Chapter 22

Astrid

M y gut churns with nausea as Dilan helps me dress. The red silk she slips over my head makes me look older and hugs my skin tightly. With the heart neckline just above my bosom, it looks more shapely. It catches on the loop of my collar for a moment before she gently untangles it and lets the fabric drape to my knees.

Bending in front of me, she holds out a tall heel. "Foot."

Lifting it, I balance while hovering my hand over her shoulder as she ties the leather straps up one leg, then the other.

When she fusses with my hair, brushing it back for me, I glance at her in the mirror. "Dilan?"

"Yes?"

"Are you angry with me?"

She slows the strokes with her brush, then picks up a hair iron and gathers up a thick strand to straighten. "No, Mrs. Strauss. I'm not angry with you. I'm not entirely sure why you'd even ask the question."

Pushing out a painted red lip, I blurt out, "Because I wondered if you always wanted to be Mrs. Strauss. And you're not." Perhaps it's the boldness that comes from becoming a mass murderer. But fear seems like a foreign concept now. It's something that I don't think I'll concern myself with anymore.

For the first time, a tiny smile lifts the corners of her lips. "I've been here a long time. Since I was very young. I grew up near the master and watched him change while I adapted. Women have come and gone. Slaves were whipped too hard. Chefs boiled in their own soup."

Her eyes glaze over with a memory. She sets to work fixing my hair again and continues. "I studied the exact patterns of his desires. What makes him rage the most. What times he needs food or sleep. Which area of his cock will get him off the easiest. Which type of fabric sets his teeth on edge. Never able to have a life, but allowed to live one."

Part of me feels saddened by her confession. When I think she's done, she stands in front of me and rolls her lips together. "Do this."

I mimic her motion, and she swipes at my mouth with a tissue to clean up the makeup she applied. Picking up a bottle of perfume, she spritzes some on. It smells like roses, but not old lady stuff. She spins me to face the mirror and holds out a hand at her work. I do look beautiful.

"He'll like this." She turns on her heel, but I want her to stay. The burning question lingers on the tip of my tongue and she's going to slip by without answering it. As I open my mouth to command her to speak, she turns to me with her hand on the door. "No, sweetheart. I never wanted to be Mrs. Strauss. Most of the time, I cannot stand the man. But I'm an excellent survivor." With a shrug, she lifts one eyebrow. "Besides, I'm a lesbian."

The mirror almost falls on top of me as she slams the door when she goes.

Teetering on my skinny shoes, I carefully crawl down each stone step to the living room. My husband's back flexes underneath a suit jacket as he plays the wedding march on an organ, the sound filtering through brass pipes that almost reach the boxed ceiling three stories high above us.

He's playing it for me.

I stand silently in observance, thinking about the last weeks with him. Is it just survival? Or is the verve of the music swaying me to become nostalgic?

He stops suddenly and peeks over his shoulder with a boyish grin, and I become a bit sad that he never got to be that. A boy.

My hands slap together with a violent round of applause as he darts over to me, then kisses me gently. There's a glimmer behind the motion that he could take it by force if he chose.

But I think he wants me to stay.

His body makes me hot, and my clit pulses just from being near him. I don't take his confessions lightly. And I don't want to heal him. I can't.

"My angel is breathtaking. Red and rubied." The back of a knuckle drags across my cheek, then he tugs on one earring Dilan put in my ear. Lingering for a moment, his eyes drop to the collar around my neck and he feels along the leather engraving on the front of it. "Let's feed my little girl now. What do you say?"

"Yes, master."

A deep growl rumbles from his chest as he snags my hand in his, then walks me toward the dining room across the hall. Two place settings lay near the head of the table and the room dances with candlelight. Vincente pulls my head to his lips and kisses it before guiding me into a chair, then pushes me closer to the table when I sit.

When he takes the one at the end, he rests his palm up on the table and wiggles his fingers at me until I relent and place mine in his. Dark red wine fills the glasses, and I wonder what it tastes like. Taking a sip, I choke, then cough at the bitter flavor while my husband laughs. "You'll get used to it."

"I think I'll stick with my water."

A chef comes out of the kitchen holding a silver tray and uncovers it with a flourish. "Antipasto is bruschetta with roasted vegetables and goat cheese."

Flavors burst on my palate with every bite of the small appetizer. And when I have mine, I sneak a look toward Vincente's until he smiles and places his on my plate.

"In the office today…" I chew up my bites as he leans back and takes a few drinks from his glass.

"Yes?"

"You said you wanted vengeance."

His neck muscles tighten as he swallows, a drop of the cabernet escaping his lips until he snares it back inside with the tip of his tongue. "Yes."

"Against who? Whom ?" I quickly correct myself.

"Herodius and Clavius. The organizations your brother worked for. The ones that my father obeyed."

The chef returns and uncovers another tray, larger this time, and slides plates of spaghetti on our chargers. "Primo!"

Once he leaves, I dart my eyes up to my husband's while twirling some noodles on my fork. "The ones in charge of trafficking?"

"Yes."

"But you don't care about that."

His shoulder lifts as he takes a bite of his dinner. "It's kept my family in money. I only care about them not getting it."

"But they want me to do what you do now. Act as consort? To be head of the city? Willingly allow them to operate their trades here?"

