We break apart to breathe, and her eyes darken with lust.
“I won’t touch you. Not in the way you want.”
“What?” she says, breathing harshly. “Why?”
“You need to belong to me before I make a baby with you.” Which sounds politer than fuck you into oblivion.
“It’s just once—”
I kiss her to stop her protests. She rubs my neck, nails scraping my skin. God, I can imagine them raking my back with her legs wrapped around me. I break from her gasping mouth, moving down before my thread of self-control snaps. Her ragged moans whittle it away.
“Please.”
Another impatient throb pulses through my cock. I avoid the curves begging to be groped, my hand sweeping under her ass for a moment to squeeze. And it would be easy—so easy to lift and thrust. A primal instinct claws at the bars keeping it caged. The beast inside me wants to mark her as mine. I drag my gaze away from Eva’s. If I recognize the same lust in her eyes, I won’t be able—
Eva sits. Grabs my cock. My vision goes red.
All I see are flashes of images. Eva’s tits. Her arms, locked around my waist. Mouth open. Guiding me closer. I straddle her face. She licks the head, smiles.
I pin her and fuck her mouth.
God, it’s nirvana. She plays a dance as I thrust with long strokes. Eva takes me in. Her throat bulges. I grab her tits. Squeeze hard. It’s an effort not to come.
My other hand holds both wrists—some fucked-up part of me that needs to keep her still. Eva matches my thrusts, pulling out to swirl her tongue around my head, and then I sink lower, deep inside that heat. The pressure builds, a whirling mass of energy urging me for more. She sucks me so hard I moan, a vulnerable sound I rarely make.
I explode. And then I slam home.
A force rushes through my cock, warmth jetting into her throat. Eva closes her eyes as though she enjoys it. Savors it. Her lips glide up and down, milking me. A second burst floods her mouth. She swallows every bit of me. The first time I’ve been inside a woman in over a year. It’s a lot of cum.
Shaking, I pull out and lie beside her. Eva turns her head, kisses my stunned lips. When she pulls away, it’s as though she can read the thoughts etched in the back of my head.
How am I going to keep my secrets if she fucks like this?
Chapter Seven
Eva
I’m hiding something from my future husband.
It’s not a drug habit or a sock fetish; it’s simply the fact that I like him.
His stupid jokes and smartass comments make me laugh. I love the way he makes me feel. To Bastien, I’m not Daddy’s princess. He treats my body like a temple. Last night was the best sex I’ve ever had.
I thought we’d tolerate each other. I never expected to hold his hand, a thrill shooting through my chest. He smiles, and his lips remind me of what he did with his mouth. Damn it; I’m the one who’s supposed to have him wrapped around my finger. Every girl knows the way to a wiseguy’s heart is through his cock. If he’s happy, I’ll get what I want.
It’s as simple as that.
Or it would be if my toes didn’t curl at the thought of his mouth. Jesus. My cheeks flush when I remember his hot tongue making lazy circles over the most intimate part of me. He was sweet afterward. He held me with a gentleness at odds with the way he fucked my mouth.
I loved it. Every moment.
Now I’m worried. Liking him is one thing. Falling in love with him would be awful because of the pain when he’s ripped away from me.
What am I supposed to do?
Keep him at arm’s length. Only be with him when we try for a baby. I won’t get attached. We’ll become husband and wife, but I don’t have to feel anything for him. Bastien is a nice man—a great fuck. And that’s all he’ll ever be.
A voice rolls over me like smoke. “You look lost in the clouds. Shopping for rings that boring, or are you dreaming about me?”
Bastien is dressed in a pair of dark-blue slacks and a light-green shirt. I could spend hours admiring the way his pants fit, particularly on his ass. “I’m thinking of what should’ve happened last night, but didn’t.”
He smirks. “Daydreaming about my cock, even better.”
My face burns as a customer in the store glances at Bastien, alarm on her expression. He pays her no mind.
“Would you keep it down?”
He gazes at himself. “It is down.”
“You are so ridiculous.”
