His Pretty Little Queen: A Dark Mafia, Age Gap Romance (Kids of The District Book 5)
His Pretty Little Queen: Chapter 7

MAGGIE AND JASMINE NATTER as I pull the scones from the oven. Waves of scented heat suffuse my nose, making me hum my delight. I plop them on top of the counter, panning my gaze over the browning tops in approval.

Nailed it.

Spinning to replace Jasmine already peering over my shoulder, the glee of expectation widening her eyes, I smile, not at all surprised by her presence. ‘Surely you aren’t hungry again? These are big scones.’

‘I’ve only had a handful of Maltesers.’

I tilt my head. ‘Ah, what about the egg and bacon pie, the chicken and avocado roll, and the jelly cup?’

She arches a mocking brow at me. ‘That is otherwise known as breakfast, lunch, and a snack. Now, give me a damn buttermilk scone.’

I laugh, waving for her to help herself.

Then, the entire house prickles with static. Jasmine twists to face the entrance to the kitchen. Everyone figuratively behaves. The natter quietens down, the enchanted crockery all freezes into place, and my heart flutters to see— Heels make a dominant rapping sound of importance.

My smile slips slightly as Aurora sashays past the kitchen, rounding the counter. Then she is out of sight, but for her perfume, that adds a floral sophistication to the rich scent of the buttery scones.

She has a similar aura to Clay. For a moment… I thought it might be him home from work.

I dart my gaze to the scones, wondering whether I should offer her one. Then I picture her figure so— She is probably a kale and edamame bean girl… Yet another way she is like Clay Butcher. His words float into my ears, coaxing my lips into a smile again. ‘I am rather addicted to sweet things lately.’

I untie my apron.

Plucking a scone from the warm silicon mould, I slide it carefully onto a plate with a knife and butter pouch and wander after her.

I replace her sitting on the sofa in the living room. Her dark hair cascading like a silky night-time waterfall down her slender figure. Her spine is relaxed to the backrest, her legs folded elegantly, hands set on her thighs with the old book braced softly in her lap, and she looks even more stunning in this effortless evening state.

It’s hard to bury the creeping vines of envy; it is hard to ignore her flawless beauty, her potent femininity. It’s fucking impossible to ignore the huge diamond on her ring finger; the faucets create all the colours of the rainbow every fucking time she turns the page.

I attempt to ignore the mocking piece of jewellery as I approach, but just like the fucking crockery in this mansion, it somehow appears animated.

I swallow thickly. ‘So…’ I say to draw her attention. ‘You don’t like cooking, but I bet you like scones.’

She smiles politely. ‘Did you bake those?’

‘Yes. Well, with Maggie’s supervision,” I say, offering her the plate.

She accepts it before glancing at the spot beside her. ‘Would you like to sit with me?’

‘Um.’ Yes. I shrug a little to stop myself from saying that word. ‘Okey dokey.’

‘Have you ever read The Secret Garden?’

‘No.’ Taking a place beside her, I lean back on the armrest, pulling my knees up to the side. ‘It’s an old one, right? I’ve read a Colleen Hoover. Oh, and Erin Mc Luckie Moya has this Motorcycle Romance series called The Hell Hounds and that’s really hot and the heroes are all—’

Shut up, Fawn.

‘Never mind,’ I say through a chuckle.

‘Well, this isn’t a romance, but it has elements. Mary has just become an orphan and has been taken in by her uncle and he’s—’

I laugh. ‘Bossy and controlling? Does she call him Sir?’

She chuckles huskily. ‘It’s not that type of story. See, she’s in a strange new place. I think you’ll like it.’ Then she starts to read aloud from a chapter somewhere in the middle, and my nerves spark, provoking a twitch in my muscles.

What do I do now?

I shuffle a little.

As Aurora reads, the story unfolds.

Soon enough, I’m transfixed by her and the narrative. It is a unique experience to sit and listen and visualise. It’s entirely unique to be read such words in her husky melodic cadence. And it feels nice. So much like what I imagined sitting with a sister might, or even a mother. It feels like family.

I lose track of time as she reads, lost in the garden with Mary and Dickon and Colin as they navigate their differences, understand them, and test each other, form friendships—form something like family.

‘Everything is made out of magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So, it must be all around us. In this garden—in all the places.’

