of owning her like this, of being her first, turns my cock harder. When she gags again, her throat clenches around my shaft. A rush of heat bursts through my dick, damn well near paralyzing me. Before I can warn her, my cum shoots down her throat. Her eyes grow wider and her arms flail, but the devil in me won’t ease up.

  “Look at me.”

  She fights harder.

  “Lina.”

  At my hard tone, her eyes lift to mine.

  “Swallow.”

  Obedience comes with reward. She knows this well enough to work her throat around me. My cock swells even more as her throat milks it. Like a good girl, she swallows my seed. She deserves her air. Her teeth scrape over my sensitized skin when I pull out, inviting another spurt of cum. She drags in noisy breaths as I spill the last of my release on her lips.

  Boneless, I brace my hands on the bed to support my weight. Tears run from the corners of her eyes. Her lips are swollen, and a dribble of cum runs over her reddened chin. When we’ve both somewhat caught our breaths, I kiss her softly, like my lack of control wouldn’t allow me to fuck her mouth. I put every ounce of gentleness I possess into the caress. I lick my taste from her lips and stroke my tongue over hers, rewarding her in the only way I know. When her breathing grows shallow again, I rest our foreheads together.

  “You did well, angel.”

  She says nothing while I put my dick back in my pants and zip it up. I need to pick her up from the floor and take care of her knees and throat, but I take another moment to appreciate her like this, deep-throated and well-tussled.

  She swallows with visible effort. Her neck is so goddamn delicate. No one should be as crude with her as I’ve just been. I frame her face and kiss her again. No tongues, this time. Just lips on lips, her and me.

  Stroking the arch of her throat with my thumb, I ask, “Sore?”

  She nods.

  I almost feel remorse. Almost. But I can’t regret what just happened. “I was rough.”

  Her voice is croaky, sensory evidence of how raw it must be on the inside. “If I married you instead of Jack, is this how you would’ve showed me to give head?”

  I consider the question. No, without a doubt. I would’ve been gentle and kind. “This is who I am now.”

  She bows her head.

  I wait for her to say more, but she’s quiet for so long I lift her face with a finger under her chin. Tears stream in rivulets over her cheeks. They’re not tears caused by choking, but by emotional distress. She tries to turn away, but when I won’t let her hide this sorrow from me, she lowers her lashes in a feeble attempt of keeping her pain private.

  Hooking my arms under her armpits, I hoist her to her feet and pull her into my lap. She doesn’t fight me when I push her face against my chest. She lets me hold her through her silent tears, asking nothing but not denying the little I’m offering, either. It’s only when she starts to shiver that I lie her down. Before covering her with a blanket, I tend to her knees. The scabs from the fall have reopened from the rough carpet. They require fresh plasters.

  Downstairs, I prepare a warm drink with two teaspoons of honey for the ache in her throat. I make her drink everything, and when I undress and pull her against my body, my woman falls quickly into a restless sleep. I’m too high on the adrenaline of the fight and the knowledge that she opened her body to my tongue to succumb so easily to dreams. Instead, I enjoy the sound of her breathing, feeling her heart beat under my palm where I cup her breast. She stirs and makes a distressed sound.

  “No, please,” she whimpers, tossing her head on the pillow.

  I shake her gently. “Lina, wake up.”

  “No, no.”

  “Lina.”

  She jackknifes into a sitting position, gulping in a wheezy breath. For a moment, she seems disorientated, looking around her with a panicked expression.

  “It’s all right, angel.” I pull her back down to me. “I’m here.” She shivers. “Shh.” I kiss her temple.

  Her body relaxes marginally.

  “It was a dream.” Or more likely a nightmare.

  She doesn’t reply.

  “What did you dream about?”

  “I don’t remember,” she says too quickly.

  I doubt that very much. She’s hiding something. I want to force it from her with every cell in my body, just like I want to force the issue of how she got her bruises, but for once I tamp my selfish need down to put her distress first. In time, I’ll know everything there is to know about her. In time, even her nightmares will be mine. Rolling over her, I take her mouth before moving down her body to make her forget. In time, she’ll see I’m both her torture and remedy.

  Lina

  It’s like I’ve been tossed in a tumble dryer all night. I wake with pain in my throat and a bruised body. My hip and nose throb. After waking up twice more during the night with Damian’s tongue in my pussy and his stubble between my legs, my labia feel as if they’ve been scraped with sandpaper. As usual, Damian’s side of the bed is empty. I squint at the alarm clock. It’s after eight.

  Grunting, I roll from the bed and limp to the bathroom to have a quick shower. I’m meeting with a landscaper at nine. It was the bat box installer’s idea, information I haven’t shared with Damian yet.

