by Penelope Sky
“If he were anyone else, you know you’d kill him.”
Yes, he would have been dead years ago.
“You know what I’ll bring to the table.” His arms rested on the surface of the table, his long sleeves gripping his muscles. His eyes pierced into my face as he stared me down, forcing an answer. “What does he have that I don’t?”
I sucked in a long, slow breath before I finished off my glass. Melanie’s beautiful voice echoed in my mind. “He’s all I have.”
Thirteen
Take The Fall
Melanie
I looked at the clock.
Two a.m.
Fender said he would see me when he returned, but he hadn’t appeared. I spent my night on the couch watching TV in a language I didn’t understand and failed to learn, and when my eyes grew heavy from waiting, I decided to go to bed.
My room was cleaned every day when I had lunch in the garden room, so it was always a five-star hotel experience when I walked inside. The flowers were changed regularly, the sheets always so soft, and the vaulted ceilings made it seem like a palace—just my bedroom alone.
I pulled the sheets back and slipped inside before I turned off the lamp on my nightstand. A little bit of light always came into my bedroom because I kept the curtains parted. I hadn’t had curtains at the camp, so I was accustomed to looking outside as I closed my eyes and went to sleep. I was used to the moonlight, the distant flickers of nearby torches, the sound of the wind as it rattled the glass in a storm.
It felt like I’d just closed my eyes when footsteps sounded on the hardwood. They were muffled when he reached the large rug around my bed. Clothes dropped, boots hit the floor. My eyes opened as I sat up to look at him in the dark.
He stood beside my bed, shirtless, his immense size making him appear like a monster that had crawled from underneath my bed. He dropped his jeans and boxers. He hadn’t changed into his sweatpants in his bedroom before he appeared, which meant he came straight here.
He threw the sheets off me then yanked me to the edge of the bed, dragging me with a hard tug that made me suck in a breath in surprise. I was in my nightgown, my makeup off because I’d assumed he would never come.
He shoved my dress to my hips then dragged my panties over my ass and off my legs. “When I say I’m going to do something, I fucking do it.” He positioned me on the edge, leaned over me, and shoved himself inside me, making me gasp in surprise. “Be ready for me. Always.” His hand slid into my hair, and he fisted it as he fucked me that way, his eyes on mine, his look hard and possessive, his dick pounding into me like this was the first time he’d had me since we’d left the camp.
I grabbed on to his tree-trunk arms and shook with his thrusts. “Oh god…”
He fucked me to a record-breaking climax before he released, giving a loud groan in my face. But like always, that wasn’t the end of it. His dick stayed hard as if he took pills on a regular basis, and he kept going, slowing it down, his fist relaxing in my hair and moving to my neck, touching me gently, his eyes turning soft and tender. He came closer to me, his body warmer than the sheets that had rested on top of me just minutes ago. “Chérie.” He started to speak to me in French again, which he hadn’t done in a long time. “Tu es vraiment magnifique.” His thumb brushed over my bottom lip as he looked at my mouth, still pushing himself inside me. His fire had rekindled, his passion roaring like a forest fire that destroyed everything in its path. Every touch was searing hot, his kisses purposeful and full of gentle caresses, his deep breaths filling every inch of my enormous bedroom. “Tu es à moi. À moi.” He thrust inside me. “À moi.” He did it again. “À moi.”
When the sex was over, he usually got out of bed immediately.
This time, he stayed.
His arm was wrapped around the small of my back, keeping me flush against him, my leg hooked over his hip, my wet sex against his stomach. His face was pressed against mine on the same pillow and his eyes were closed, but his pull on my back remained, like I might slip away if he let go. My tits were against his powerful chest, and he smothered me with his masculine warmth and scent.
It felt even better than sex, to close my eyes with him next to me, holding me. I’d slept alone in that cabin, and there was always a little anxiety because a guard could open the door at any moment and demand something from me. But with him there, I knew no one was getting through that door.
There wasn’t a single thing in the world that could touch me now.
I shouldn’t feel safe with him; I understood that. But in reality, I’d never felt safer in my entire life.
His hand left my back and slid between my shoulder blades, into my hair, and he gave me a soft kiss on the mouth.
I opened my eyes and looked at his dark eyes, saw their special softness, saw the way he looked at me like I was the single most important thing to him. My entire body softened to a deeper level, invisible weight leaving my shoulders.
Then he left the bed.
Grabbed his clothes.
Headed to the door.
“Where are you going?” I sat up in bed, my skin forming bumps because the cold hit me like a winter breeze coming through an open door. My nipples hardened, and all the relaxation I’d felt a moment before disappeared.
He turned back around. “I don’t sleep with people.” As if that was final, he headed to the door again.
“Wait.”
He didn’t stop this time. He opened the door and looked at me over his shoulder. “It’s not you, chérie.”
I spent my morning reading, and when lunchtime arrived, I went to the garden room to eat alone.
Once I took a seat, Gilbert silently placed everything in front of me, still hateful as ever. He didn’t give me a greeting the way he did with Fender. He didn’t even try.