‘I like that,’ I say, pulling the grey mink blanket higher and nestling further into the cream-coloured sofa. ‘My mother used to say things like that. About magic and Mother Nature.’

She gazes up from the worn leather book—and I have decided that all books should be worn and made of leather. Not clothes. That doesn’t add up to me, but fashionable worn books make sense.

‘Do you miss her?’ she asks.

‘No,’ I say as almost a punch to the air, and Aurora smiles in a way that challenges that declaration. ‘I don’t,” I press again. “She didn’t prepare me for the world and then the world became hard, and people became mean. I never had rules before because, like, who would enforce them? She was never around.’

Jasmine appears and kisses the top of my head. ‘Night, Fawn. I’m going home.’ She turns to Aurora. ‘Can I get you anything before I leave, Mrs Butcher?’

‘No, Jasmine. That’s fine. Drive safely,’ Aurora says politely, as she turns her large, almost, liquor-coloured eyes back to me. ‘Keep going, Fawn.’

I smile at Jasmine as she leaves. ‘My mum would appear, then disappear in the space of a few minutes. I was alone so much; that is what I remember most now.’ I look down at my fingers as I play with the ends of my blonde hair, muttering, ‘Being alone.’

‘Well, yes, but you also remember the magic and Mother Nature,’ she points out, looking back at the book with a peculiar curve to her lips.

‘Yeah. I do remember her silly ideologies. The moon has power, ya know? It can cure anything. The earth, too. I embraced the spiritual side of my upbringing for many years, and I—I still believe in some things… to a degree. The moon does have a lot of power. I mean, the tides, that energy, it affects every living thing. We are full of water…’ I stop myself. ‘Anyway, she was just ridiculous most of the time, though. I didn’t have time to be ridiculous after she died.’

I didn’t have time for magic.

Or to miss her.

I don’t miss her.

She taps the book cover with her slender index finger, her mauve-coloured nail making a gentle tapping sound against the hide. ‘Well, Mary is a spoilt little orphan who needed more magic and fewer rules, more ridiculous things in her neat un-fantastical life.’

I raise an eyebrow at her. ‘You think I’m like Mary?’

‘Well, your stories have similarities. Mary was very attention deprived, but… No. I don’t think you’re like Mary. I think I am,’ she confirms, and I frown, not seeing the comparison between the bratty girl from The Secret Garden and the bewitching creature that is Aurora Butcher.

‘You’re kidding, right? You’re—’ I laugh dubiously, lost for more words. ‘Perfect.’

Smooth.

‘I’m spoilt,’ she says, allowing my gushing statement about her perfection to go unexplored.

Thank fuck.

She continues. ‘I’m never alone. Wanting for nothing. But I’m entirely unmagical.‘

‘Your life is magical.’

‘No, sweet Fawn. It’s privileged. I don’t remember the last time I looked at the moon. And I’ve certainly never believed it to have powers. The only power I know is the one wielded by money and demanded with a loaded gun.’

‘What about your mum?’

‘My father had her leave the estate when I was young. They remained legally married, of course, until the day she died. You don’t divorce in Cosa Nostra; a wife knows too much to be set free entirely. But me and my sisters? Well, he owned us, you see. We would stay here and be raised to be the perfect daughters so he could one day use us like chattel.’

I’ll never marry Clay Butcher.

The thought comes to me unbidden, like a whisper of unwanted truth. My shoulders sink. When Luca spoke of being the right woman for him, somewhere in my hopeful mind, I imagined we might be a traditional couple one day.

I gaze at Aurora, then at her provocative wedding ring, unable to shove down the urge to wince. I can’t imagine a better-suited creature for Clay than her. And the truth is, I like her so much… but… her statement is just so… definitive.

I nibble my bottom lip as she studies my response to her words with soft contemplation. ‘Clay and I are both locked into this arrangement, Fawn,’ she finally says. ‘Don’t let it change the way you experience his affections. See it for the arbitrary condition it is. Would you rather wear his ring around your finger every day or his body around yours each night?’

The click of the front door opening and then closing interrupts the intimacy of our conversation.

She glances back to see who appears through the hallway, although we both know it must be Clay as the hour is late and only one strong rap is heading towards us. My heart races in anticipation of seeing him.