  Standing naked in front of the mirror after my shower, I study my body. My years in isolation with too little nourishment and no exercise weakened me. I tired too quickly during yesterday’s swim. I want my strength back. I need my strength not only to escape, but also to survive. I’ve seen Zane jogging on the property, but I have no desire to run into him on an isolated path at the back of the house where Russell may not jog along in his black suit. If I’m going to get fit and strong, I’ll need money.

  After pulling on a red sundress and sandals, I go downstairs in search of Damian. He’s not in the kitchen, but Anne is.

  One look at my face, and she grins. “Damian is that rough, huh?”

  Taken aback at her unwelcome insight, I blurt out, “Why would you say that?”

  “Tell-tale signs, honey. Swollen lips, scraped chin, blood-shot eyes. Did he strangle you? Yep, I guess he’s that rough.”

  “That is none of your business,” I say, keeping my tone friendly.

  She pours coffee from the percolator. “Come on. Not even you can be that naïve. Surely, you knew how it was going to be in the bedroom before you married him?”

  Did I? I wish I could say I was unprepared for last night, but she’s right. I knew how it was going to be the day his breath feathered w
arm and frightening down my neck, the day he announced my fate in Harold’s library. What I couldn’t know was how I’d react to his perverse advances or how wet I’d get when he all but chokes me with his cock. Heat pushes up my neck and into my face at the memory.

  “You’re too innocent for him,” Anne says, no doubt taking in the change in my skin tone. “As I said, not every woman can handle a man like Damian.”

  “I’m many things, but I’m not innocent.” I lost that a long time ago, even before I got my scars.

  She regards me from over the rim of her mug. “Maybe you should get out while you still can.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Where there’s a will, there’s always a way.” She winks.

  “What’s that about a will and a way?” a deep, familiar voice asks from the door.

  I school my features before I turn. Damian stands in the frame, dressed in his habitual suit and tie. He looks fresh and well rested, not at all aching in places he shouldn’t be aching.

  “Breakfast?” Anne asks him sweetly.

  He doesn’t look away from me as he answers. “I’ve already eaten.”

  “Too bad,” she says. “I was going to make pancakes. Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

  There are questions in his eyes as they roam over my body and pause at my hip, an unspoken demand for explanations, but in front of Anne he only says, “I have a meeting in ten.”

  With a last evaluation of my face, he turns in the frame.

  “Um, Damian.”

  He looks back at me. “Yes?”

  “May I please talk to you? It won’t take long.”

  His answer is to step aside, letting me exit in front of him. Zane walks through the front door just as we reach the steps, dripping with sweat from his run.

  “Dami.” His face lights up. “I need to talk to you about the quotes for the new irrigation system.”

  “Not now.” Damian walks past him with long strides. “Lina’s beaten you to it.”

  Zane shoots me an ugly glare. “Later, then?”

  “Give the quote to Lina,” Damian says without looking back.

  “But—”

  “Save me the buts, Zane. You heard me.”

  I follow him up the stairs while Zane remains at the bottom, staring at me with hatred. Does he know how thinly masked his jealousy is? I can’t say I don’t understand. Didn’t I have an inkling of that sickening feeling last night?

  Damian stands aside for me to enter his study. Once he’s behind his desk and I’m in front, I feel more uncomfortable than I thought I would. I barely stop myself from wringing my hands together.

  “How do you feel?” he asks, sitting down in his chair.

  I clear my throat. “I’m good.”

  He narrows his eyes as if he sees the lie. “You sure?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “If you need to see a doctor—”

  “I don’t need to see a doctor for my throat.”

  He steeps his fingers together. “We didn’t finish our discussion about the accident that knocked your hip seven shades of purple.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” I finally give in to the urge to clutch my hands together.

  His gaze follows the movement. “Why don’t you sit down?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  His voice turns soft, almost encouraging. “What do you want to talk about?”

  I clear my throat again. Damn, this is hard. I hate asking for money. I hate that my hands are so tied, I can’t even buy myself a box of tampons. “I, um, I was wondering if I could have a monthly allowance.”

  He considers my request for a while before replying. “Why?”

  “I need things.”

  “Things?”

  “Things I don’t want to ask from Jana or Zane.”

  “Tell me. I’ll get it for you.”

  “Personal things.”

  “Lina, nothing between us is a secret, any longer.”

  “Tampons,” I spit out, fisting my hands. “There. Think you can manage?”

  “Sure.” He doesn’t as much as blink. “Size small, I presume? A specific brand you prefer?”

