Chapter 18

A week passes. Lauren settles into her new environment. Darian lets us go shopping for new clothes without a fight much to my surprise and orders his driver to take us for days out to various places as if we’re dogs in need of walks. I almost feel sorry for him for getting stuck with us when he’s used to being Darian’s shadow, but then I remember that every move I make gets reported to his boss. I’m not used to looser reigns, but Darian seems more relaxed lately. He stays out of my way for most of the time, except when we fuck. He seeks me out at least once a day to eat me out between meetings or whatever planned shady business is on the agenda.

At night, he sneaks into my room and spends hours fucking me into oblivion before he leaves again, like a shadow. I always wake up alone, sore, and with an uncharacteristic heartache, wishing I could separate my feelings for him from the reason I’m here, which is my father’s disappearance. I can’t let myself forget my reasons, but it’s becoming harder and harder to remember why it matters.

Does it even matter? Yes. It does. The Exodus is behind my family’s torment.

“So, what do you think of this dress?” Lauren asks, parting the curtain in the changing room to show me the ballgown she has tried on.

The Bishop is holding a masked fundraiser over the weekend. Another posh affair with flowing alcohol and bursting wallets. Darian handed me a black card and told me to have fun.

Fun?

I don’t even know the meaning of the word anymore.

“Is it too much?”

Torn from my thoughts, I shake my head, gesturing to the wine-red bodice. “It’s nice.”

“Nice?” Lauren flicks her hair off her shoulder. “I don’t want nice. I want chin-on-the-floor breathtaking. Since I’m in this position, I might as well make the most of it and milk your husband’s bank account.”

I think the look on my face says it all, because she laughs and escapes behind the curtain. The sound of the zipper fills the room. “Can you ask them to get me the forest green dress? The one near the window display?”

“Sure.” I stand from the bench and exit the changing area.

After asking the assistant to help Lauren with the green dress, I browse the racks for a dress for myself. I don’t need a new one since Darian had his Pawns fill my wardrobe with everything I could possibly need the night I entered his home.

“That’s not weird at all,” I mutter to myself as I pause in front of a golden dress with a bejeweled bodice.

“You’re hard to catch alone,” a deep voice breathes near my ear, and I spin around, my heart pounding at the sight of Mr. Beaumont.

He towers over me in freshly pressed blue pants and a white shirt. The two top buttons are undone to reveal a smattering of dark chest hair, and his chestnut hair has been swept back.

“Mr. Beaumont. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been trying to get a moment of your time, but that husband of yours always has a tail on your end.” He looks over my shoulder toward the changing area. “But not for now.” When his eyes return to me, they flicker with something cold and cruel.

I step back against the dress rail. “You should leave.”

“I think we made a deal.”

“There’s no deal. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

He moves closer, and his imposing figure looms over me. With nowhere left to escape, I feel trapped as his sickly cologne swirls around me while he grabs the rail and leans in close to my face. “I was polite last time, but even my patience has limits, Mrs. Delacroix.”

When I try to look toward the changing rooms, he tuts and grabs my jaw in a punishing grip.

“Your friend won’t come to the rescue. She’s busy.”

With a frown, I jerk free, only to gasp when he fists a handful of my hair and yanks my head back. “What did you do?”

“I might have paid the assistant a hefty sum of money to keep your friend occupied while we chat.”

“What do you want from me?”

“It’s easy,” he drawls. “Delacroix has sensitive information on his hard drive. I want you to find it for me.”

“Are you crazy? What information?”

He pulls my hair, making my scalp ignite in uncomfortable prickles. “Do as I say, or you won’t like the consequences.”

“W-what consequences?”

Beaumont shifts closer, pressing up against me, and grabs my ass with his free hand. “There are other ways to ruin Delacroix. You see, he has a weakness. I can always hand you back to the Bishop.”

Ice runs through my veins. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“No?”

“You’d be left with no blackmail to use against my husband.”

Beaumont is aroused, and I feel his hard cock against my stomach as he leans down to brush his lips against my ear. I try to push him away, but I’m trapped between him and the dresses.

His wet breath fans my neck, and he pulls harder on my hair. “I wonder if he would touch you again after I take you for a spin.”

“No.” My fight turns desperate as my stomach drops to my feet. I try to scream, but he muffles the sound with his calloused hand, which smells of tobacco, as he shushes me.

“Calm down, Mrs. Delacroix. Give me what I want, and I promise not to touch you.”

I clamp my eyes shut while he makes a show of squeezing my breasts through my top.

His rough touch has my skin crawling in the worst way possible.

“I would lie if I said I’m not tempted,” he whispers. “You’re a fine woman.”

As he yanks up my top before shoving down my bra to smack my left breast, my eyes brim with tears, but I refuse to let them fall.

