The Boss (Chateau 3)

My palm moved to his chest and pushed him back, ending the rain of kisses.

He moved with the touch, obeying my request without hesitation. But his eyes were filled with a new level of disappointment and fury.

“If you want me…you have to promise me.” My palm remained pressed to his chest even though he didn’t move toward me again. I could feel his steady heartbeat increase, growing faster and harder. I stared at my hand for a moment before I looked at him again. “That’s the price you must pay.” My hand left his chest and returned to my lap. “And it’s nonnegotiable.”

His eyes remained still and cold. Silence passed without an outburst, without him losing his temper. He inhaled a breath, slowly let it out, and closed his eyes for a moment before he regarded me, as if he was ready to listen to my demand.

“You have to promise me that you or your men will never kill her. No matter what she does. No matter the situation.”

His stare remained cold and hard, his breaths increasing slightly. He turned his face away and looked at the fire, all the muscles of his body thick and tight at the same time. Veins bulged slightly every time he used his arms, because any tension at all was enough to make them stress. The light of the flames danced on his face, highlighting his flawless complexion, the fair skin against the dark hair.

“If you really think she’s dead, what does it matter?”

He watched the fire a little while longer before he turned back to me.

“Give this to me…and we can be what we were before.”

He inhaled a deep breath, his nostrils flaring as he exhaled. He didn’t want to give it to me, but if he loved me, he would. He would accept the humiliation she had caused and moved on. “I promise, chérie.”

Once he was inside me, his anger disappeared.

His hand fisted my hair as he rocked into me, his body pressing mine into the mattress, his deep breaths blanketing my skin with his desire. He spoke to me in French, told me I had a perfect cunt, that I was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that…he loved me.

He said it with deep conviction, with masculine force, with hands that gripped me so tight it was like I was a balloon that might fly away. He took me like I was air to his length, the water to his throat, the blood to his heart.

He took me in that same position over and over, sometimes banging my headboard into the wall, sometimes taking it slow, like he needed to kiss me more than thrust into me, like his big hands needed to gently touch me everywhere.

How could a man who loved like this be cruel?

How could he be two different people?

Unless he’d always been the same man—the man that I knew.

He just forced himself to be something else…for whatever reason.

Hours passed before the grand finale. Our sweaty bodies lay together on the bed, the duvet kicked to the bottom and only the sheets behind. The fire had died down at some point, but he kept the entire bedroom warm.

He lay on his back, his head turned toward me beside him, one hand resting on his chest.

He watched me.

I was on my side, meeting his look with tired eyes. When I closed my eyes, he would leave. He always waited for me to drift off before he left, in the hope I wouldn’t notice and I would sleep through the night without him.

I closed my eyes, feeling the fatigue pull at me, the relief that I’d gotten what I wanted.

I opened my eyes again to reach for the sheets beneath me.

But stilled when I noticed his eyes were closed.

Slowly, his breathing changed, turning deeper and lighter. The muscles of his body relaxed. His tense face softened into an expression I’d never seen before, almost like a boy in his childhood bed.

I woke up when I felt his body shift off the bed.

My eyes opened, and I saw him at the edge, looking down at me.

I assumed it was sometime in the middle of the night, but my eyes immediately squinted at the brightness from the sun.

It was morning.

He watched me with his typical hard gaze, but he didn’t look angry that he’d slept in my bed through the night.

I stretched slightly, cold now that he was gone.

He grabbed the sheets and the duvet and pulled everything on top of me. “It’s early. Keep sleeping.” He leaned over the bed and gave me a kiss, his hand cupping my face as he did so.

When he pulled away, my fingers grabbed his wrist, not wanting him to leave, to shatter this moment.

He trusted me.

I’d made him give me a promise he didn’t want to keep…and he still trusted me.