Would you rather wear his ring around your finger every day or his body around yours each night? Her words sail through my mind, and I gaze once again at the oddly-animated-inanimate object on her finger.

Shut up, ring.

Had I been able to answer her in our private moment, I would have said, ‘His body each night.’

Of course.

Clay enters the room and with him comes a thick, ominous current. Chills rush straight to the depth of my soul. I hold my breath but can’t tear my gaze away from the gruesome image; under his right eye, blood has started to harden in an angry gash. Sprayed across his white dress shirt are frenzied red stains. The kind that came about through brutality, beaten from the source, hitting the material under immense pressure.

His hand grasps a small plastic animal carrier, the cage part covered in a pink cloth. I don’t know what to do. Or say. There is something wild about the sight of him.

Contradictory, too.

Clay’s eyes shift emotionlessly from me to Aurora and back again, holding mine for a beat. I don’t understand his expression right now.

He lifts the carrier and places it on the table, before unlatching the door and reaching inside to reveal an all-white kitten wriggling in his big, bruised hand.

My eyes widen. I jump to my feet, intent on getting to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him until the callousness in his gaze melts in my love. A thank you. Or support. Anything to break this moment when my man and everything arrives late covered in bloody events but brings me a white kitten to soften the blow.

As I move towards him, he halts me with the subtle lift of his finger. My gaze instantly snagged on the raw skin and blood marring angry-looking knuckles.

He puts the kitten on the floor. It wobbles around, legs wobbly and uncertain, slowly meandering towards me.

I swallow harshly, rooted to the spot.

He nods to the kitten. ‘Stay. Play.’ And then he tilts his head to the couch I was sitting on before casually continuing up the staircase towards our room, leaving me in his absence, with a consolation prize.

I lift the fluffy white animal up with one hand, her belly the size of my palm, legs dangling over my fingers. Warmth spreads through me as soon as I feel the soft, fragile thing wriggle and a little meow squeak from her.

I study her. She has heterochromia, just like me. I smile despite the discomfort I have for Clay; she makes me happy. She somehow looks like me. White hair. One green eye and one blue. I’ll protect her.

I squeeze her to my chest, and look at the empty staircase, wanting to tell him how she makes my skin warm. How I’ll love her, will look after her. How responsible I will be for her.

But he’s not available…

I sigh. When it’s about me, when my demons are surfacing and toying with our lives, he is like the sun.

Shining on me. I’m the only person in the entire world. But when it’s about him, it’s an eclipse, and everyone is in the dark, without warmth.

I remember when he tried to leave me after the incident at the pool, when he told me the fate of my brothers, after he took revenge on Lee in some horrific way. He tried to leave me in the dark then too. It was only my own pathetic drama that held him grounded to me. He placed my pain over his need to escape into whatever stoic façade he depends on to survive the evil in his life. Even now—I gaze at the little creature—he ensures I have company, affection…

Aurora stands up, reading me as my eyes flick to linger on the empty staircase where his dark, sad presence still resides. ‘Follow him up,’ she says without hesitation.

I drag my longing focus away from the direction he walked and meet her beautiful brown eyes. ‘He bought me a cat, Aurora. A white cat. My mum would have said she symbolises purity and innocence. She’s good luck.’

Aurora looks at the kitten, not at all swooned by its presence as I am. ‘Let’s hope she is.’

I tuck the kitten under my neck, her pearly fur brushing along my throat and jaw while she wriggles around in my hands. ‘I can’t go after him. He told me to stay.’

‘He doesn’t know what he wants right now. Go up there and collect his clothes, shoes, everything he wore tonight. Put his clothes straight into the machine—’

I speak through a shake of my head, still picturing the blood all over his shirt, still seeing the violence in each slash of crimson. ‘I don’t think he wants me to bother him.’

She goes on as though I never spoke. ‘Join him in the shower. Remind him you’re there. Let him be raw with you.’

A sad scoff leaves me. ‘He won’t let himself—’

‘Fawn.’ She steps towards me, getting close enough that I need to arch my neck to stare up at her, a flawless beauty, and my complete opposite—olive skin and dark liquor-coloured eyes. A regal expression laced in wisdom far beyond her thirty-something years. She tucks a blonde hair behind my ear, saying, ‘Just let him know he can be… when he’s ready.’

