Diamonds in the Rough

by Charmaine Pauls

  She folds her arms around her stomach. “A man died because of me.”

  I slowly continue my advance. “He knew what the job entailed when he signed up.”

  “Is Damian involved in the mafia? Is that why you’re keeping me?”

  Stopping, I rub a hand over my face.

  “Damn you, Maxime. Tell me! A man died tonight.”

  The implied meaning hangs in the air. It could’ve been her. Tilting my head toward the ceiling, I sigh. “Damian is involved with his own mafia in prison. It’s got nothing to do with us.”

  “Then why keep me?”

  I wasn’t going to tell her, but the game is no longer the same. I’m never letting her go. What difference does it make if she knows? She’s right. After tonight, it only seems fair.

  Taking a deep breath, I say, “Your brother is planning on taking back a diamond deposit he discovered. The mine currently belongs to Harold Dalton.”

  “Dalton?” she exclaims. “The man who put Damian in prison?”

  “Yes. He stole Damian’s discovery and framed him.”

  “What does that have to do with you?”

  “Dalton sells the diamonds directly to us, cutting out the middleman. We want to make sure your brother will sell to us when he takes over.”

  She gapes at me. “You’re that certain Damian will succeed?”

  “I’ve been privy to his plans. My money is on him.”

  “Just in case, you needed something to blackmail Damian.”

  My look is level. “Yes.”

  “That’s why you took me.” The revelation settles slowly in her eyes. “You were never going to hurt Damian. You need him.” Her lips part on a soundless gasp. “You lied to me.”

  I don’t deny it.

  Anger washes over her features. “You twisted the truth. You used me. You made me submit to you with a lie. I could’ve defied you,” she says with disbelief. “I could’ve run. Nothing would’ve happened to my brother.”

  I close the distance between us. “One way or another, I had to bring you here. I chose the non-violent way.”

  Her entire body trembles as the betrayal peels away. Finally, she sees what she’s fallen for—the real me, the monster hidden beneath a well-cut suit bearing gifts and kindness. She sees through my plan, and she knows it’s too late. She’s already caught in my web.

  “Why are you telling me now?” she asks, shaking so much her jaw quakes. “You’re never going to let me see my brother again, are you? That’s why you don’t care that I know. I can’t tell Damian the truth if I never see him again.”

  Cupping her cheek, I stroke a thumb over that trembling jaw. “I won’t let you go, Zoe. Not in four years. Never. You’re mine. Your place is here.” I apply the gentlest of pressure, making her pretty lips pout. “What you better understand is it won’t end well for you if you run. I will always find you.”

  She grips my forearms as her knees buckle under the weight of the truth. It’s a sugar-coated threat, but she’s learned enough lessons to let her imagination run wild with consequences.

  I give her time to process it. I give her space when she shoves me away. Her fingers flitter to her lips as she looks around the room like a trapped animal.

  “Too much has happened tonight,” I say. “Let me take care of you.”

  “How?” she asks with a mocking laugh. “By locking me up? By lying to me?”

  “By taking you to bed. The sun will be up soon. You need to rest.”

  “If Damian finds out I’m here, what will you tell him?”

  “That you’re here because you want to be.”

  She looks at me as if I’ve slapped her. “How will you explain a lie like that?”

  “I went to South Africa to meet with Dalton about business. We had dinner and shared a bottle of wine. I asked about the diamond discovery. He told me about Damian, and how your brother stole a diamond from his house and ended up in prison. I found that hard to believe, seeing that Damian discovered a riverbed full of them. My curiosity was piqued, so I looked you up. One thing led to another.”

  “Just like that,” she says, the strange look on her face not wavering.

  “Yes. Now come to bed.”

  Turning her back on me, she walks to the liquor tray. A drink is probably a good idea. A little alcohol will help her sleep. A glass falls over. She’s anything but steady. I cross the floor to help her, and then stop dead as she spins around, pushing the icepick against my chest.