“What?” he says, all smiles. “I’m not a teenager. I don’t pop a boner in random places anymore.”
“Maybe you would if I jogged your memory.” I touch his chest. “Remember how you fucked my mouth?”
His jaw goes slack. “Vividly.”
I make a circle on his heart, noticing how his breaths still. “I sucked every drop.”
The blood rushes to his face. “You want to get us thrown out?”
I step away from him, smirking. Bastien watches me with a predatory stare.
Good. I got to him.
Beams of sunshine dazzle the engagement rings sitting in glass display cases. Light dances across the minute facets. They twinkle like little stars among the dark velvet. Dozens of choices present themselves. Princess. Round. Opal. Diamond. Jade. Sapphire. When I was young, I planned out my wedding day to the smallest details. The ring would be princess cut and a deep-blue gem instead of the traditional diamond. I tore pictures from magazines and stuck the photos to a corkboard. If there were a Pinterest, I would have been all over that shit with floral arrangements, vintage dresses, and my favorite bridal themes.
I was one of those girls. Disney movies were my escape, and I dreamed of the day my Prince Charming would burst through my door. Let’s just say I grew up pretty damn fast. Hard not to when I’m surrounded by the men Dad keeps company with, but I always hoped for someone better.
I’m not that girl anymore.
All my hopes fizzled when I came home to Marc’s apartment. It replays in my mind. I walked into the kitchen. Saw the blood over the laminate and then the body. Every night those vacant eyes stare when I try to sleep. I can’t let myself hope again. It’s the path to misery, and I’m tired of darkness.
“Did you want to see one?” he says.
The hand at my side squeezes, and I fight the answering rush of heat. I tap the glass.
Bastien leans in to gaze at the princess-cut ring sitting in the display case. “The blue ring?”
“I don’t care,” I mutter. “Any of them.”
“You could at least pretend to be interested.”
I can’t. “For whose benefit?”
He smirks. “Mine.”
A beaming saleswoman approaches us. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. She wants to see the sapphire.”
“Of course,” she says. “Are you shopping for your fiancée?”
“Yeah.” Bastien’s arm curls around my waist. “She said yes.”
Then he kisses the shell of my ear, a loving gesture that fills me with happiness. I’m confused by the warmth in my chest. He smiles at me as though I’m the love of his life. He’s good at pretending to be head over heels.
“Congratulations! When are you getting married?”
“Next week,” I say, monotone.
Her smile cracks. She thinks I’m knocked up. Not yet, unfortunately.
“Oh! That’s fast. How fun!” She unlocks the display case and hands me the ring, prattling on about how many carats are in the diamonds surrounding the certified humane sapphire, or whatever it’s called. Pretty, but not worth the seven-thousand-dollar price tag.
It slides on my finger, the band of white gold light against my tanned skin. The princess-cut sapphire sits on a bed of titanium, surrounded by two smaller diamonds. It’s lovely. A dream, like the man standing beside me. I pictured myself wearing a ring like this many times.
She gasps. It’s probably the same excited tone she uses for all the customers. “Oh my God, it’s gorgeo
us on you! Don’t you think, sir?”
Bastien’s eyes widen. “Yeah. Wow.”
I smile at her. “The ring is beautiful. Unfortunately it’s over our budget.”
“No, it’s not. We’ll take it.”
He can’t be serious. “It’s too much!”
“We’ll take it,” he says to the saleswoman.
“Wonderful choice!” She bounces with glee as she boxes the ring. Guess she’ll make a pretty penny on commission.
As soon as she’s out of sight, I grab his arm. “What are you doing?”
He waves me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I would have been fine with any of these.”
“I wanted to buy it,” he says. “Maybe you’re not a romantic, but I am.”
“Right.”
“I won’t cheap out on my wife. Mind, I’ll expect gratitude in return.”
I stare at the dazzling ring, swallowing my guilt. “Thank you, Bastien. It’s wonderful.”
“You’re welcome, but it was a selfish act. I figure I’ll get my money’s worth in blowjobs before the year is over.”