My heart seems to vibrate in my throat when her soft fingers skate along my cheek. I swallow around the sensation, whispering, ‘Is that what you would do?’

She eyes me closely. ‘If I were you, yes. He’s very considerate to take care of you.’ She glances at the ball of wriggling fluff. ‘Even when he can’t do it himself.’

He is. I snuggle into the fumbling thing at my neck. ‘Do you love Clay?’ I ask, the words slipping out unexpectedly and breathy.

She smiles. ‘With everything I am. But not in the way that will ever affect your relationship with him.’

The idea of disobeying him stirs inside me, a hot medley of both thrill and fear and disrespect. Not because I’m concerned; he’d ever hurt me—I don’t think—but disappointing him would be the worst feeling imaginable.

‘Use your voice, little deer.’

I want to be the right woman for him. Like Luca said. I place my kitten on the floor. ‘What about her?’

‘I’ll have Que organise a playpen for her.’

Que, Jasmine’s dad and Clay’s Houseman, lives here so he is always prepared for what might be requested.

Looking at the kitten one last time, I nod my understanding, because he’s using the kitten to distract me, and no matter how much I love her, I love him endlessly more.

He can’t pull an adorable fluffy wall over my eyes when he obviously needs me. So I wander up the stairs, leaving Aurora and The Secret Garden, and my kitten behind for tomorrow.

In our room, I head straight for the bathroom where there is no noise, no indication of what I might replace on the other side of the door.

As I push the door open, my pulse moves from a vibrating mass in my throat to a drum between my ears.

My breath hitches when I’m met with the most breathtaking blue eyes staring at me in the reflection of the mirror. Within the deep sky-coloured abyss, he can’t hide the cracks in his pristine manner. Can’t hide the crumbling of his control over his own emotions. Is that why he doesn’t want me nearby?

I walk slowly towards him, the material of my little nude-coloured dress sliding over my thighs with each step. His gaze drinks me in with disapproval and anger and lust, and the caress of the soft cotton on my skin soon becomes a tangible promise screamed from the darkest depths of the mysterious man in front of me.

Clay’s eyes stalk me as I slide up onto the counter, parting my legs to allow for his breadth and desperately trying to ignore the dangerous crack of energy between us. I part my lips to help breathe through his electrified aura.

Contrary to the staunch, hard wall of muscles in front of me, my hands shake as I replace the buttons on his shirt and begin popping each one free.

Once open, I slide my hands over the solid rolling canvas of his abdominals and up over the thick hard plane of his chest. I continue over each shoulder, sliding the shirt from his arms and watching it disappear to the floor.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ I say to him, and he tries to hide his grimace, but I catch it like a butterfly. It was raw. I don’t let it elude me. I saw it. I’m going to put it in my heart where I can protect it forever.

The slice on his cheek looks thick and swollen, the edges curving over a deep valley, the signs of the night’s darkness strengthening the mark of pain and overwhelming emotion buried in his gaze.

I love you so much.

Let me in…

Beside me is a neatly folded towelette. I pick it up, soften it with warm water, and dab the nasty wound below his right eye.

And I’ve never seen anyone suddenly turn to stone before, but somehow even beneath the washcloth, I feel him harden to concrete. The emotions he was barely hiding are now gone completely, swallowed by darkness, replaced with cool, blue detachment.

My eyes fill with tears as I clean the wound. He only watches me. My heart starts to shudder with each burst of emotion, with each moment he doesn’t respond. Will he always be like this? Guarded.

‘Talk to me,’ I beg, my hand becoming clumsy as I try to clean the gash while the tears break free, clouding my vision. ‘Please, Sir, talk to me.’

Disdain crosses his stern features when he catches my wrist, bringing it down to look at my fingers curled around the blood-soaked towelette. And something, a moment, a memory, flashes within his blue gaze.

He stares at my hand with a strange kind of melancholy that confuses me. I swallow as my nerves twitch, a sure warning to leave him alone while he’s acting so chillingly unstable.

He pries my fingers open, removing the cotton from within my curled hand. It is as though he’s buried so deep inside his own head right now, I’m afraid he’ll struggle to replace the surface soon.

‘Clay?’ I sob a little.

His eyes meet mine.