  Chapter 8

  Zoe

  * * *

  The compassion in Maxime’s eyes only makes me want to kill him more. This man has betrayed me in so many ways. He lied about killing Damian. He stole me. He stole my virginity. He kept the fact that he’s a mafia boss conveniently hidden from me. He teaches me cruel lessons. He controls every aspect of my life. By claiming me, he’s put me in danger. He knew how his secrets would impact me, yet he made me dependent on him. He trapped me with his sick games, physically and emotionally, and now I’ll always be a pawn for his opponents to get to him. This is as much as I can take.

  I push the sharp point of the icepick a little harder, letting it pierce the fabric of his shirt. “Give me the passport you used to smuggle me out of South Africa.”

  His lips lift in one corner. “When you have it, what are you going to do with it?”

  “I’m going to leave,” I say through clenched teeth. “You’re going to give me money and a car, and you’re going to let me go.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Go where?”

  “Where you’ll never find me.”

  “A place like that doesn’t exist, little flower. I’ll turn the world upside down if I have to, and you’ll only end up right back here.”

  It makes me feel like a hamster running in place in a wheel. So futile. “Give it to me!” I push harder, feeling the barrier of his strong chest against the weapon.

  He looks down at me, his arms resting at his sides. “Go ahead. Stab me, Zoe. You’ll want to move the tip up a centimeter and a fraction to the left if you want to hit my heart.”

  I do it. I follow his guidance and let the point rest against his heart. He’s killing me little by little, destroying what’s left of me. I can’t live like this anymore.

  His cold, gray eyes mock me. “What are you waiting for?”

  I put my weight behind the pick. I’m shaking so much it’s hard to keep the shaft steady. The point meets more resistance, hard muscle and scarred flesh. How many kisses have I planted on that flesh? How many times have I traced his imperfect skin to hear him exhale with a shudder? How many nights have I harbored hope in my chest, hope to escape, hope that he’ll return a drop of my feelings? Because if he doesn’t, I’m afraid I’ll lose my soul. My unrequited affection will slowly poison me. The bitterness of being forever unloved and eternally lonely will chip away at my heart until nothing but hard, polished hate is left. I hate him as much as I love him, but I hate myself more for loving him. It’s the worst suffering. Insupportable.

  Tears pool in my eyes as I try to harm him. I have to do this. I have to save myself. I start crying when he doesn’t stop me as I push harder. A crimson drop flowers over the fabric of his shirt. It’s the color of life, of love. It’s the color of him. Beneath it all, he’s exactly what he said—just a man.

  My fingers loosen around the shaft. Every bone in my body shakes. The icepick falls with a clatter on the floor. It’s a harsh sound, cruel and devastating. A sob tears from my chest.

  Moving like lightning, he grabs my wrist. Even if my hand is empty now, his hold is like an iron shackle. The other hand finds purchase in my hair. He yanks my head back with force and crushes our mouths together. The kiss is as brutal as the threat I couldn’t carry out. He forces me onto my knees by my hair, following me down to the floor.

  The sting on my scalp makes my eyes water as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly. Stretching out over me, he pushes my shorts and underwear over my hips and grabs the root of his cock
in his hand. I barely have time to take a breath before he impales me, thrusting so deep it hurts. I cry out, tears of defeat leaking from the corners of my eyes.

  Is this what I’ve reduced myself to? A killer? I don’t want to become like him. More so, I can never harm him. It’s twisted, but I can control it as little as I can control my love. I care way too much.

  Placing a palm over the bloodstain on his shirt, I whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  He lifts up on one arm and scans my face with his solemn, gray gaze. “I know.”

  He spears his fingers through my hair, caressing my scalp and wiping away the hurt. Framing my face between his palms, he kisses my eyes and cheeks. He kisses my lips as he starts moving, setting a slow pace. I rock in his arms, letting his gentle strength soothe me. I fall deeper under his spell as his body calls and mine answers. I bow to his magic, gasping into his mouth as my back arches from the pleasure. It’s different than how we normally fuck. It’s desperate, yet tender. It’s a celebration of life. I could’ve lost him tonight. My threat of killing him was all bluffing, nothing but manipulation to let me go. I don’t want him dead. Yet his life is dangerous. I can lose him every day. To live this fear over and over, day after day, I’m not sure I can do it.