The creep tugs on my tender nipple until fiery pain throbs in the wake of his touch and says, “Consider this payment for testing my patience. A little taste. You have one more chance to give me what I want, or I’ll return for more.” He releases me and walks away, the bell dinging above the door as he exits without another word.

I slump, forcing down a wretched sob, and then straighten up to right my clothes. Lauren calls out my name from the changing area, so I wipe the tears from my cheeks and plaster on my best fake smile.

I can do this.

I can pretend everything is fine.

The following day, I try to look as innocent as I possibly can when I open the door to my husband’s office.

He’s seated behind his desk, his gun in his hand, like a dark mafia lord. Across from him, appearing far more relaxed in a navy suit, is Sinclair.

Hesitating in the doorway, I look between them. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Sinclair smirks at Delacroix, who hasn’t taken his eyes off me since I opened the door.

“I hope you’re not planning to kill your best friend with that weapon.” I wave a hand at the gun.

Sinclair swings his head around and treats me to his best smile. “Not at all. We’re planning our next sleepover, where we dress in silk pajamas and paint each other’s toenails.” He looks back at my far-too-intense husband. “Remember the ones you used to wear when we were kids? The ones with the bunnies.”

“You had sleepovers?” I ask skeptically.

“Mhm,” Sinclair hums, kicking his Oxfords up on Darian’s desk and interlinking his fingers on his stomach. “Darian loved a good pillow fight. Feathers flew everywhere, which used to drive his mom insane.”

Darian slides his eyes in Sinclair’s direction so slowly, I’m surprised the sun hasn’t swallowed the earth whole by the time he finally raises a brow. “Pillow fights? Really?”

Sinclair throws his head back and laughs.

Rolling his eyes, Darian turns his attention to me, and his mood darkens like a storm cloud. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

I glance down at my checkered mini skirt and matching black top.

“I can see your cunt from here.”

My mouth falls open as Sinclair’s shoulders shake with silent laughter.

Did he just…? I’m at a loss for words. The fucking audacity!

“Did you leave the fucking house like that?”

“What if I did?” I ask as I cross my arms, trying not to fidget.

At this rate, I’ll have steam coming out of my ears soon, like a damn cartoon, if he keeps infuriating me like this with his caveman act.

One of Darian’s dark brows quirks. Sliding his phone closer, he unlocks the screen and makes a phone call.

Miss Sanders answers on the first ring. “Sir?”

“Fire all the male staff who’ve laid eyes on my wife today.”

“But sir?—”

“Come to think of it, fire the women, too. You included. I’m not taking any chances.” He hangs up and hooks me with those blue, ominous eyes. “Why are you walking around half-naked?”

Did he just fire his staff? Is he nuts?

“I like this skirt.”

“It’s lingerie.”

Sinclair is turning red, and I’m pretty sure he’ll die soon if he doesn’t inhale a full breath. It must hurt to try not to laugh.

On my way past, I smack the back of his head, and his suppressed laughter escapes.

Darian stares at him then, as if he only just remembers his existence. Sinclair is in stitches, clutching his stomach.

“Something funny to you?” Darian asks him.

I cross my arms. “No shit, Sherlock. Stating the obvious.”

“Shut your mouth!” he snaps at me.

Oh, he didn’t just fucking say that to me.

We glare at each other, spitting venom in a silent battle of wills.

Sinclair tries to stand up but falls back down, still chuckling like this is the funniest thing he has witnessed all year. He points at Darian. “You’re so damn pussy whipped. What’s next? Are you going to beat your chest before tossing her over your shoulder and smacking her ass as you carry her to your bed like a caveman?”

Darian looks at me, so I steel my jaw, warning him, “Don’t you fucking dare!”

“Okay, lovebirds.” Sinclair slaps the armrests, then rises. “It’s been fun, but I think I’ll leave you to your little…” He waves a hand around the room. “Book club.” On his way out, he squeezes my shoulder, and I swear Darian growls.

The moment the door shuts, silence creeps in from every corner to suck the oxygen out of the air. Darian eases back into his chair, legs spread wide, as he scratches his beard with his gun. The short stubble rasps.

Resisting the urge to pull my skirt down, I shift on my feet, knowing the worst thing I can do now is to show weakness. The best approach is to hold my chin high and pretend I’m not quaking when he’s staring at me like this.

“Is there a reason you’re flaunting my pussy to every man with a swinging dick in the vicinity?”

“It’s not that short?—”

“Shut up.” His voice is eerily quiet and controlled — deep like the uncharted trenches of the ocean and hiding just as many dangers, too. “Don’t argue. Answer the question.”

“You can’t see my pussy.”

“No?” He waves the gun at me. “Turn around.”

