The Palace (Chateau Book 4)

by Penelope Sky

  I believed every word, but I was in a foul mood since she was in the city.

  “Why did you ask me to screen him if you don’t value what I say?”

  “For a couple reasons.” I grabbed my glass and took a drink. “And you know what those reasons are, Magnus.”

  Guilt flooded his gaze.

  “Fender?” Melanie’s voice came to me from the foyer.

  “Chérie, in here.” I kept my gaze on my brother but instantly responded to her call.

  She stepped into the room, wearing one of my t-shirts that fit her like a dress. She obviously didn’t expect me to be with company because she wouldn’t have dressed that way if she’d known.

  I thought she looked exquisite.

  She hesitated when she spotted Magnus but came to me anyway. “I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

  “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  She looked at my brother again. “Is she here—”

  “Yes,” I said with anger in my veins. “She’s in Paris.”

  “Can I see—”

  “Go to bed.” I didn’t mean to snap, but I couldn’t control it. I would never allow that cunt to enter my home—not again anyway. I tried to smooth out my voice to make up for my hostility, because if I pissed Melanie off, she wouldn’t talk to me for days. Really didn’t want to experience that again.

  She walked away.

  When her footsteps were gone, I looked at my brother again. “All she ever talks about is her obnoxious sister. Maybe I should kill her, so I don’t have to hear about her anymore—from either one of you.” I grabbed the glass in front of me and downed the rest of it.

  He watched me for a while, studying my face. “Why do you hate her so much?”

  It was a stupid question, and I gave him a look that made it clear what I thought of it.

  “It’s more than that, Fender.” His eyes shifted back and forth as he looked into my face. “We both know we would do the exact same thing if we were in her position. Her actions aren’t personal. So why?”

  I grabbed the bottle and refilled my glass. “Because she is the one thing that stands between Melanie and me.” She would always be the wedge. She would always be the hesitation. Her hatred for me would never die, and she would force Melanie to choose between us. I already knew what that choice would be.

  “Then let her go. Problem solved.”

  I gave a shake of my head. “What happened last time I let her go?”

  He stared, his arms on his thighs.

  “Melanie left me.” I threw my head back and took another drink like it was a shot rather than a full glass. “And she would leave me again.”

  He dropped his gaze.

  “Raven’s hatred for me will never fade. She’ll ridicule Melanie for wanting to be with me. She’ll turn her against me. She’ll take away the single greatest thing that had ever happened to me. So, no, I can’t fucking let her go.”

  I sat at my desk with my lunch tray beside me. I took a few bites as I worked, pulling numbers from the file Magnus had sent to me in an encrypted format. When I looked up from the screen, I saw her standing there.

  In a beautiful dress with a bracelet on her wrist, she stood in front of me.

  I waited for her to speak her mind.

  “Can I see her?”

  I knew this would come up again.

  “Please.”

  I shook my head.

  She inhaled a deep breath, her eyes full of emotion. “Why not?”

  “Too risky.”

  “In what way?”

  “The second you’re united, she’ll try to run with you.”

  “If she’s allowed to come to Paris with Magnus, I doubt she would risk that just to get caught again.”

  “I think she’ll feel differently if she sees you.”

  “Well, I won’t run. I promise.” Sincerity burned in her eyes with undeniable brilliance. She seemed to mean every word she said to me, like this wasn’t some kind of stunt to get what she wanted.

  “She might make you.”

  “I…I…I don’t think she would. And again, what does it matter? Because we won’t get far.”

  “It does matter.”

  “Why?”

  Because I’d made an oath that I would have to keep. “When Magnus asked to have her accompany him during his trips to Paris, I granted it with a condition. If she runs—I’ll kill him. It’s in my best interest to give her no incentive to do that.”

  Her eyes dropped as she fidgeted with her fingers.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She lifted her eyes and looked at me again. “She wouldn’t have to run…if you let her go.”

  Under no circumstances could I do that—because I would lose Melanie too. I turned back to my laptop and went back to work. Her final words hung in the air, echoing unanswered.

  She stood there for a while, her gaze burning into my face with fierce hope. But she eventually gave up and walked away.

  I had her at the edge of the bed, thrusting inside her until I hit my release, giving a loud moan in satisfaction. My desire for her figure never expired. She brought me so much satisfaction, but also constant need. Some was never enough. All of her was more, but still fell short. My dick remained hard time and time again, when for other women, it went soft after the first round.

  I stayed inside her as I slipped my fingers to her back entrance.

  “Whoa…” She immediately arched her back and grabbed on to my arms. “What are you doing?” Passion left her eyes as she considered my intentions.

  “Getting you ready.” Two fingers were inside her, pulsing, forcing her to stretch.

  With her knees pushed up against her sides, she lay there and breathed, her skin slightly sweaty even though she was only lying there while I did all the work—not that I minded. Trepidation was bright in her eyes, a look I hadn’t seen since our first night together in the cabin.