I would just eat in my bedroom, but the view of the garden was so beautiful, and I needed a change of scenery. Otherwise, I would lose my mind stuck in my bedroom all day. Gilbert lifted the teapot and poured the lavender-flavored tea into my teacup before he excused himself.
Footsteps sounded behind me, loud and quick, moving with purpose.
“Your Highness?” Gilbert’s voice turned a little frantic at the unexpected visit. “I was just about to bring your tray—”
“I’ll take lunch here.” He moved to the seat across from me, in a long-sleeved black shirt, his eyes immediately absorbing my face like he hadn’t stared at it for hours last night. There were no bags under his eyes, like he never got tired, even when he hardly slept. “As I will every day from now on.”
Gilbert looked like a cat thrown out into the rain. The unexpected change in schedule and setting made a fuse burn in his brain. He took a moment to recover himself before he headed into the kitchen to grab the tray.
I watched Fender stare at me, hardly recognizing the man right in front of me. One conversation had changed everything, brought back the man I’d missed since the camp. His eyes didn’t burn with resentment and bitterness. Now, he looked at me openly, like he could stare at nothing else but me and be perfectly content.
Gilbert returned a moment later and placed Fender’s lunch in front of him, which was different from mine. He had a big portion of pasta, a salad, more bread, and desserts. A glass of water was placed next to his food since he didn’t drink tea. “Anything else I can get your, sir?” Gilbert had composed himself once more, overcoming the shock of Fender’s decision.
Fender dropped his gaze to my meal, which was a salad with a small piece of salmon on top. “Gilbert?”
“Yes?” he asked eagerly. “How may I service you?” The look he gave Fender was full of so much enthusiasm that he would obey any command that Fender gave. If Fender told him to jump off a bridge, he would consider it a great honor and do it. The interactions I witnessed were limited, but it was very clear that Gilbert’s entire existence was dependent on Fender’s satisfaction.
“Her meal is different from mine.” He shifted his gaze to Gilbert. “Why?”
Gilbert instantly breathed harder at the eye contact, faltering for a moment when he was the recipient of that stare, but not out of fear. Another reason altogether. “Sir, I just thought—”
“I’d been gaining some weight.” I cleared my throat. “Thought I needed to cut back a bit…”
Fender stared at Gilbert for another moment before he slowly turned to face me, his dark eyes regarding me with suspicion.
Gilbert glanced at me.
Fender started to look angry, as if he knew I was lying. He turned back to Gilbert. “Melanie and I will have the same meals. Is that understood, Gilbert?”
Gilbert held his breath and nodded. “Of course, sir.” He turned to leave.
“And that starts now.”
Gilbert stilled then turned back around. “Sir, the chef—”
“We’ll wait.” He grabbed my plate and held it out to Gilbert without looking at him. His eyes were on me, still angry, like I would get punished for this when we were alone together.
Gilbert hesitated before he took the plate. “Of course…right away.” He excused himself from the dining room in a hurry.
Fender pushed his food across the table in front of me. “Eat.”
My heart raced so quickly in my chest, and my blood pressure immediately spiked. It made it hard to hear because of the loud thumping noise. My eyes even began to hurt. “I’ll wait for your—”
“I said eat.”
I immediately grabbed the fork and spun it inside the pasta, which was still steaming because it was just prepared by the chef. His lunch looked way better than mine had, and I could sense the taste before the food was even in my mouth. “I just didn’t want Gilbert—”
“You’re the lady of this house. You will eat as such. You will enjoy every single luxury that I’ve worked for. If you’ve gained weight, I haven’t noticed. If you continue to gain weight, I still won’t notice. Do you understand me?” He spoke to me like he did his men at the camp, issuing orders in expectation of complete obedience.
I gave a slight nod. “Yes.”
He nodded to the food. “Chérie.”
I still held the fork, the steam rising up and filling the air with the scent of fresh pasta with hints of olive oil and basil. I spun my utensil around and caught the noodles before placing it into my mouth, my tongue flooded with the incredible goodness that made me close my eyes for a brief moment.
His eyes were glued to my face, watching every little reaction I had like it was fascinating. That was how we spent the next few minutes, me eating and him watching.
Gilbert returned moments later with the food and set everything in front of Fender.
Fender ignored him and stared at me.
Gilbert studied Fender’s face, hoping he would meet his look, but he never did. “I’m very sorry about the mix-up—”
“Leave us.”
His face was hit with disappointment, his eyes falling along with his mouth. His hands went behind his back, he gave a slight bow, and then he dismissed himself, carrying himself without the same immaculate posture he usually possessed.
Fender had been in his office all day and through the night.
He was a different man now, so I felt welcome stopping by for a visit. Before I reached the door, I halted in my tracks.
Because Fender had just threatened someone.
“The only reason you’re still breathing is because if I kill you, I have to kill Magnus too. So, trust me when I say my breath will be on the back of your neck, day in and day out, waiting for that trip, waiting for that simple mistake that will give me a reason to do what I should do right now.”
I was so scared that I just stood there, too afraid to turn around and leave because my heels might tap against the floor and interrupt their…whatever this was.
He spoke again. “You’ve been warned, Liam.”
