His.
Just like he said I was.
He meets my gaze in the reflection at the same time as he cups my ass with both hands.
I lick my lips in anticipation, tensing when he pulls my cheeks apart. He holds my gaze for too long before dragging his down to look at me and I know he sees all of me and why the fuck am I so aroused? Why do I feel wetness trickle down the inside of my thigh?
God. Does he see it, too?
I try to close my legs but he makes a tsk sound and I stop. And if I wasn’t sure if he saw my arousal, I am when he traces his fingers up along the line of my thigh and makes a moaning sound from somewhere inside his chest.
A wet finger comes to rest on my asshole and it takes me a full minute to register the unexpected sensation. The knowledge of where he’s touching me.
I try to squeeze my cheeks tight and when I move to straighten he presses his hand between my shoulder blades once again and pushes me back down.
“Did you hear me tell you to get up?” he asks, not moving his hand.
“Damian—”
“Did you hear me give you permission to rise?”
He presses a finger against my asshole and I’m aroused and humiliated at once.
“Cristina?” he draws my name out, taking his hand from my back because I’m not moving. “Answer me.”
I shake my head. “No.” My voice sounds so small.
“Correct.” He leans over me. “You’ll stay down while I decide your punishment,” he says, his breath on the back of my neck making me shudder.
He straightens, rubs his finger over my asshole, presses his erection against my hip.
“I should fuck you in the ass. Put you in your place.”
I whimper as he pushes his finger against me.
“You have a big mouth. And you do need to be put in your place.”
He circles the tight ring and I can’t reconcile what I should be feeling with what I am feeling. But when he penetrates, my entire body tenses, my hands fisting, eyes wide in panic as he moves his finger inside me, in and out, deeper and deeper.
“Please, Damian.”
Once he’s finger is fully inside me, he holds it there for what feels like an eternity.
“Please what? Please fuck you?” He leans over me again. “Let me tell you something, sweetheart. My dick in your ass will feel very different than my finger does,” he whispers.
I swallow hard. “Da—”
“But there are better ways,” he says, and I know exactly what he means when he draws his finger out, slips his palm down to my pussy and rubs and I moan because I’m wet. So wet.
He leans down over me to close his mouth over the curve of my neck and bites.
I gasp. The sensation of pain and arousal and fuck, him dominating me, kissing me, mouth wet and hot, teeth sharp, hard cock pressing against me, fingers working my clit, I want him. I hate myself for it, but I want him.
“Stop,” I say weakly. I turn my head a little when he draws his face back inches from mine.
“You don’t want me to stop. Don’t you know I see it?” He licks the shell of my ear. “Smell it? You want me to fuck you, Cristina. You want my cock inside you. You want my cum inside you.”
I close my eyes, whimpering as he rubs my clit and I’m close. So close. I bite my lip and arch my back to press my ass into him because he’s right.
He groans against my neck and what he’s doing feels good. It feels so good.
“Do you want me to make you come, sweetheart?”
His watch is hard and cold against my belly while his fingers work me into a frenzy. I moan because yes, god yes, I want him to make me come.
“Say it.”
When I don’t, he takes my clit between two fingers and squeezes, and I fist my hands and shut my eyes. I’m seconds away from coming, and I don’t even care.
“Say it,” he hisses.
“Yes! God. Yes.” I don’t say it. I scream it. “Make me come! Please!”
And as soon as the words are out, he chuckles and pulls his hand away.
My eyelids fly open. I’d turn my head, but I can’t because he’s right there. Cheek against my cheek, scruff rubbing against my skin as he moves his mouth to my ear and takes my earlobe between his teeth.
“Sweet, innocent, naïve Cristina,” he says, lifting off me. He makes a point of wiping off his hand off on my hip before gripping a handful of hair. He hauls me up painfully, turning me to face him.
I close my eyes to manage the pain or the humiliation, I’m not sure which. No, I know. The latter.
“Look at me.” When I don’t, he squeezes his fist in my hair. “I said look at me.”
I open my eyes to meet his dark gaze, and I see desire. A base, primal want, but alongside those things, there’s more.
It makes me tremble, the barely contained rage inside him. The fury just beneath the controlled exterior.
I see him like he was that first night eight years ago. The moment he told me the monsters don’t hide in the dark.
And I see the monster he warned me about inside his eyes.
“Don’t push me again,” he says, voice a low, deep warning. “You’re no match for me.”
When he releases me, my knees buckle. I drop down onto the bed.
Damian looks me over, crosses the room to pick up his jacket and, without another glance backward, walks out the door. The sound of the lock turning firmly in place, something I’m growing too familiar with.
25
Cristina
I manage to get a few hours of sleep sitting up in the bed—his bed—but all I dream of when I do sleep is him.
His hands on me.
His mouth on me.
His breath against my neck as he spoke ugly words to me.
And my body betraying me. Wanting to be his. Becoming his. Even as he humiliated me.
I shake my head. I’m angry and exhausted, and I can’t stop wondering where he went last night. In whose bed he slept.
