“Your whole body went solid. Like if you tried to bend, you’d shatter. And the look on your face. You winced, and then suddenly there was no expression whatsoever. Did I hurt you somehow?”
Did he hurt her? No. No more than she deserved, and likely no more than anyone else would in the future. She would need to get used to shutting out people’s disgust.
“No, you didn’t hurt me.” The words echoed in her head, sounding like they came from a deep part of herself and from a long distance away.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve been fighting the need to kiss you since I saw you in that hotel.”
He’d seen pictures of her. He’d admitted as much. He’d even told her how much he loved the blue dress he’d seen her in on the night of her engagement, with everything on display, as her fiancé preferred.
She flashed back to the night in question. Guillermo had reveled in the reaction of men out in public as they gazed upon her. He personally selected the dress, the shoes. How she styled her hair. Before they left his home, he raided her fashion tape, ensuring maximum teasing of flesh by anchoring the material directly to her skin, providing the illusion she would expose herself at any moment.
The entire night, Guillermo’s eyes glittered with arousal. He got off on the fact that he believed he was humiliating her. Hisarousal rose to its highest when he knew other men desired her, got hard for her, wanted to fuck her.
The truth was, she’d been numb to it for a long time. The stares. The leers. The whispers. The bold comments. Even the men who touched her, sometimes without her permission, but sometimes with.
No. Not her permission. That came from Guillermo.
That night, back in their suite, he fucked her ass hard from behind, spewing into her ear how they wished they were getting to fill her pussy, her ass, her mouth, but that only he got to do that unless he told her otherwise. She was his whore to use as he pleased. If he ordered her to suck all of them off, one by one, or for the men to fuck her on the tables in the restaurant to his specifications, she was his to command.
He hadn’t given orders of that sort that night. But there were other nights when she’d been subjected to his whims. The results were never pleasant.
The numbness to what her life had been ended as soon as Triumph had taken her into his protection. For the first time, she wanted someone. Someone who would love her, not just see her as a beautiful object to look at and play with until their use for her was over.
Now there was pain because even if she could steal some of Triumph’s time, it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, he’d move on, and she’d be left in a different kind of prison. One that truly had no escape because he wouldn’t be there to open the door. After all, why would he want someone as used as she was?
The rain on the roof did a poor job of muffling the sound of her heart, galloping out of control. She tried to drag in oxygen, but something blocked her airways, and she began to claw at the chest in front of her in panic. She fought. She kicked. She twisted. All of it was in vain. Instead, she felt herself falling,sinking, drowning, as if she were being dragged under by a current too strong to break.
After some time, she realized the hands grabbing hers, the arms crushing her, were trying to anchor her, not push her deeper into distress.
“Easy, Glennon. Shh… easy. I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Shh.”
His closeness should have smothered her, made her panic even more. Instead, it grounded her. The feelings of safety and comfort returned.
What a mess. She couldn’t make up her mind. Was he worth the pain to have him, only to be cast aside when the initial attraction wore off? Or should she put a stop to this right here and now?
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stop this speeding train even if she wanted to. Whatever time she got, whatever he was willing to give, she’d take it and guard it—jealously, possessively, like a dragon with its treasure hoard. He was the treasure she collected. One day, someone would steal it away, just like in the old stories, and she would wither and waste away until there was nothing left.
Large hands stroked her hair, combing through the tresses, keeping her tight to his body.
“It wasn’t you,” she said, her voice muffled because she was pressed so tightly to his chest.
His hold on her let up slightly, and she tilted her head back. “I couldn’t hear what you said.”
She repeated herself. “It wasn’t you. It was him.” She shuddered.
He pressed his lips to her forehead, letting them linger, and his hands stroked up and down her spine, helping to ease down the panic.
He murmured to her, “Do you know what first attracted me to you? It was your voice, all smoky and raspy, like Scotch on the tongue. It made me imagine Lauren Bacall in all those glorious black-and-white films. I might even have a poster of her in that famous black dress fromTo Have and Have Notin my apartment because of you.” The admission slipped out with a touch of embarrassment.
“You thought I sounded like Lauren Bacall? So much so, you bought a poster of her?”
“It’s autographed,” he grumbled.
Just like that, the tension was broken again. How did he do that? Did he know he was doing it, or was it just the way he was?
She couldn’t help the laughter that began spilling out of her. “That justifies a man your age having a movie poster in his room?”
“What?” he questioned. “She’s sexy as fuck, and that’s before she even opens her mouth. There were no poster people on your walls when you were younger?”