I hesitate.

What is he doing? His unreadable mood makes me nervous.

“What are you waiting for, Mrs. Delacroix?” he asks, spinning the gun. “Turn around.”

With a gulp, I slowly do as I’m told.

He waits until I’m facing away from him. “Bend over.”

Bend over? He can’t be serious.

The chair rolls across the floor as he stands. “Touch your toes.”

“I don’t know how bendy you think I am?—”

His shoes clap on the floor. “Don’t fucking argue with me now. Do as you’re told.”

“You could ask nicely?—”

Before I can finish that sentence, he grabs my nape in a steel grip and shoves me down until my ass is in the air and my hair touches the floor.

I yelp with surprise, and if it weren’t for his hold on me, I’d topple over.

“Grab the back of your ankles.”

This time, I don’t argue. The sharp tone of his voice leaves no room for it.

Behind us, the door opens again, and one of the maids stares at the scene, wide-eyed. “You called, sir?”

“Come here,” he says, his fingers digging into my neck. “Can you see my wife’s cunt?”

“Darian,” I gasp, but he smacks my ass hard, making me squeal.

The maid shifts an uneasy glance my way before her silent steps move closer, and heat burns my cheeks when she clears her throat.

“Yes, sir.”

“Hear that, wife? She can see your cunt.” Then he dismisses the maid, who scurries out of the room like her ankles are on fire, but they’re nowhere near as warm as my cheeks. If only the ground would open and swallow me whole.

“You embarrassed her,” I growl at him.

“You did that all on your fucking own,” he says, still holding me bent in half by the nape like he’s not sure what to do with me. “Are you trying to piss me off? Is that it?”

“I wasn’t trying to?—”

My words are cut off abruptly when he jostles me. “I’m trying not to snap your neck like a fucking twig. If you know what’s good for you, shut your mouth.” Releasing me, he unzips his pants. I’m still holding on to my ankles, not daring to move until he gives me permission. Darian is pissed off, and while I love the unpredictable nature of him when he’s like this, I’m smart enough to be obedient.

He bunches my panties in his grip and pulls them taut against my sensitive clit. A sharp bite of pain follows, and my loud gasp echoes in the room. With a hard yank, he rips them clean off, then bends over me and forces the damp fabric into my mouth. “You like to piss me off, wife?”

I feel him straighten behind me and line his cock up with my entrance as the blood in my veins rushes with anticipation and heat swirls between my legs.

“Let me remind you what happens when you flaunt what’s mine to other men.” Impaling me on his massive cock, he buries himself balls deep as my muffled scream bounces off the walls.

He’s too big, and his cock feels like it’s splitting me in two. Panting breaths rush through my nostrils, and white-hot pain, mixed with liquid pleasure, pulsates between my legs.

I love how cruel he is. I love that he cares little for my pleasure when he’s angry, and I love it even more when he uses me to get off.

As he fucks me on his cock, bruising my hips with his fingers, my pussy ripples around his veiny length while the sound of slapping skin mixes with his grunts and my whimpering moans. I desperately hold on to my ankles, my hair swishing on the floor. Everything tightens, from my pussy to my lower belly, and I dig my nails into my ankles as he releases my hip to press his thumb against my ring of muscle.

“Is this hole feeling left out of the fun, Mrs. Delacroix?” He spits on my ass, massaging my exit, and pushes his thumb into my back hole.

My moans grow louder around the soaked panties in my mouth, and Darian thrusts harder and deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside me that has me needy for more.

A rush of pleasure starts at my toes and rushes through me until I’m coming so hard, I don’t know if I’m screaming or sobbing.

Darian fucks me through it until the last violent wave has receded then guides me to my knees and pulls my hair into a ponytail. With his big cock gripped in his other hand, shiny in my arousal, he removes the panties and dips the engorged crown into my mouth while his hooded eyes drink their fill of me, ruined, on my knees.

“Let’s see if we can smudge that lipstick some more.” He rubs his leaking cock all over my lips before sliding back inside my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat.

I gag, and he pulls out, but not before he rams himself down my narrow throat, forcing me to swallow around his thick length or choke. My stomach spasms before I can get a grip of my initial panic, so I focus on breathing through my nose until my throat molds around his dick.

“Such a good wife,” Darian praises, stroking my hair soothingly.

When he pulls out this time, I inhale greedy breaths, and he cups my cheek, trailing his thumb through the mascara streaks. “Do you understand now why I have to punish you?”

I nod around a sob as tears roll down my cheeks. My body already craves another release.

“Sshh,” he soothes, cupping my chin. “Don’t cry, baby. You know it turns me feral.”

I sob harder, my knees trembling on the hard floor.