  I gasp into our kiss. “I’m scared.”

  He wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “You’re brave.”

  “Not enough.”

  “You underestimate yourself.”

  I moan when he hits a barrier deep inside. The trauma of tonight makes everything that’s churning in my chest spills out. “Will you love me?”

  He smiles. For once, the gesture isn’t mocking or haughty, but kind. “Am I not loving you now?”

  “You know what I mean.” I need more than making love. I need the love that bleeds red, the kind that flows from his heart.

  A trace of regret softens his features. “I’ve given you all I’m capable of.”

  At least this is the one thing he’s honest about. Maxime will never be able to love me. The pain is dazzling. It’s pure. It’s beautiful, because it’s born from love. It only hurts as deep as you feel.

  Pressing his lips on my ear, he offers me a consolation. He dangles temptation. “Let me give you what I have.”

  I’m not strong enough. I give in. I follow his lead, rolling my hips to his tempo when he pushes a hand between our bodies to find my clit. I snake my arms around his neck, holding him close to me. I take his pleasure, and give him mine. As I come around him, he comes inside, filling me with his essence for the first time, giving me all that he has.

  I’m boneless in the aftermath, depleted by the emotional turmoil and extreme pleasure. Maxime adjusts our clothes, gathers me in his arms, and carries me upstairs. We shower together. When I try to wash away the blood from the nick I’ve left on his skin, he brushes my hand away. The old Maxime is back, unsettlingly intense and slightly distant.

  In bed, he pulls me against his body.

  Leaning my head on his shoulder, I trace the bumpy skin of his torso. “Why haven’t you come inside me before?”

  He stares at the ceiling, gently brushing a palm over my arm, and says in his beautiful accent, “I didn’t want to ruin you.”

  “Ruin me?” I frown. “Ruin me how?”

  His voice is like a far-off star in the dark—elusive and intangible, untouchable like every other part of him. “You’re pure.”

  “And now?” I stroke a hand down his stomach to trace the line of hair that starts under his navel. His choice of words makes me smile. “Am I impure?”

  His tone is solemn. “Now you’re mine.”

  I trail my palm farther south, cupping his erection. “I thought you said I was that already.”

  “This is different.”

  I squeeze gently. “How?”

  “Now,” he says, still not meeting my eyes, “you’re my property.”

  I still. The declaration slices through me. I didn’t think it was possible for him to hurt me more. I pull away from him with a wry smile. I guess that’s Maxime, honest to the point of cutting me to the bone.

  “Thanks for telling me,” I say. “I thought it might’ve been something a little less coldhearted like enjoying the intimacy of such an act with your fuck toy.”

  He removes his arm from around me and sits up. Soft light washes over the room when he flicks on the nightstand lamp. Flashing me with a view of his hard, naked body, he walks to the dressing room and closes the door. A short moment later, he exits dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, carrying a sports bag.

  My gaze is drawn to the bag. “What are you doing?”

  He drops the bag on the floor and sits down next to me. “Spread your arms and legs.”

  My breath catches. “What?”

  His look is gentle, encouraging even. “You heard me.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to tie you up.”

  My mouth goes dry. “Why?”

  “Spread them, Zoe. I don’t want to use force with you after what happened tonight.”

  Fear snakes up my spine. “Are you going to hurt me?”

  “I’ll never hurt you.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I may frustrate you.”

  “You’re into kink?” I ask, even if it shouldn’t surprise me. He’s virile, and he has a strong libido. He’s also depraved and lacks a moral compass. I bet he’s into worse than kink. “You’re not into torture, are you?”

  His eyes tighten. “I’m not my brother.”

  Wrong thing to say. His brother seems to be a trigger for his anger. Impatiently, he grips my wrist and lifts it above my head. I keep still because I don’t have a choice. I can’t fight him off. Doing so will only stimulate his excitement. Maxime loves it when I fight.