One of his gray eyes narrows. "Yes, Mrs. Strauss. Very good. That's exactly what they would love. But women cannot rule this city. They are to birth the heirs. Men are the vessels through which they believe their power lies. Hence why, if they got hold of you, they would impregnate you with one of their choosing. And hope you'd have a son of their lineage to rule this world. Maybe they'd keep me alive long enough to pretend to still be in charge here but, ultimately, they would want to see their prodigy in place."

"I want to know everything. To learn it all. About this city, the organizations…the families." Dropping my fork with a clang, I give him a fierce look. "And I want to have your baby."

His wide lips curl into a smile as he finishes his bite. "Do you want to eat or fuck? Because you just made me so fucking hard."

"Can't I do both?"

Some evil look crosses his face, and he stands so abruptly, the chair tips over. Tossing his sports coat off, he undoes his ascot and shirt. All the while keeping his eyes on me. His nostrils flare as if ready for a stampede.

Slurping up some spaghetti, I watch his movements carefully.

With a snap of his fingers, he points to the area in front of my place setting. "Elbows and knees on the table." Then he pushes my bowl forward as I climb onto the surface to await further instructions.

When he slides my silk dress up my thighs, the skin tingles, then burns as he plants a firm hand against my ass. Jolting forward, my lips almost land in the bowl of spaghetti.

Hot fingers dig into my hips as he pulls me back toward his face and sits behind me. Heated breaths huff onto my exposed core, which weeps for his touch. "Hmm, angel. I think, unfortunately, you are now bleeding."

My wrists ache as I straighten up on the hard surface. "What? I am?" Disappointment rails through my heart. We've been trying, but it's very early… Hopefully, that's not a sign I can't get pregnant next month.

"Not to worry. Keep eating your dinner, and I'll eat mine."

The gasp that surges past my open mouth when his tongue slicks through my folds dries my bottom lip. "What are you doing?!" Firm teeth gnash at my core until his finger plunges inside my hole. "Oh my god, Vincente!"

"Mm, yes, angel. Love it when you yell my name. Eat!" One of his large palms shoves the back of my head into the bowl, and I gather up some pasta with my mouth. Chewing between moans, I try not to choke on the food while he consumes me.

Each flick of his doused muscle against my sensitive tissue makes me lurch forward, then sink back, forcing his fingers, now two, deeper inside. Pretty soon, I've developed a rhythm. When I move toward the bowl, the pressure lightens, then deepens as I sink back into him. "Take control, little girl. Use me. Use my face. My fingers. My tongue… It's all for your pleasure."

I pant into the dish like a dog, breathless, wanting to tell him I need his cock inside now, but an orgasm rips through my senses. Screams echo off the china that's so polished, I see a reflection of my face scrunched in ecstasy. A woman covered with sauce, yes, but also a commanding one.

Without even needing to tell him, Vincente stands and shoves himself inside me. My arms weaken until I collapse on the table. Whereas I was using his body before, now he takes mine in the way he needs. The slap of our skin against each other is erotic, as are the gruff grunts as he works hard to chase his pleasure and give me more.

Vincente ate my pussy filled with blood. He's crazy, right? Or am I disturbed for loving it? That there's nothing to stop him from claiming my body as he does now. As much control as he wanted me to have earlier, now I give it up willingly so he can take me as his own. Just thinking of submitting to the consort's desires, to be used for his baser purposes, makes me skyrocket toward another trembling release.

When his palm strikes my ass again, I come hard, tightening myself around his thickness. He shoves my head down and pulls my hips up again. "Yes, my dirty little girl. So filthy, aren't you? You need to be fucked like this… I taste you everywhere. Your blood is in me now. And I can't get enough."

Working himself into a frenzy, I come down, only to hear him say, "You want my baby, angel? Do you want a piece of me in you forever? So that we're never parted?"

The realization that Vincente would be with me as long as our child lives hits me with a shock. And I admit the truth. "Yes."

"Say that you want me with you forever. Tell me you want my baby."

Tears form and splash down my greasy face. My chest tightens with a sob that reverberates loudly against the wooden table. "I want your baby! I want you to be with me forever!"

"Then, here you go." Heat fills my center as he comes deep inside me with a bellowing groan. Digging into my flesh and joining his hips with mine one last time, he gives me everything he has. I know I probably won't get pregnant now.

But the thought that I may be soon transforms from something I wanted in order to defeat our enemies and survive…

To something I truly desire.

I want Vincente Strauss's baby. To have something with him and to build some semblance of a normal life. Does that make me sick?

If so, I don't want to get well.

Sliding out from under him, I twist around and latch my arms around his neck. His face is absolutely coated in red soaked fluids. Part of me doesn't care and wants to kiss him, anyway. But the spaghetti twirls in my stomach and I stop myself. He sees my hesitation and laughs, tossing his head back like I've made a funny joke without speaking a word.

"Come on, little girl. Let's clean up. And then have dessert."

"And a menstrual cup?"

His smirk rides up on the corners of his lips. "Yep. Whatever you need. I'll send Sev or Dilan out for it. Heating pad? Ice cream? What does my angel desire?"

"All of that."

Tapping the end of my nose with a finger, he smiles. "Then I will give everything to you."