  Doing what I promised myself I wouldn’t, I lose my cool. “Why make such an issue out of letting me shop for myself?”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “To do my own shopping? I don’t need to be certified mentally healthy to buy my own damn toiletries.”

  As much as my voice steadily rises in anger, his remains calm. “It’s got nothing to do with your mental health.”

  “What then?” I exclaim in frustration.

  “I don’t trust you not to use the funds in a feeble attempt at running.” His tone drops an octave. “And feeble it’ll be, because I’ll always find you, no matter where you hide.”

  Chills rake over my body, not only because he doesn’t bluff, but also because there’ll come I day I will run. I don’t have a choice.

  “My apologies for the shortsighted provisions,” he says in an oddly respectful way. “I should’ve thought about it sooner. I’ll pick up your tampons after lunch. Anything else you need?”

  I swallow, mauling the words in my mind. No matter how I say it, Damian will take it as a sure victory. “Birth control.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You don’t need birth control.”

  “Why? Did you have a vasectomy?”

  “No.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  I start shaking. “You want a child with me?”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Tell me what you came to ask.”

  “I want to talk about it now.”

  “I know how to count days.”

  “Seriously?” I exclaim. “You’re going to rely on the calendar method?”

  His answer says it all.

  “Why don’t you use condoms?”

  “I want to fuck you bare.”

  “We can’t, not without protection.”

  “Calm down. We’re a long way from worrying over that.” He raises a brow. “Or aren’t we?”

  I can’t answer that.

  His words are both teasing and challenging. “Shall I remind you again why you’re here?”

  “Damian.” It’s a huffed expression of shock. It’s a plea.

  “Focus, Lina. What else do you need? Money isn’t an issue.”

  “As long as I don’t have access to said money.”

  “Yes.”

  Just like that. Bluntly. I blink. “I see.”

  He gets up and comes around the desk. “It doesn’t have to be like this. I’ll take care of you. It’s my job.”

  I pull away when he tries to touch me.

  He shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re the wealthiest woman in the country. Say the word, and I’ll get you whatever you want.”

  “I don’t want Jack’s money. You can keep all of it.”

  “I didn’t mean his money. His money secured the mining shares. You know that. When it comes to taking care of you, it’s my money that pays.”

  “How did you make your money?”

  “I made connections in jail. They needed someone to do jobs on the inside, and as it turned out, I was their man.”

  “Killing people?”

  “Whatever the job required.”

  It can only mean one thing. “So, it’s mafia money.”

  “Does it matter? Money is money. You can have all you need.”

  I look away. “I don’t want your money, either.”

  He cups my face, this time not letting me escape the touch. “Don’t make it so hard on yourself.”

  Shuddering with anger, I jerk my face away.

  He only smiles. “Tell me what else you need, or do I have to drag it out of you?”

  I swallow. Yes, it’s hard to grovel, and I hate taking his money, but this is more important than my pride.
“I want to go to a gym.”

  “Gym?”

  “Yes,” I bite out, “gym.” This is part of why I hate asking. It’s having to justify everything, not having the freedom any other human being has to earn and spend money. Besides having been locked up in a room and my food privileges taken away, this is perhaps the cruelest part of being declared mentally incompetent.

  “Why?” he asks. “You have a beautiful body.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with vanity. I want to get fit.”

  “Fit?”

  “And healthy.”

  He rubs a thumb over his chin, studying me as if he can’t figure me out.

  “Forget about it.” I turn for the door. “I’ll go jogging with Russell.”

  “Lina.” He grabs my arm. “You can be such a wildcat when you want to be.”

  “Let go.”

  Of course, he doesn’t. He smooths his palms down my arms, inviting shivers. “Don’t be so feisty. You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “By wanting to take care of myself?” I suppose a reputation for being self-destructive doesn’t allow for a need to become fit and strong.

  “When you do want to start?”

  “Today?”

  “Tomorrow. Sorry, I’m tied up all day.”

  “Russell can—”

  “I’ll take you. Tomorrow.”

  I blow a strand of hair from my eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I duck to escape his hold. “I’ll let you get to work.”

  A half-smile creeps onto his face. “That’s most considerate of you.”

  As I turn, he intercepts me for a second time with one hand on my uninjured hip and the other on my nape. He turns me and slowly drags me closer, his attention focused on my lips. I try to resist, but I’m no match for his strength. With that knowing half-smile, he pulls my body flush to his and presses his lips tenderly to mine before planting a trail of butterfly kisses over the column of my throat. The caresses are soft and confusing. It makes me forget my anger and recall memories of last night. I stumble a little when he releases me, but he’s quick to catch me.