It’s a beautiful sight. Her globes are glowing red and her asshole stretching to take my cock. Her pussy is dripping wet. Arousal glistens on her clit. The bud is dark pink and engorged. I could easily slam all the way up, hurt her and get off on her screams. But this is her first time, and I don’t want her to keep bad connotations.
Instead, I pull out of her ass, spin her around, and push her down to her knees. I bury one hand in her hair while I use the other to get rid of the rubber. Then I spear through her lips and down her throat. I don’t deep-throat her like the first time. I just use her mouth to come. I do it fast, relief surging through me as I shoot my load on her tongue and mess up her face with my cum, but I don’t find calm. The anger and darkness linger.
She’s served her purpose. I let her go. She’s sucking in deep breaths, trembling on her knees. Her mascara and lipstick are smeared; her cheeks and lips streaked with my cum.
“Stay,” I say.
I go to the bathroom, wash up, and adjust my clothes. When I come back, she’s still on her knees on the carpet with her back against the exposed window.
I stop in front of her. “That’s a good slut. Do you want to come?”
She looks broken, her eyelashes wet with tears.
I crouch down in front of her. “You do, don’t you? That’s what dirty whores want. Go ahead. Touch yourself.”
Her lips part as she stares at me with a mixture of shock and hurt.
I chuckle. “You didn’t think I was going to touch you like that, did you?”
Her chin trembles but her voice is strong. “You’re a bastard.”
I shrug. “It’s your choice. Get up.”
Using the window as a support, she pushes herself up.
“What did this lesson teach you, Zoe?”
She hugs her breasts and crosses her legs, hiding as much of her nakedness as she can. “That nothing we’ve shared is real,” she bites out with tears shining in her eyes. “The kindness isn’t real. It means nothing, which means this means nothing, too.” Spitting the words at me, she continues, “You mean nothing to me, and you never will.”
It’s my turn to stare at her. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit that she thinks what I’ve given her isn’t real. It’s true, though. Isn’t that what I said to my father, that I was going to manipulate her into wanting to stay by giving her what she wants?
I’ve underestimated her, but not as much as I’ve underestimated how her answer would affect me. This isn’t how this lesson was supposed to go at all.
Gnashing my teeth, I say, “Make your choice, Zoe. My lover or my whore?”
She’s trembling, her frail body shaking, but from the way she drops her arms and stands up straighter as she bravely exposes herself, I know what her answer is going to be. She’s going to choose the spiteful route.
My phone rings just as she opens her mouth to speak. I take it out of my pocket and check the screen. It’s Gautier.
I answer with, “Not now.”
“It’s your brother, sir,” he says. “You better come now.”
Chapter 23
Zoe
“Put on your dress,” Maxime says in a curt tone.
The string of expletives he utters makes me rethink disobeying him in this. Something happened. He doesn’t wait to see if I’m complying. He hurries to the door and yanks it open. Standing there waiting, he drags a hand over his head. I’ve never seen Maxime behaving so worried. Angry, yes. Cold and cruel, yes, but never with such obvious concern.
I shimmy into the dress as quickly as I can. Anyone can walk past the open door, but I also instinctively know whatever the phone call was about is bigger than this, than me. The fabric is light, but even the soft brush against my backside hurts. The ache between my legs and in my dark entrance is an extension of my punishment as I walk over to where my captor waits.
He looks at me as if seeing me for the first time. “You’re a mess. Grab a towel from the bathroom.”
I do as he says. My reflection in the mirror shocks me to a standstill. My makeup is smudged, and my hair is wild. Streaks of cum are mixed with dark rivulets of mascara on my cheeks. Shame burns in the pit of my stomach. Tears burn behind my eyes. Who am I becoming?
Maxime’s loud voice booms through the space, making me jump. “Now, Zoe.”
Grabbing a facecloth, I wet it with cold water and rub it over my face until my skin turns red. Not everything comes off, so I bring it with me to wipe away the evidence of what I can’t face. Maxime’s expression is tight. He’s taken off his jacket. At the door, he holds the jacket out for me. I pull it on, hating the smell of winter that clings to the fabric.