Footsteps sounded a moment later, someone approaching the open doorway to his office. A man emerged and immediately turned right, heading to the front of the house where he could depart.
He didn’t even notice me.
Oh, thank god.
My hand braced against the wall for support, like I’d been the one just threatened. I lifted my knee so I could pull off my heel and I wouldn’t make a sound as I walked away.
“Chérie.”
I stilled, my fingers against my designer shoes. Fuck. How did he know I was there? I lowered my foot back to the floor, took a breath, and then emerged into the open doorway.
He leaned against his desk, in his black sweatpants without a shirt, his feet bare. His muscular arms were crossed over his thick torso, and the large hearth on the wall adjacent to him blanketed him with a flickering glow. Those magnetic eyes were on me, pulling me toward him with an invisible force, the earthy brown color visible because of the way the firelight hit his features.
My fingertips came together in front of my waist as I entered his office. My heels barely tapped against the hardwood floors because I moved so slowly, prepared for him to scream at me for what just happened. “I wasn’t eavesdropping. I came by—”
“I’m not angry.”
“Really? Because you look angry.”
His eyes kept their intensity, but a slow smile crept on to his lips. It happened rarely, like an animal assumed to be extinct emerging in the wild for a brief second before it ran off again. He was so handsome when he smiled.
I stared at it, knowing it would be gone any second.
Then it disappeared.
Gone. Like the fire just went out in the hearth.
He pushed off the desk and straightened as his arms came to his sides. “That’s just how I look.” He stopped when he reached the front of the seating area, as if he expected me to move the rest of the way and come to him.
I was in another designer dress, black and tight, the sleeves made of lace. An assortment of diamonds and jewelry had been placed on my nightstand, so I paired it with whatever I wore, looking ready for a special event even when I just sat around the house all day.
As I walked toward him, I watched the way his eyes took me in, absorbing me like paint on a blank canvas. The man he just threatened had left his mind the second he was gone. Now his thoughts were on me, telling me how beautiful I was without saying it, surrounding me with affection without even touching me.
Sometimes I forgot he was the boss. Because with me…he was just a man.
When I stopped in front of him, my hands immediately planted against his stomach, my fingers flinching because he was so hot, it was like touching a log in the fire. He was over a foot taller than me, and without the heels I constantly wore, our heights would be nearly incompatible.
His hand slid deep into my hair until it came around the back and fisted the entire thing. He squeezed it like a wet sponge he wanted to wring out. He dipped his head, looked into my eyes for a brief second, and then kissed me. It all happened in one fluid motion, but to me, it was as if time had slowed down, every action taking an eternity. His other hand wrapped around the small of my back, giving me a squeeze against him before his hand gripped both of my cheeks in a single palm.
He opened my mouth with his, gave me his slow breath, his tongue, and then he pulled away. He took away his kiss, his touch, his squeeze. He turned around and headed back to the desk, his strong back a sculpture of muscle. He was the perfect specimen for an anatomy class because every single muscle of his body was defined and chiseled, easily visible even across the room. He fell into the chair at his desk, where his laptop and paperwork lay along with his phone.
I approached his desk and stood there, the flames from the hearth hot on my skin, but not warm enough to replace what I’d just lost. My fingertips touched the edge of his desk, feeling the textured wood underneath my skin. It was hard and rough, just like him. “Everything okay?”
He leaned back in the leather chair, one elbow propped on the armrest with his hand in the air, his fingertips slightly rubbing together like there was a grain of sand
there. His gaze darkened at the question. “Wait for me in my bedroom. I’ll be there shortly.” He dropped his gaze and straightened so he could turn his attention to his laptop.
His answer didn’t disappoint me, because it was much better than the cold ones I used to get. I turned around and departed his office.
“Chérie.”
I turned around when I reached the door.
His eyes were on me. “Be ready for me this time.”
I was naked under the sheets when he came to bed.
He got on top of me and sank me into the mattress before his dick did the same inside me. He hooked my legs around his waist, folded me underneath him, and rocked into me deep and slow, his muscular arms anchored on either side of my head as he held his incredible weight on top of me.
My hands planted against his chest as I rocked with him, my legs pulling on his waist to reciprocate his movements. This seemed to be the only position he wanted to have me in because we rarely did it in other ways, but that was fine by me.
His passion was hotter than the fire, his words coming out in French, which was so sexy even though I couldn’t understand a word of it. My hand slid into his short hair as I brought his mouth to mine, kissing him and feeling a little explosion inside my belly just from his taste. He made me writhe every time we were together, showed me how sex was supposed to be, that my experiences up until this moment weren’t experiences at all. Just false imitations, like a knock-off handbag.
He suddenly slowed way down, his French endearments coming to an end. “Chérie.”
My thighs squeezed his hips because I was desperate to keep going, so close to that climax that would make my hips buck entirely on their own, my brain haywire and electrocuting the rest of my body.
His hips stopped, his dick rock hard and sunken deep inside me. “Tell me.” Sometimes in his intensity he looked angry, but he was just passionate, desperate for me. He started to rock his hips again, move through my copious wetness that forced the housekeeping staff to change the sheets daily.