A man like him is probably used to release. To a woman giving him what he needs. I’m sure he got it somewhere because I felt his need, and I don’t think he’d let that go unsatisfied.
And I should be grateful for that. Grateful he didn’t do what he threatened to do. But I hate him a little for leaving and going to someone else after that.
I get up off the bed and walk to the door which I’ve refused to try until now, but I just need to get out of this room. Get out of my head. I’m showered and dressed and not even close to ready for what I’ll have to face today.
But just as I get to the door, I hear the lock turn.
Instinct has me stepping quickly backward. I brace myself, my heartbeat picking up speed, my belly fluttering in anticipation of seeing this man whom I hate and want all at once.
He is your enemy. He murdered your father.
Even if he wasn’t the one who wrapped the rope around his neck or kicked the chair out from under him, it may as well have been him. He was there. He knew what was happening. Does he feel guilty about it? Does he even think about it at all?
No. You’d need a conscience to feel those things, and monsters don’t have a conscience.
He humiliated you. I remind myself. He’ll do worse to you.
But it’s not him who opens the door. It’s the soldier he’s assigned to me. Cash.
Cash nods once. That’s about it for a greeting. Can they even speak?
“Good morning,” I bite out.
“Breakfast is ready. Car leaves in twenty minutes.”
“Where’s Damian?”
“I’ll escort you down in twenty minutes,” he says and turns around to walk away, leaving the door open behind him.
I guess that’s code for if you don’t eat now, you don’t eat, so I step out into the hallway and walk to the kitchen where a woman stands washing dishes.
It’s not Elise, but I guess he’d have separate staff for each house.
She turns around and smiles, actually says goo
d morning.
I smile back, but I feel like crying. I’m not wanted here. Damian doesn’t want me. His father would kill me if he could. Elise looks at me with disdain. Cash, well, I guess to Cash, I’m a nuisance.
And this woman’s smile, it the straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Seeing Liam last night only makes me feel lonelier today, and now, this woman’s simple smile, it just makes me feel sad.
I’ve never felt so humiliated. So unwelcome and unwanted. And it hurts.
“I’ve cut up some fruit and there’s yogurt, Miss. Would you like something warm?”
I look at the large table where a lonely place is set for one with a bowl of yogurt and berries and a silver pot of coffee.
“No, thank you. This is perfect.”
I sit and glance at the clock mounted on the wall, refusing to look at Cash standing beside the door in what must be the uniform for Damian’s men—a dark suit. He holds one hand over the other, and I wonder how long he can hold that pose. He’s like one of those British soldiers who doesn’t even blink when you jump up and down in front of their face.
Cash is younger than Tobias and at least looks a little less brutal. Not that I want to find out how brutal he truly is.
I pour myself a cup of coffee and drink a sip, then force myself to eat the breakfast laid out for me even though my throat is tight and my stomach in knots. I’ll see my uncle today. It’s something, even considering what he did. But I know it’ll all just confirm what Damian’s told me.
When my twenty minutes are up, Cash clears his throat. I stand to leave, anxious to get out of this new prison. I put on the same coat from last night, and we ride down the elevator in silence. The doorman, I think Harry was his name, takes his hat off to greet me. If he knew I was here against my will, would he do anything to help me? I doubt it.
I follow Cash to the waiting SUV. He opens the back door, and I climb up.
I know the city fairly well, so I pay attention as the driver, with Cash beside him in the passenger seat, maneuvers through traffic to take us to a building I’m familiar with. It’s the offices of my father’s lawyers.
He opens the back door, and when I exit the SUV, I don’t bother to wait for him to walk me into the building. I’ve been here a few times with my mom and dad, so I know the way.
Cash is two steps behind me, and although I hope the elevator doors close before he can climb on, of course they don’t. We ride up to the fourteenth floor where the law offices of Maher, Johnson, and Murphy are situated. The current Mr. Maher, the son of one of the founders who is now about seventy, I guess, is our attorney.
Once we arrive on the fourteenth floor, the receptionist who’s been there for at least my lifetime, greets me by name. I can see in her eyes, though, that something is amiss. Or maybe it’s the way she glances at my shadow—Cash—hulking closer than I like.
“Your uncle’s here, Cristina. They’re in Mr. Maher’s office.”
“Thank you,” I tell her and put my hand up to stop her when she gets to her feet to walk with us. “I know the way. It’s okay.”
I follow the exterior circle around the cubicles of assistants, passing the offices of the other lawyers until I get to Mr. Maher’s office. My steps slow naturally as I see them gathered through the glass wall, Mr. Maher behind his desk, my uncle seated in the chair across from his, his back to me. Damian standing against the far wall.
His are the eyes that capture and hold mine.
His arms are folded across his chest, face as impassive as ever. I can’t tell if he’s wearing the same suit as last night, but I can see from here he, too, hasn’t slept much though probably for different reasons than me.
I steel my spine and reach for the door which Cash does before me. He pushes it open, and both Mr. Maher and my uncle watch me enter.