Then he shuts his, holding them like that for a long moment before, oh God, his forehead meets mine and he exhales hard. Riding down his breath is defeat—real and honest and painful.

I immediately cup the back of his neck to hold him to me, to accept the sentiment. Accept him. I cry for him—I know he won’t—and he lets me do it while holding him close.

‘A man gets used to being alone,’ he says, and I sniffle at the sound of his deep twisted timbre. ‘Then a little deer comes into his life, and she wants to open him up. She wants to let all that fucking evil out.’

‘I can handle your evil.’

‘No. You can’t.’ He lifts his head, and I mourn his closeness instantly. ‘I won’t allow such a thing.’ He leans in and kisses the tears on my cheek, dragging his mouth along the slant of mine, to my other cheek, where he breaks the streams of my sorrow with his lips. He licks a tear clean off my face. ‘Butchers don’t cry,’ he lets slip, growling as his tongue comes out to lick the tears worshipfully.

And I’m not a Butcher.

Never will be.

That little statement stings, although he can’t possibly know that. He adds, ‘I don’t want you to handle any evil for me, my sweet girl.’

I start to melt, feeling the heat from his body intensify, the burn from his words gathering inside me. ‘Let me be what you need, Sir. I can be what you need.’

‘You are,’ he utters, his tone deep and dripping in anguish, but also a kind of volatile arousal. I shuffle closer. It’s welcomed. All of him. His lips on my skin. His hot breath cascading down me, coating me.

And he’s going to let me comfort him, so I ready myself for whatever he needs, for what is clear as day in his body—

He tears himself away, taking one step backwards, abruptly ending my thoughts.

I whimper at the loss.

Steeling, he orders, ‘Now, be my good girl and wait in the bedroom for me.’

Aurora’s words resonate in me for a moment—’Just let him know he can be… when he’s ready’—and they help guide me off the counter without allowing his dismissal to hurt my heart further. When he’s ready. ‘Yes, Sir.’ I sober my expression and respect his order, leaving him in his own company.

Entering the bedroom, I immediately slide my gown off and lay it on my pillow. Neatly. I walk to the mirror to confront the girl from the recording, unwilling to let another day go by that I am not the right woman for him. To truly do that, I have to accept who I am, believe in myself, and see what he sees… what Aurora sees, too.

How do I help him if he feels as though I can barely help myself? How can I be his emotional rock if he’s always mine?

The shower turns on in the bathroom just as I meet my own gaze. Staring at my naked reflection, my figure a slim shape with soft curves, I repeat Clay’s words of affirmation to myself. Brave.

Resilient.

Beautiful.

His.

Powerful.

My breathe vibrate as I sit backwards on the edge of the ottoman, spread my thighs, and for the first time ever, I really look at what was worth more to my foster brothers than me. The part of me that was more prized than the whole.

Is it trust? I had asked Clay this a few days ago. Is it about trusting my own body?

My body lied to me.

It lied to them…

When I held them to me, when I clung to their thrusts, when I barely fought back…

Tears scorch the back of my eyes as I press the tip of my finger into the crease at the top, sinking in until I hit the sensitive bundle of nerves, and then I slide down the valley. I twitch at the sensation. My skin flushes.

A single tear drops through my lashes. Continuing until I’m above the entrance, I push my finger in, curling my back to aid in seeking the depth I desire. The depth I’m accustomed to with him… Moans sound through a tight throat—a whimper.

I whimpered for them.

The sound clogs my airway because that’s a lie, too. The sounds of whimpers, mewls, yelps, cries, all lies, so interchangeable, so ambiguous. Am I in pain or pleasure— how do I know?

When they pushed into me, I whimpered and they egged each other on, fuelled by my sounds.

I start to shake under the memory, holding it all in, and then—I don’t. I spear my fingers deeper, leaning forward to aid the depth, loving the sensation while sobs racket through my trembling muscles. Tears burst from my eyes, spitting from the pressure in my head, and I sob it all out, because it wasn’t my body that lied.

It wasn’t my voice.

It wasn’t—It wasn’t my fault.

It wasn’t my fault!

Panting, I sit back and slide my fingers from the wet depth of my centre. I breathe deeply. Think about the man who I belong to, and how he belongs—just a little bit— to me.

He thinks this is pretty.

