Again, if I was expecting a porno-palace, I’d be mistaken. I step across the threshold into a space that’s a welcoming blend of ivory, silver, and lilac. It’s beautiful. Although it’s dominated by a mirror that takes up an entire wall. I sag onto the huge bed with a sigh as Parker sets my bags beside me.
“I’ll unpack your belongings, Miss Em,” he murmurs, going about his duties with all the same quiet discretion he’s applied to every situation I’ve ever seen him in. I know he’s concerned about me. He hasn’t been relaxed since I returned from my run-in with the Russians. I’m pretty sure my ass-hat father put him through the wringer over my disappearance.
I left him behind…poor Parker. He had no idea I’d hopped on that fateful flight. I’d left a note saying I’d gone to a friend. Aunt Sophie hadn’t known either until I’d been gone for two days. When I pitched up on my father’s doorstep, battered, exhausted, and refusing to talk about it, all hell had broken loose. I might have managed to duck the worst of it, but I know Parker wouldn’t have. My father’s a dick.
I stand and follow him into the dressing room, smiling at his alarmed stare when I reach over and give him a little squeeze.
“I’ll take care of this, Parker. Why don’t you get yourself settled in?”
He hesitates. “If there’s anything you need…”
“I’ll be fine,” I reassure him. I just want to be alone to process this madness. After a pause, he pats my shoulder and leaves. I shut the door behind him, then lean against it, taking in deep breaths to steady myself.
It takes me less time than I expected to unpack. I’ve brought so little. My father’s words keep ringing in my head.‘Be sure not to get too attached to the fucker…’
Why would he even expect me to? Although there’s more chance of getting attached to Raoul Caraldi than fucking Senator Roy Robbins. And how long could this game keep him entertained anyhow? At least there’s some light on the horizon – I’ll be free when he gets bored with me. Not bound into a miserable marriage with the slimy senator. Jesus…being married to that dickwad would drive me to murder. I can already imagine the life ahead of me if I killed him. Walking into my own fucking season ofOrange is the New Black.
A glance at my watch tells me it’s late. Since I haven’t had any more interaction from Raoul or his minions, I guess I’m being left to my own devices for the evening.
Wanker. Didn’t even bother to say goodnight.
Not that I want him to. I pull out a sleep shirt and head into the bathroom that leads from the dressing room. Minutes later, I’m standing beneath a stream of hot water, my palms pressed against the wall as I bow my head and let the heat wash over me. It’s almost cathartic, and I finally feel some of the tension flowing out of me.
Until the sound of the door opening has me spinning around.
“What the fuck!” I squawk at the sight of Raoul leaning against the doorjamb. I wrap my arms around myself. It’s ridiculous because it’s not like he’s never seen me naked before. “How did you get in here? I locked the door.”
“I have a key,” he says, still watching me as he straightens and comes closer.
“You can’t just walk into my bathroom!” I snap. “I need privacy. Get out!”
“You don’t get privacy here,” he says calmly. He’s stopped at the open edge of the shower, ignoring the water that’s splashing his clothes and his shoes.
“You’ve got to be joking!” I reach out a hand to shove at his chest, trying to push past him and reach for a towel. He grabs my wrist, his grip almost firm enough to be painful.
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he says coolly. I twist my wrist to free it, but his hand tightens. “I can come to you whenever I want.”
“Why? Because you’re a filthy old pervert?” I snap back. His eyes narrow.
“No. Because you’re mine.” There’s silence for a second, and I know my nostrils are flaring with fury. And then he smiles, wolflike. “Down,” he says. The word is a command, and I glare at him in astonishment.
“What?” My breasts heave beneath my arm, where I’m trying to shield myself from his eyes. I know my expression is disbelieving, but I’m not sure if it’s at his instruction or the fact that I feel myself beginning to sag.
“Get down,” he repeats. And then I’m sinking. The pressure on my wrist hasn’t let up, but that’s not why I’m doing it.
Fuck, Emma! What are you doing?
He’s released his hold on my arm, and I’m on my knees at his feet yet again, staring up at him. When he lowers his hand to his fly, I’m transfixed as I watch him extract his thick shaft. The crown is spongey as he brushes it against my lips.
Oh, my God!
This is the part where I bite his fucking dick off and get the fuck out of here.
But I don’t. I lick the tip and taste the saltiness. And because I’m clearly out of my mind, something tightens in the pit of my belly.
“Suck my cock, Buttercup,” he murmurs, still slipping that flesh along my lips. I don’t know what part of me chooses to obey him, but when my mouth opens, and he slides in, the groan he makes feels like my own. I swirl my tongue down and around the hot flesh, exploring, tasting, learning the hardening lines of him…
“Good girl,” he husks out, his hand sliding over my head, fingers threading into my wet hair. I keep swirling, lapping at him as I try to reach the tip of my tongue to the base, where his balls are pulled up tight. It’s impossible. He’s just too big. My cheeks bulge, and my throat strains as I work his flesh. And then he thrusts his hips forward, and I choke as his fat cock head rams down my throat.