I feel Damian’s gaze still on me, but I force myself not to look at him. Force myself to ignore the heat of his eyes as the memory of him behind me last night, his hands on me, in me, the look on his face as he humiliated me, all return with too much clarity.
“Cristina,” Mr. Maher says. He looks me over and smiles a warm smile. “It’s been too long, my dear, and it’s so good to see you.” He comes around the desk to take both of my hands in one of his.
“It’s good to see you, Mr. Maher.” It’s been years, and he’s aged.
My uncle clears his throat. He’s standing too.
Mr. Maher releases my hands and resumes his place behind the desk as I meet my uncle’s gaze.
“Uncle,” I say, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the disheveled hair, and the tie slightly off center. “How are you?”
He comes toward me and nods once. “I’m all right. How are you holding up?”
I see Damian in my periphery. He hasn’t moved. I’m not sure he’s taken his eyes off me for a second.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to stand a little taller. “How are Liam and Simona?”
“Liam took Simona to their mother’s,” he says through gritted teeth, casting an accusing glance over my shoulder before turning to me and schooling his features.
Liam had given me a drawing Simona had made with her and Sofia sitting together having tea and waiting for me to return. I snuck it into my bag, so I don’t lose it, but between last night and this morning, I haven’t had a chance to look at it again.
“Let’s get this done,” Damian says, finally stepping toward us. “Mr. Maher, if you can get through the particulars of where she’ll sign. We have a busy day.”
“You can take your time, Mr. Maher. I want to be sure to understand it all before I sign anything,” I tell him. I don’t have to look at Damian to feel his glare on me.
“That’s wise, dear,” Mr. Maher says to me.
Damian mutters a curse under his breath, and that makes me happy. I’ll take every little win I can get.
I sit down, and Mr. Maher starts to go over the contracts. It’s all pretty straightforward as far as my inheritance and that my uncle’s responsibility and power of attorney is no longer necessary. He explains about the financial agreement between my uncle and Damian. Translation: how Damian essentially bought him. How for the past eight years, Damian has been my financial guardian, and I never even knew it.
My uncle betrayed me. Does he even love me? I don’t think he took me in only for the money, did he?
Damian only steps in to explain that on the face of things, everything will be in my name, but truly, we both know that he’ll be running things and that the foundation will continue to be a front.
It takes an hour for us to get through the details, and I finally sign the paperwork because what choice do I have?
Mr. Maher congratulates me although it’s strange. He stands to shake hands with me and my uncle, but my uncle finally speaks up.
“Would you mind if I had a few minutes in private with my niece?” he asks Mr. Maher.
“Not at all.” Mr. Maher walks around the desk to exit but pauses when he sees Damian is still standing there.
“Damian,” my uncle says.
“I’ll be here to make sure you tell her the truth.”
I turn to Damian. “He’s not going to lie to me. You can leave.”
His arctic gaze holds mine but he never directly speaks to me. “Cash, show Mr. Maher out.”
“It’s his office,” I tell Damian. I’m picking a fight, and I know it.
“It’s all right, dear,” Mr. Maher says and leaves.
I purposely turn my back to Damian once the three of us are alone in the office.
“He’s explained things?” my uncle asks.
I nod. “It’s true?”
“Yes.”
“All along?”
“No. Only the last few years before the accident. We ran into hard times when the economy took a downturn, and your father had made some contacts who offered a solution.”
“Like bribing politicians with dirty money?”
My uncle doesn’t answ
er. He looks over my shoulder to Damian instead. “You’ll keep her safe. Keep her out of it.”
“As was always agreed her name will only appear on the paperwork.”
I turn to him. “Why exactly? I don’t understand. If you pretty much run The Valentina Foundation, why not just take it over altogether? Why do I have to be involved?”
“Because you’re the face of the Foundation. A sweet, innocent face who isn’t now and never has been involved in anything unsavory,” Damian says. His eyes on me only make me think of last night. Of how he looked at me, how he touched me, how close he was to me and how he humiliated me. “Besides, only a Valentina can technically run things. Rules of the foundation.”
I grit my teeth, hating him.
“While you do dirty work with crooks in my name.”
“The foundation does some good work, too, remember.”
“And if something goes wrong, what happens to me? Am I responsible?”
“I won’t let anything go wrong,” Damian says.
“What if it does?”
“I will keep you safe and protected, Cristina. I have always kept you safe and protected, since you were a little girl. You just never knew it.”
He has, in his own creepy way, I guess.
My uncle clears his throat. “If she’s hurt or in any way implicated in anything—”
“I said she won’t be,” Damian tells him, then turns back to me. “I take care of what’s mine.”
Safe. Protected. Cared for.
It’s all opposite of what he wants with me. I’m here to be punished for something that happened when I was a child.
Confused, I open my mouth, but Damian speaks first. “If there’s nothing else, Adam, we need to go. You’ll see her tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” I ask.
He sighs deeply but doesn’t answer.
“What’s tonight?” I ask Damian.
“Say goodbye to your uncle.”
“I hate you,” I tell Damian.
“Cristina,” my uncle starts, hand on my shoulder.
Unholy Union Page 18