I look at my pussy again. I’m pink inside. Pretty. He’s right. There are pleats of rouge skin, not unlike a rose; there’s a silkiness to the flesh, not unlike the satin feel of the petals.

My mind drifts to the elegant face of Aurora, to the softness of her caress as she brushed my hair behind my ear.

Clay’s wife likes women… So maybe if I belong to Aurora, too. If I become someone she wants around, likes around, then… I will really be a part of their family. Forever.

I twist my finger.

The muscles inside me cling to the penetration; they are smooth and responsive, and Clay is right about this too; they are strong.

When I purposefully clench my fingers, a wave of warmth moves throughout my entire body, peaking at the tips of my ears. I hum softly.

‘Completely natural, little deer. Keep going.’

Suddenly, the absence of splashing is deafening, and I don’t know when that happened, so I jolt my head to the side and catch Clay leaning on the door frame to the dressing room, watching me with the beloved scorching gaze that takes every curl of my fingers up a notch.

‘Don’t you dare stop,’ he orders, rubbing the thick bulge of his cock beneath the towel hanging at his hips. He groans as he applies pressure, hissing, ‘Show me.’

‘You like to watch?’ I breathe the sentence, even though I know the answer. I turn away from him, not that it helps. His energy is potent, and it spurs me on.

‘I like to watch you.‘ His lips twitch in a grin; the now cleaned wound under his eye does nothing to lessen such a breathtaking sight. ‘You’re so shy as you first reach between your thighs,’ he says. ‘Your eyes widen when you replace a sweet spot. You blush but still press down on that special little place, your mouth parting in surprise when your body responds. Then,’—his grin grows—’you smile because you’re so proud of yourself… It’s the single most endearing thing I have ever seen.’

My cheeks warm instantly, but I continue to explore with the soft tips of my fingers, husky moans twisting my words as I speak to him. ‘You have been keeping yourself from me, Sir. It isn’t fair. I miss the taste of you in my mouth.’

I hear the arousal in his voice as he says, ‘So you could replace yourself again, sweet girl. What a fantastic result.’

‘You’re so bossy.’

‘It is my greatest privilege discovering what my sweet, young girl needs. I admit, I didn’t anticipate it may be another pretty body like your own to explore.’

I gasp, freezing my fingers on the slick swell of my lips. Twisting to face him, I mutter, ‘What did you say?’

A darkness shifts across his eyes. ‘You said her name, little deer.’ I did? He takes a step towards me, warning following the meaningful gait. ‘I don’t share you.’

‘I don’t—’

‘Have you ever been with a woman?’

‘No.’ I stand up, noting the way his eyes drip down my form, drinking in the sight of my body at the cusp of arousal. ‘You know I haven’t.’

‘Do you like to look at women?’

‘I don’t know, Sir. Yes, I guess.’

‘Would you like to touch Aurora?’

‘I don’t—’

‘Would you like her to touch you?’ His voice drops. ‘To kiss your skin, to slide her fingers into your wet wanting pussy?’

I breathe out hard.

God, the man has no filter.

No ‘chill’ at all.

‘I don’t know…’ I admit. There is no one else for me. I know that. Nothing I want to do that doesn’t involve him. It just seems like she is part of him… and being with her— I’m with her as often as I am him.

I clear my throat, unsure of what I’m feeling… Or mean… All I know is being away from him all day is too much distance, so when I’m with her— God, being with someone else instead of him only twists my heart and lungs into coiled ropes within my ribcage. It’s not what I want.

I start to panic.

‘Calm down, sweet girl. I told you I would take care of you,’ he grounds with that cool, smooth confidence that stirs me like nothing else in this world. ‘That you are mine. If it’s something you want to experience, then yes, I would allow it. If you ask me very nicely. If you catch me on a good day… And it would be under my supervision. Only once. I cannot guarantee the outcome.’

With his supervision? So, he’ll approve. What is that all about? Does he want to… join in?

My hands become fists at my sides. The mental imagery of him with another woman burns through me. It scorches so intensely I’m immediately maddened by it. ‘I don’t share you!’

A sly grin slides across his pristine features. ‘Greedy, girl. Sweet, sweet girl. No. I won’t take Aurora in such a way.’

‘But—’ I falter, shocked. ‘She’s so beautiful.’