I slap his chest hard. The saleswoman returns with a size that fits me and I spend half a minute admiring it before Bastien guides me toward the register. After he pays, we leave the store. As soon as we step onto the cobblestones, Bastien grabs my hand. He pops the lid off the box and slides the ring on my finger. It’s difficult to conceal how much I love it.
He squints against the sunlight. “Well, that was fast. I thought we’d spend at least an hour in there.”
“I’ve always known what I wanted.”
A man just like him. Tall and handsome. Kind eyes. Bastien’s hands are rough with calluses, but he is gentle. His nature contradicts the scars on his arms. The muscles rippling his chest. His rap sheet. Felony assault.
“Have you ever been engaged before?” I ask him.
“No. Never had a serious relationship. You’re my first.”
Wow. “How does it feel?”
“Good,” he says with such obvious sincerity that I smile. “I wish we had time to slow things down. Your dad’s putting me through my paces.”
My cheeks go hot. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’m not worried anymore.”
He takes my hand and leads me through the outdoor mall, a grin on his face as though he’s the Happy Wanderer, and when I stop to weave through a store, he doesn’t complain. He looks at me like I’m the apple of his eye. I say I want something sweet, so he kisses me.
I like him, and I’m afraid of how much, because this candy-coated version of Bastien will melt off as soon as we’re married and I’ll be left with whoever the hell he really is. When the sweetness turns bitter, then what?
Who is he?
Fuck. I forgot about the goddamn engagement party.
Dad insisted we have one, though I was happy to write the whole thing off. For Christ’s sake, I’m still boxing the presents people gave Marc and me to send back. It’s inappropriate as hell, but Dad hasn’t been right since his health took a downward spiral. He’s barely out of the hospital, and he wants to help plan my wedding events. Wouldn’t listen to reason. His baby girl would have everything she asked for. Never mind that I wanted a low-key event. I’d be okay with a frozen pizza dinner. Instead I have to contend with dozens of pissed-off guests who already bought a present a few months ago. All because my dad has an end-of-life crisis.
Guilt festers in my stomach as I pass by the mound of wrapped gifts in the foyer.
“Ready to join the circus?” Bastien says.
I stare at the red Cuisinart mixer I know retails at four hundred dollars. It’s identical to the one I sent back and probably is the same damn thing. I laugh, bitterness rolling off my tongue.
“I can’t believe he made them do this.”
Bastien reads a tag. “It’s a bit unorthodox.”
“It hasn’t been that long since Marc’s funeral. This isn’t right.”
“The man’s gone, Eva. Everyone understands you’re working against a biological clock.”
“We could’ve waited a few weeks. I tried, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“He’s dying, hon. You can’t count on him to make sound judgments.”
That’s true.
I’ll never forget the day we got that MRI from the oncologist. Dad’s eyes dimmed when the doctor pointed out the cancerous mets were growing. Chemotherapy hadn’t worked. It was the end of the road.
“It’s like he’s trying to be father of the year to make up for my whole life.” I glance inside, the brightly colored guests a stark contrast to the drab blue and black that filled the house weeks before. “This will be a disaster.”
“We’ll have a good time,” he says, pulling me to his side.
“No, we won’t. It’ll be weird and awkward, but not fun.”
“You’re forgetting who you’re talking to. I’ll make it fun.” He takes my face in his hands. “I told you before—I’m a romantic. This is my first time, and I want to enjoy it.”
My cheeks burn. “We’ll walk in a room with a bunch of people I don’t like, who hate me because I made them buy two gifts.”
“Do I look broken up over Marc?”
“No.”
“Then I guarantee you everyone else isn’t.” He slides his hand low, grabbing a handful of my ass.
“My dad sees that, and you’re fucked!”
“Let’s go.” He gives me a swat.
I bolt forward, feet wobbling in my gladiator heels as I enter the living room. It looks the same as the other day. The same platters I scrubbed clean are filled with petit fours and cheese. Bottles of champagne sweat in buckets in ice.
