Diamonds in the Rough (Diamonds are Forever Trilogy 2)

When he enters me fully with a single thrust, my body shifts up the table. He fastens a hand on my hip to hold me in place, pulls almost all the way out, and slams back. My back arches from the intense stimulation. It’s more than I can take, but I lift my hips when he lowers his, meeting every thrust.

“Goddamn, Zoe.”

His eyes are glittering darkly, hard granite cut from a rocky cliff. The candlelight plays over his face, the shadows making the hollows of his cheekbones deeper and the harsh lines of his nose and jaw starker. I long to trace the bump on the bridge of his nose, but when I test his hold he doesn’t let go.

Kissing a path up my neck, he presses feverish words against my ear. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

I still. The words trigger my suppressed insecurity, things I shouldn’t and don’t want to think about, but I can’t stop myself from saying, “Not forever.”

He slows his pace and lifts his head to look at me. “You’ll always be beautiful.”

“Not when I’m old.”

“Then as much as now.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

The lines around his eyes tighten. “I’m not lying to you.”

“Just withholding the truth?”

“You need to know what you must. That’s enough.”

“Then tell me honestly, when will you tire of me?”

He stills completely. His expression becomes veiled. “You don’t want me to answer that.”

My passion turns to rage. The embers of everything adrift in my chest have caught fire, and the fear I’ve been pushing away for the last few months jumps into flames of fury. “When the next woman you can abduct comes along?”

His jaw bunches. “I’m not interested in other women.”

“Only in whatever the hell you want from Damian?”

“No, my flower.” Despite his clipped tone, his voice is soft. “I like to see the world through your eyes.”

The answer is not what I expected. “Why?”

“You’re everything I’m not.”

I’m not sure what that means. It’s strange to have this argument with my wrists pinned above my head and his cock buried deep in my body. I don’t even know why or how the fight started, only that I can’t finish this.

I pull on his hold. “Let me go.”

His nostrils flare. “You’re five seconds from coming and you want me to let you go?”

“That’s what I said.”

His smile is one I both fear and hate, a cruel one. “As you wish.”

I’m empty when he pulls out of me, so incredibly cold that I fold my arms around my stomach. He flicks my skirt up over my hips and takes his cock in his hand. It only takes a few pumps before he comes, ejaculating thick streams of cum over my sex and my thighs.

When he’s finished, he takes a napkin and cleans himself. Dumping the crumpled napkin on the table, he adjusts his clothes. “It seems you’ll be happier with your own company tonight. As it’s supposed to be a celebration, I won’t spoil it for you.”

The venomous words are hardly out before he turns and walks back into the house. I cover myself with shaky hands, pulling my dress down over my sticky thighs. My legs are wobbly when I push off the table. The setting is in disarray with the tablecloth full of folds and the crockery pulled askew. It’s the remains of a wasted evening, the bitter result when feelings get in the way.

Francine exits with a tray. She places a platter on the table, but I’m too distraught to pay attention.

“Dinner for one?” she asks with a chuckle.

I stare at her face. Since when has this turned into a war between us? I suppose since the minute I set foot into this house.

“You’re an unthankful bitch,” she says, straightening the tablecloth.

“Excuse me?”

“This house, Maxime’s protection, the gifts…Do you know how lucky you are?”

“I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“Most women will give anything for what you have, but don’t worry.” She winks. “You won’t have to live here forever.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Tilting her head, she gives me a smug smile. “Enjoy your meal.”

I stare at her back until she disappears through the kitchen door. A part of me wants to go after Maxime. Another part wants to never see him again. That part is a lie. No matter how much I hate this inequality between us—the fact that I can’t express myself freely and am only treated kindly when I behave—it’s too late for me. I’ve formed a bond with Maxime. The fact that it’s forced doesn’t make the attachment weaker. If anything, it’s stronger. He made me dependent on him in every sense—materially, physically, and emotionally. There’s nowhere else to turn to. There’s only this house now, this beautiful place I both love and hate, and him. Love and hate. That’s an accurate description for what we share.