‘You gush,’ he hisses out between clenched teeth, taking another one of those threatening steps towards me. As I peer up at him, I part my lips to draw the thickened air into my needy lungs. ‘She is undeniably stunning, and yet, contrary to the thoughts of simpler people, women and men can have committed relationships that are entirely‘—he lifts my chin, glaring down at me—’platonic. We don’t see each other in such a way, sweet girl. Never have.’

‘And if you see her with me?’ I question, nervous he’ll suddenly realise the ravishing creature in his house—the intelligent, powerful woman he calls wife is every bit what he desires. ‘Would you feel differently about me?’

‘Never.’

‘And her?’

‘I highly doubt I’ll be able to see anything besides another person’s hands and lips enjoying my property.’ He leans down and kisses my mouth hard, his lips stiff and bruising. Breaking away, he leaves me breathless and dizzy from his soul-capturing kiss and his possessive words. ‘Now, this conversation has me rather on edge.’

As he strides across the room, he removes the towel and places it on the end table. I watch his firm arse contract with each step before he turns to sit down on the cushions. Widening his legs with purpose, he looks at me, then at the floor between his feet. ‘Kneel.’

I rush eagerly to him, dropping between his legs, where I’m always the most contented. Settled. Safe. Owned.

Resting my head on his thigh, I gaze up at the most impressive man in existence, even as I see jealousy simmering over an event that hasn’t even transpired yet.

Is it wrong to appreciate his love for me in the form of possessiveness? If it is, then I’m guilty over and over again, because being his property is the single most contented state to be.

‘Can I suck your cock now, Sir?’ I breathe, dropping my gaze to the thick shaft that hangs between his legs. Inches away, but I know better than to touch him without permission when he’s coiled so tightly. ‘Please.’

His narrowed blue eyes meet my wide, hopeful gaze, and he says, ‘You know what your lovely manners do to me. Okay, little deer. Suck.’

I reach for his large cock, wrapping my hand around it, squeezing as it grows instantly, the strength and breadth of it prying my fingers apart until I’m unable to circle the entire beautiful expanse of him.

Feeding the pink, swollen head into my mouth, I hum around the flavour of him, the silkiness of the crown. I jerk the root as I shift onto my knees to get a better angle.

His fingers comb through my hair with tender adoration as my tongue traces the protuberant vein up and down his length. One of his hands slides down to the curve where my throat starts, massaging the area. ‘Relax your throat for me.’

He cups the back of my neck, guiding me so I’m hovering over his lap. Then he pushes me down, hissing when I groan around his shaft. I continue to pump his root while I close my eyes, relax, and take so much of his erection between my lips that he slides in beyond the back of my throat—down.

“Take me deep.”

I breathe through my nose. Pressing my hands to his thighs, I brace myself as I bob down and up, his wet shaft sliding in and then slipping through my lips.

Suddenly, the muscles inside each of his thighs tighten and bunch.

‘Christ,’ he groans, and I become ragingly aroused by his deep voice. ‘That’s my good girl. Take it all down… Oh, yes. Mind your breathing while I fuck your throat, sweet girl.’

Then he starts to pump upwards, still cradling the back of my neck so I can’t shy away from the brutal, yet blissful need in each thrust.

I swallow around the penetration, the protruding veins pulsing against my palm as I lure his orgasm out with the strokes of my fist at his root.

His breath comes out fast and fierce. ‘Fuck. You like my cock wedged down your throat. My sweet girl. My little queen. Do you want my cum all over your mouth, little deer?’

He suddenly stops thrusting. Griping me tighter at the base of my neck, he jerks me up to straddle him, where he wastes no time in demanding my body to take his cock.

My mind reels at the sudden change.

Trying to replace purchase, I whimper and wriggle at the quick invasion. My legs and core surge with pain and sensation at being stretched almost unbearably so.

‘Take my cock, little deer. I need to come inside you tonight.’ He doesn’t wait for me to relax, even though I need him to, need more time to loosen, but feral desperation controls his movements.

A whimper claws up my throat as he pulls me down, impaling me deep until my pelvis meets his upward thrusts and the head of his cock batters my uterus.

I cry out.