God, the chill in here. People I watched cry over Marc’s body glare at me like I’m something under their shoe. The boss invited them, so they had to come. No one wants to be here.
Bastien’s arm glues to my side as he guides me through the party, which is unnaturally subdued given the event. My fiancé acts as though he doesn’t notice. He beams at people who approach him and voices approval of the wine. He declares the cold cuts the finest he’s ever tasted, even though he had the same two days ago. Dad is in the armchair near the coffee table, as happy as a clam. The music is too loud, and everyone looks like they want to leave.
Except for Bastien. He engages in conversation with people who offer him thin-lipped smiles. Then he sits next to my dad. They crack jokes and slap their knees while the room maintains the hushed murmur of a funeral.
I can’t take it anymore.
A clique of mob wives stands near the fireplace. They won’t judge me for marrying so quickly after Marc. I grab the nearest glass and down half of it as I walk toward them. Madison, a short woman with a dark tan, greets me with a pink smile. “Hi, honey. Congratulations!”
Returning her grin is a challenge, especially when the women stare at my fiancé as though he’s an exotic animal. “Yeah,” the bleach blonde says. “You’re a lucky girl. He seems really…”
“Strange,” I supply for her.
They’re not used to men behaving like social butterflies. Frankly, neither am I. Bastien works the room, spreading his positivity like fairy dust. The somber torpor lifts to idle chatter.
Madison watches him with wide-eyed fascination. “He’s so adorable. How long have you known him?”
“We just met. I don’t know him.” What a fantastic springboard for a marriage. “Dad’s real fond of him, though.”
“It’s about time,” she says. “You deserve to be happy.”
“I wish we waited. It’s terrible timing, but my dad really wants to be there for me. He’s not feeling well.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Depressing topic. “How’s Ben doing?”
Her face brightens as I mention her son and she pulls out her phone, showing me the professional photos she took of her toddler. Cherubic little thing. I fight the swell of jealousy. Hopefully it won’t be long before it’s my turn.<
br />
“Cute guy,” a dark voice blasts behind me. His hand rolls up my shoulder and anchors there. Not Bastien. Adrián. An unpleasant shock hits my stomach. He’s wasted, unsteady. Eyes full of unchecked malice.
I step away from his touch. “Adrián.”
He doesn’t take the hint. Instead he moves closer, pinning me against the wall as Madison shoots me a concerned glance.
“I can give you a baby if that’s what you want. Bring me to one of your rooms, and I’ll fuck one inside you. Don’t marry that fucking asshole.”
Alcohol pours from his breath. It disgusts me more than the shit he’s saying. “You’re way out of line, and my father—”
“My father,” he laughs, mimicking my tone. “I’m not scared of that walking corpse. Everyone’s biding their time, but why wait? Who will stop me?”
His stink makes nausea rise in my throat. I shove his chest. “You’re drunk. Get off me.”
“No.”
I stare at him as the floor drops below my feet.
No?
When have any of them ever said that to me? I expect Adrián to flinch when I meet his alcohol-soaked gaze, but he’s wooden. My dad lounges on the couch, oblivious.
I’m not scared of that walking corpse.
Dimly I’m aware of Madison telling him to fuck off. I shove his chest, horrified by the arm snaking around my waist. Adrián wouldn’t do this. I’ve known him for years. I let the subtle hints of his interest roll down my back, but he’s never touched me when I said no.
His breath is hot at my throat, and his hands are wrong. The air is stolen from the room. I’m powerless. And I’m going to throw up.
Adrián’s lips and violating touch rip from my body. He flies backward, eyes widened in shock as a force hurls him away.
Bastien.
He stands behind Adrián, eyes smoldering with a fury I’ve never seen. “The fuck were you doing to my fiancée?”
“I—”
A bestial expression twists his handsome face as he throws Adrián into a column. The plaster cracks as Adrián’s head snaps back. The drunken man howls in pain, and Bastien seizes his hair, dragging him across the floor. My heart pounds as he makes Adrián kneel in front of the wall.
Tied Down Page 7