  My pulse jumps when he takes four coils of rope from the bag. Everything inside me wants to resist, but I’m powerless as he binds me spread-eagled to the bed. It’s what he takes out of the bag next that makes me regret my surrender.

  “What the hell is that?” I ask, staring at the purple vibrator mounted on a rubber sling and a silicone plug with a flat stopper.

  “Sex toys.”

  “I’m not in the mood, Maxime.”

  He gives me an apologetic smile. “I know.”

  He takes a tube of lube from the bag and applies a copious amount to the butt plug and vibrator before inserting both gently. He wiggles the vibrator until the bulbous end fits snugly inside and the smaller one on my clit, then pulls the sling over my folds at the front and through my ass cheeks at the back to attach it to a belt he straps around my waist. Like this, the toys can’t slip free.

  “Do I need to gag you?” he asks.

  “No,” I cry out. “I don’t like to feel that helpless.”

  He drags a finger from my temple to my jaw. “Then not a sound, understand?” Taking a small remote from the bag, he pushes on a button. The vibrator starts humming softly. He kicks it up two notches until the vibration penetrates my G-spot and clit. It’s pleasant, but not so intense that I want to come.

  “Comfortable?” he asks in a husky voice.

  I give a nervous nod.

  Gripping the sheet, he covers my body. “The toy has eight hours of battery life. After last night, we weren’t going anywhere today, anyway.”

  Wait. What? He can’t mean what I’m thinking.

  He bends down and kisses my forehead. His deep voice is pure evil. “Sleep well, my little flower.”

  “You can’t leave me like this.”

  He turns for the door.

  “Wait,” I call when he grips the handle. “Untie me, Maxime. Please.”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Why are you doing this?” I cry out.

  He turns back to face me. “Tonight was the first and last time you threatened my life. I gave you one chance only. You wasted it. It’ll never happen again.” He drags his gaze one more time over my sheet-covered body before stepping out and closing the door.

  I can’t
believe it. He’s serious. He’s punishing me by leaving me like this until the vibrator battery runs flat. Indignant anger heats my veins as other parts of my body heat with unwanted arousal. I try to mentally override the sensations by focusing on my vexation, but the physical won’t be denied. I feel because I’m human. I become needy despite my desire not to.

  The setting is too low to get me off quickly. It takes a long time, and finally I’m so frustrated I wiggle and squirm to set the orgasm off. The relief is instantaneous and intense, but brief. My clit is oversensitive. I can barely tolerate the uninterrupted hum penetrating my flesh and bones. Moving in an attempt to escape the torturous stimulation doesn’t help. The toy is strapped on too tightly.

  After suffering the relentless vibrations for the longest time ever, pleasure starts to build anew. My need climbs. I’m wet, and it only makes it worse. Somehow, the assault on my lower body parts feels more intense, or maybe it’s just because my body is so sensitive after the first orgasm. The need for release rises slowly, driving me to tears. It’s like a rubber band that stretches and stretches. When the tension finally breaks, I’m panting. Unfortunately, this time I hardly feel the release, because the need is as constant now as the unbearable sensitivity of my flesh. My clit throbs, and my folds are swollen. My nipples remain hard. My lower body contracts as another cycle of need commences.

  I’m clenching my teeth not to make a sound. I won’t give Maxime the satisfaction. By the time the sun is bright and high, I’m drenched in sweat, and the sheet around my sex is soaked. It hurts to come, but I can’t stop. Every cycle is agonizingly slow, the constant need always outweighing the brief release. It becomes so intense my whole body pulls tight with spasms until my toes curl. My muscles ache. There’s a strange burning sensation on the soles of my feet. My hair sticks to my forehead. When another cruel climax takes over my body, my eyes roll back in my head.

  At some point during the afternoon, I’m so exhausted I fall asleep, only to be woken with another release that tears me apart. I don’t know how many times I come, only that when the battery finally hums too weak to wrench more agony from my body, I sink into the mattress with a sob of relief. It’s like falling into a weightless void. It’s only when I’m able relax my muscles for the first time that I realize how tense they’ve been drawn all day. I’m aching all over, but at last I can escape into the blissful reprieve of darkness.