“Fuck,” he breathes and drops his chin to his chest. “You make me want to hurt you, Mrs. Delacroix. You’ve never looked more perfect than you do now, crying on your knees for your husband.” His eyes gleam with approval, and he strokes his cock while tangling his fingers in my hair as though I’m the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

He cups my chin again and brings my teary eyes to his, the muscles tensing and shifting in his arms beneath the straining fabric as he pleasures himself with a hungry, primal need that has my heart pounding out of rhythm. “Tongue out, Mrs. Delacroix.”

I stick it out to please him, and he circles the pad of his thumb over it before he straightens up and jacks his dick in long, firm strokes that border on frenzied. The heat in his eyes burns brighter, and he tips his head back, his neck elongating, as a carnal growl reverberates through his muscled chest. I gaze up at him in awe, desperate for a taste of him, but he makes no move to use me to get off.

Darian is a force of nature. Every woman’s wet dream and worst nightmare. The kind of man we think we can handle, but there’s always a tinge of fear laced with the wanting.

His jaw tightens, and our eyes clash in a collision of chaos and primitive desires. Strings of salty cum squirt on my tongue, causing me to flinch, but he grips my hair to keep me in place.

I stare up at him with hazy eyes, goading him to show me his true self, the darkness that rears its head when he lowers his guard.

Another squirt of creamy cum lands on my nose, followed by a third one on my cheek, and Darian grunts, his fingers twitching in my hair. He’s breathing like a bull. We gaze at each other for long moments—me on my knees with his semen dripping down my face like a branding, and him with his hand in my hair.

He releases me and steps back. “Get changed into something more appropriate.”

I blink in surprise at the sharp tone of his voice, tasting him on my tongue. Darian walks back to his desk, takes a seat, and stares down at me.

Fine. I’ll let him win this round. I have no other choice if I want to get access to his password so I can find the folder Beaumont wants.

I stand up on wobbly legs. My skirt has ridden halfway up my ass, and my pussy is exposed, but I refuse to give in to his demands, so I saunter closer, putting extra sway into my hips, and smile sweetly.

Darian narrows his eyes as I walk around his desk to straddle his lap.

His dark hair is soft beneath my fingers as I begin to ride him on the chair, grinding my bare, swollen pussy against his pressed pants. If anyone walks in now, they’ll get a full view of my naked ass, but I’ll be the first one to admit I like the thrill. “Do you still have the footage of the night we first met?”

“Reckoning night?”

“No.”

His voice takes on a tantalizing edge. “The day at the cottage when I pulled you from cleaning duties and ate you out on the desk?”

With a hum, I glance down to see a slick patch on his pants. I roll my hips again and bite my lip as heat swirls in my core. “I’d like to see it.”

Darian seems unaffected by my out-of-character behavior as he peruses me, but I know him. He’s not stupid. Even so, I enjoy his rough swallow when I toss my head back and moan.

“Can I see the footage?” I ask, circling my arms around his neck.

“Why the sudden interest?”

I pull on the short hair at his nape, dry humping his lap. “Do you care?”

“Not particularly. Maybe you like to watch yourself come, or maybe you’ve got a devious plan up your sleeve. It doesn’t matter. If I find out you’re scheming against me, I’ll put a bullet in your brain.” He says the words so casually, a shiver crawls down my back as he picks up the gun on the desk.

He taps my lips with a knowing, cold smirk, but then he pauses when I dart my tongue out to lick the barrel enthusiastically, swirling my tongue around the end. Darian is mesmerized, his lips slightly parted as I get myself off on his growing bulge.

“Anything for my wife,” he says.

I sit sideways on his lap, pretending I’m not watching like a hawk as he types in the password. A few clicks later, the footage plays on the screen. Darian slides his big hand between my legs, so I part them to give him better access.

I have to admit, watching Darian feast on me on his desk makes me tingle, and when my husband sinks his middle and ring finger inside me, sparks erupt.

“Maybe I should make you come on my fingers while you watch yourself come on my tongue?”

I tilt my hips into his touch, wanting just that. On the screen, Darian gazes at me from his vantage point between my legs as he tweaks my nipples. We look hot together.

“You’re an insatiable little slut, aren’t you, Mrs. Delacroix?”

“You’re an ass.”

With a chuckle, he spins me around on his lap so that I’m straddling him as he frees his dick. My mind spins while he massages my ass cheeks. He’s rough, touching me in a way that leaves no room for doubt; I belong to him. I’m his property.

His thick cock glides against my clit as it slides between my folds, and I wet my lips, no longer pretending I’m in control. I rock and grind, rolling my hips up and down his thick shaft.

A deliciously dark smirk plays on his mouth as he lifts me by the hips and spears me on his dick, filling me to the brim. “Keep those cock drunk eyes on me, wife.”