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I continued to fuck her until a fine sheen of sweat was on both of our bodies and my seed was spilling into her sore cunt. I slowly pulled out but stayed between her legs, looking down at her.
Her lips were swollen from my kisses and slightly parted as she caught her breath.
“Minha Beleza,” I said softly, letting the affection, the deep-rooted need I had for her, carry through in those two words.
I’d heard her say she was mine, but that wasn’t enough.
The ring wouldn’t be enough.
My head was so fucked up with the need to consume her entire being, I often wondered if it would be easier to take my frustrations out on pieces of her flesh until there was nothing left.
But the idea of not having her was worse.
I wanted to brandish myself into her flesh so she’d never forget who it was that she belonged to. At my words, a look settled into her eyes that had my dick hardening all over again.
I wanted to tell her all that was going to happen, about the dirtiest parts of the world she would soon find herself a part of, but words would never do.
She needed to experience it.
All of it.
Old money roulette was a game without an end. Survival of the richest and the corrupt. It was a gateway to an elite life. I’d been a participant for seventeen years. Day in and day out, I calculated, manipulated, and decimated to get what I wanted.
She wanted answers; this was how she would get them.
The truth would be a double-edged sword that would push her over an edge she couldn’t come back from unless she walked a path of destruction to get there.
I was going to lead her, forcing her to become the woman I knew she could be. The queen of diamonds to my king of hearts.
Sooner than later, she would know everything she needed to.
Chapter Eight
Addiction.
An impulse that, once indulged, is impossible to pacify.
Mateo motherfucking Remmington was the epitome of an addiction—mine specifically.
I was a self-professed addict always looking for my next hit.
I woke alone, my body still feeling everything we’d done a few hours before the sun rose.
There wasn’t a single second of it I regretted. Not when it felt that right.
Even knowing what this day meant.
The beginning of everything.
I refused to wallow in self pity or cry to the walls in hopes they weren’t listening. I got out of bed and took a hot shower.
Once I was done, I entered the massive thing he called a closet. It was about the same size as my old bathroom—and that was by no means small. The island in the center had cubbies full of heels I’d have to learn to walk in. Handbags lined the upper portion of one wall.
His wardrobe was full of the best fabrics sewn in all the latest fashions, and expensive shoes.
It didn’t escape my attention that every single item, down to a strand of diamond pearls I didn’t dare smudge with my touch, was color coordinated.
Bypassing a wall-to-floor length mirror, I went to find something to wear.