  “Chérie?” I held myself over her with one arm, my hard dick inside her, my wet fingers inside her, forcing her tightness to expand.

  She breathed hard at my ministrations then gave a shake of her head.

  Instead of pulling my fingers away, I brought our faces close together.

  “I’m just not…into that.”

  “But you’ve never tried it.”

  “Well…you barely fit inside me as it is.”

  I fit inside every woman I’d taken before. Melanie was no different. “I’ve never really made love to you if I haven’t made love to all of you. It will hurt, but it’ll get easier. I’ll be gentle and slow.”

  Hesitation was still in her eyes.

  “Then, one day, you’ll like it.”

  Her blue eyes shifted back and forth as she looked into mine.

  She had all the power in this situation, so if she said no, I’d remove my fingers and try again at a later time. But I hoped she would trust me enough to at least try.

  “Is this a French thing?” she whispered.

  “It’s common.”

  “Okay…”

  Shivers ran through my muscles before I started to thrust inside her once again, getting her to relax once more, to get back into the moment. Two fingers turned to three. Breaths turned to moans. Heat rose to the ceiling.

  Soaked to the base, I pulled out my dick and removed my fingers.

  Gently, I pressed, getting my crown inside.

  She gave a slight cry as she grimaced.

  I stopped, gave her a moment, and kept going.

  She clawed her nails deep into my flesh, nearly puncturing the skin and drawing blood. She breathed harder as she took more, panting in pain as I slid inside, her skin tinting red. Tears formed in her eyes when I was halfway.

  I paused as I looked down at her, more aroused than I’d ever been. She was stronger than she gave herself credit for. Tears shone in the corners of her eyes and slid down her cheeks as her lips panted with deep breaths. “Chérie, tell me to stop, and we stop.” I didn’t want to pull my dick out, not when it
already felt right, not when I knew what we would have if she allowed it to happen. But I would—in a heartbeat.

  “It’s okay…”

  I moved farther inside, getting my dick sheathed to the base.

  She breathed louder and harder, holding on to me, more tears coming.

  Then I started to move, slow and easy, making love to her asshole as I watched her cry. “Chérie, tu es si belle…”

  Fifteen

  Magnus

  Melanie

  He seemed to understand how much it hurt because the next two days were filled with massages, kisses, and sexual fantasies just for me. He ate whipped cream and strawberries off my body before he made love to my pussy with his mouth. Sometimes he would have me sit on his face, and he would go for hours, making me feel good, doing things just for me since I’d done something just for him.

  It made it worth it.

  The sun had just set, and I was in the Olympic-size pool in the backyard. Gilbert had brought me drinks and snacks on a tray, so I snacked while I splashed around. The sun faded, but it was still warm. The lights from his gardens came on at the moment the sun set, and I could see the acres of his property that looked like a public park. My arms rested on the edge of the pool, and I stared at the view, unable to believe I lived in such an estate. The only experience I had with places like this was in the movies, and even then, they paled next to the real thing.

  Footsteps sounded on the deck behind me, and the fact that I could hear them at all told me it wasn’t Gilbert. He moved like a ghost, providing pristine service without being seen or heard. He faded into the background the second his job was complete, like a shadow.

  I turned around to see Fender there, stripped down to his nakedness. From my angle below, he looked like a living statue stepping into the pool to join me. He was so cut and so strong that every movement he made caused a ripple effect to the rest of his body.

  He moved into the heated water, his pecs and shoulders above the waterline. He headed straight for me, his eyes dark like espresso beans on the counter at the café. Every time I’d looked at that jar, I would think of him, remember the way he looked at me.

  My chin was just above the waterline, and when he came to me, he lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist. His hands held on to my ass even though I didn’t need the support, and now that we were at eye level, we stared.

  Quiet as a mouse, Gilbert brought another tray of drinks and snacks for Fender then excused himself back to the house.

  Fender didn’t look away from me, as if he didn’t notice or care.

  Gilbert and I had never really talked again. He wasn’t rude to me, but what little friendship we’d had was forever severed. It was strange to think that the butler was more stubborn than his master.

  I’d never had a relationship with a man that required no conversation. Fender and I spoke with our touches and our looks. When two people were as close as we were, it was unnecessary to fill the silence with words. We just existed in the same moment—and that was enough.

  He guided me against the wall of the pool then slipped his fingers underneath my bottoms and found my clit. With his eyes on me, he rubbed me in a circular motion, his pressure growing harder and harder.

  My arms wrapped around his neck, and I breathed in his face, climaxing against his fingers within a few minutes.

  As if nothing had happened, he grabbed his glass and took a drink, like his only interest was getting me off and receiving nothing in return. He kept me against the wall, looking at me as he enjoyed his drink, sometimes a drop catching in the corner of his mouth. He stared at me like an artist who couldn’t decide what to chisel off his sculpture next because it was already perfect.

  “As much as I’m enjoying all this…you’ve made it up to me.”

  He finished his drink then put it down. “Watching you come is foreplay for me.”