He straightens to hold me, banding his thick, formidable arms around me. Being too full, too quickly, I tremble within the staunch, powerful cage of his body as he whispers by my temple, ‘You’re okay, sweet girl.’ Then he bursts inside me with a violent groan, still fucking upwards while uttering words of comfort to me. ‘It’ll be okay. Relax around me. Breathe deeply.’

His cum eases the sting of his sudden penetration, dripping from inside me and coating us where we connect. There’s a lot. My mind reels. That was utterly out of character for him. He’s so very rarely impulsive. At the last moment before his orgasm, he flipped the play as though nothing else mattered but filling me. I’ve wanted him inside me all week, so now that he is, I revel in it. I roll my head on his chest.

Both of his arms drop, his hands resting on either side of my hips, his long fingers spanning the bones. He holds me there but leans back to inspect me. His cool blue eyes rake down my body to where my pussy stretches around his cock. ‘Such a snug fit, sweet girl. That was careless of me.’ He pants as he strokes one of his hands up between my breasts before banding my neck. ‘Luckily, you were soaking. Tell me, does sucking my cock make you wet? Or was it the thought of Aurora’s fingers inside you?’

My chest tightens at the hint of bitterness in his tone. ‘You’re angry with me, Sir. Please don’t. I didn’t—’

‘No.’ He lifts his hips up as he stirs my pelvis on his lap, his cock flexing inside, forcing a quick soft moan through my lips. ‘I’m pathetically territorial, little deer. Possessive. So crazy territorial I needed to—’ His heated gaze drops to my core, but he doesn’t elaborate.

I reach up, touch the wound below his striking blue eye, and try not to wince. ‘How did you seal it? It needed stitches.’

‘Glue.’

‘And this one?’ I press my palm to the smooth white scar along his collarbone—tattooed with vines and flowers, the petals appear wilted, at the end of their life. A tattoo equally as beautiful as it is sad. ‘What happened here? It looks old.’

He sighs roughly and covers my hand with his own, together holding the mark that signifies a clearly painful memory.

I don’t press him further.

Taking the opportunity while his controlled demeanour seems to be fracturing, I close my eyes, lean in, and pepper my lips along the swollen flesh of his cheek.

My heart balloons when he doesn’t stop me but instead sighs roughly, his body relaxing further on the sofa.

Heading down and to the side, my mouth flutters like a feather along his skin until I reach his lips. He deepens our kiss when he releases my hip and threads his fingers through my hair, knotting them in possessively.

Inhaling his breath, I exhale these words: ‘I love you, Sir. You can be vulnerable with me.’

He stills beneath the chaste motion of my mouth, his nose sliding along mine. I open my eyes, meeting his blue gaze inches away. ‘I am,’ he states in a way that suggests I should already know this, see this.

I glance at the slice he refused to let me tend to as a sombre feeling shifts through me.

He frowns, seeing the sadness playing across my face. He elaborates, ‘When I look at you, I’m speechless.’ His hands tighten in my hair to draw my gaze back to him, to demand my attention. I look into his eyes. ‘And I’m not often without the right words, sweet girl, but your entire person—’ he sighs roughly. ‘I simply can’t believe you were put together with such perfection. I won’t apologise for refusing to taint that with my blood and rot.’

‘You’re not rotten!’

‘Yes—’ He sweeps his gaze over me, ‘I am.’

No. ‘No,’ I murmur, heat rushing to the backs of my eyes because how can he talk about himself in such a way when he is the only person on this entire earth who has given me his time, his attention. He’s given me everything, for fucksake! No.

I shake my head at him, angry at this life that’s so cruel to him and so neglectful to me… He’s not fucking rotten. If he’s rotten, then the entire world is the cause, eating at him, ripping the good away, leaving raw, wounded flesh.

Emotions bubble within me, but he halts the rising wave of them when he stands with my legs still wrapped around his waist. His cock grows inside me, flexing with renewed thickness and strength.

He cups the back of my head when he lays me down beneath him on the mattress and begins to roll his hips in an excruciatingly slow and meaningful rhythm.

I grip his shoulders as he rocks up and into me, dragging his long, heavy body along mine to remain close and deep.

I’m dizzy from every inch of his steady, tireless thrusting as the evening rolls on with him inside me. Close.

Soon, I’m coming with a throaty cry, tightening my thighs around him, hugging him.

And he comes inside me again.