  “That’s several days of foreplay, then.”

  “Worth the wait.”

  My arms circled his neck again, and I held him close, never feeling safer than I did in moments like this, when his powerful hands were on me, when his bulletproof chest was against mine. “Well, I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

  He gave a slight smile, a rare glimpse into his boyish charm. “When we go to bed.” The smile disappeared an instant later, leaving no trace behind. His eyes were dark and intense all over again.

  The silence lasted a long time, and we just floated in the pool together, drinking and snacking, the night deepening.

  He spoke. “I’m attending an event tomorrow night.”

  “What kind of event?”

  “Cocktail party.”

  “Do you want me to come?”

  The annoyed stare answered my question.

  “Just wasn’t sure…”

  “Don’t be unsure again.” He released me and drifted away slightly, turning around to take a look at the house as if to check on something before he returned to me, standing on his feet so his chest was above the water. He could say something so harsh, but it somehow felt romantic to me.

  “Who will be there?”

  “Socialites. Same characters you see me with. Magnus, as well.”

  The mention of his brother immediately made a lightbulb brighten in my mind. My interactions with him were rare, and I’d only been alone with him for minutes at a time. But with a house full of people, it might be possible to slip away and speak to him without Fender knowing. I hid my reaction and enthusiasm. “I guess I’ll have to find something to wear.”

  “Gilbert has taken care of it.”

  “Of course, he has.”

  Fender studied my face. “Has he been good to you?”

  The two of us would never be civil again. Gilbert had taken the rejection worse than Fender did. Or maybe he was just upset that I was back in the house and he had to watch us together. But I actually liked him because he was so loyal to Fender. No other butler would care so much, would be so trustworthy. “Yes. He’s great.”

  He seemed to believe me because he admired the grounds behind me, his hand moving to the back of his neck to give himself a quick scratch. He was so strong, with such hard features to his face that made him undeniably handsome. He could walk into any bar and get any woman he wanted, even if they spoke different languages. With every passing month, every week, every day, I found him more irresistible. It was hard to believe that I was his one and only, that I was enough for him.

  Masculine, with a libido that took several sessions to quench. Rich, with more money than he could spend in several lifetimes. Ripped, hitting the weights the way some people attended church. Handsome, with hard features, a shadowed jawline, sexy lips, dark eyes.

  How was I enough for someone like him?

  What had I done to deserve to be loved so unconditionally?

  Weak and stupid, I couldn’t survive on my own. I’d had two roommates back in America because I was just a bartender who couldn’t stand on my own two feet. I had no ambitions in life.

  His eyes homed in on my face. “Don’t do that.”

  My eyes flicked to his face.

  “You look like that every time you hate yourself.”

  For a man so…manly, he had unparalleled intuition. He could read between the lines when other men couldn’t. He could see what others could not. Or maybe he just knew me the way I knew him. “Is that something you would notice with your French girls a lot?” I didn’t say whore because it seemed demeaning, even though that was exactly what they were. If I got paid to have sex with Fender, I’d probably do it too.

  His eyes focused on me for a while before he answered. “Yes.”

  I could barely tolerate it, and no amount of money would make me tolerate it better. I wasn’t one of his French girls. Nor would I ever be.

  “Don’t compare yourself to them. I don’t.”

  I studied his face.

  “Because every time I was with them, I wished it were you.”

  The estate was fille
d with people.

  Women in gowns. Men in tuxedos. Flutes of champagne were delivered to guests, as well as tiny appetizers guests could enjoy in a single bite. The house was decorated with extravagant flowers, and a string quartet played instrumental music that made the moment identical to a scene in a movie. I’d lived a life of luxury for months now, and I never got used to the wealth Fender possessed. I never got used to the things money could buy.

  My look was achieved by professionals. All I had to do was sit there as the team transformed me into an image I’d never be able to replicate without weeks of practice. My hair was done beautifully, my makeup pristine, and my gown was probably as expensive as one of his cars.

  But the hours and money were all worth it when Fender looked at me.

  His gaze seared into mine as we walked up the stairs. Possession burned bright, like he wanted to push me up against the wall and take me right then and there. Pride was there too, like he was the only man who could ever have a woman like me. A million emotions and thoughts happened in just a few seconds. I saw love, devotion, and commitment in there, too.

  It went against everything I believed in—but I felt like the lucky one.

  With his hand on my lower back, he spoke to his acquaintances in French, and I chimed in whenever I understood enough to say something intelligent.

  Whenever I did that, he gave me a look of pride and brought me closer, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

  It made me melt every time.

  Made me feel good about myself.

  Caught up in Fender, I forgot about the reason I’d looked forward to this evening.

  Until I saw him.

  Magnus walked up and greeted his brother with a stare.

  I didn’t know what to do, so I looked away.

  They exchanged words in French, and one word stood out the most. Napoleon. Quick words were exchanged back and forth, too fast for me to pick up on, but I could tell that Fender was irked.