Page 6 of Break Me: Smith and Belle

“I think this might inspire me,” he growled before plunging his hand between my legs. His fingers spread my sex roughly, massaging me open so that he could shove two fingers inside me. “You’re so fucking wet. You like belonging to me. You like being played with. You’re my perfect fuck doll, and you want it rough, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” I panted, my cheek mashed against the wall. I moaned as another finger made its way inside me, and another, until he had half his hand buried there. He paused to readjust, hooking a finger to hit a tender spot that belonged to him. It sent me over the edge and I exploded against his hand, soaking it entirely as my body spasmed violently. The hand pinning me to the wall was the only reason I managed to stay upright.

When he released me, I sagged as he caught me. Smith carried me to the bed and dropped me on the mattress. With one hand he flipped me to my stomach before grabbing my hips and yanking me onto his cock.

I cried out as it speared into me. There was no long, drawing strokes. He fucked me hard with a merciless rhythm that sent all my blood rushing to the spot where we were joined. There was only him and this building need. I dug my fingers into the sheets and held on.

“Let go,” he ordered, and I relaxed my fingers. Without a hold on the bed, his punishing strokes pushed me forward until I was splayed against the mattress like a rag doll.

“It’s time to come now,” he said harshly. “Milk my cock, beautiful.”

I tightened around him and let myself go, abandoning everything I was to his control.

4

Smith

Belle hadn’t stirred when I rose from bed that evening. I’d fucked her into some sort of comatose state, and while I worried that we couldn’t avoid facing this much longer, I was relieved to see her at peace. I checked on Penny in the nursery before making my way to my study. I went directly to my desk, opened the drawer, and discovered the photograph of Margot staring at me.

I sank into my chair, the last tethers of hope I’d clung to slipping from my grasp. I’d gotten rid of the photograph. Thrown it out. It was back. Only Belle knew about Margot. I’d wanted to believe her when she said it was a misunderstanding before. After finding her on the ice, I no longer knew what to believe. She’d walked onto that pond with our baby. She had put this photograph in the drawer again. Had she switched her own tea? What was happening to my wife?

Humphrey appeared in the door, bowing to me as I quickly shut the desk drawer. “Pardon me, sir, but you have a guest.”

“I’m not really up to seeing anyone today.” The truth was that I was tired. My head felt like I’d injected lead between my eyeballs. I no longer knew how to carry the weight of all of this, and the last thing I needed was another problem to deal with.

“I said as much,” he replied tightly, “but she’s quite insistent.”

I groaned, my eyes closing as I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Brunette? Gorgeous but terrifying?”

“Yes,” Humphrey said. “Should I tell her to come back?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Humphrey.” I heaved myself back up and made my way toward the door. “I’ll see to her.”

“Very good, sir.” He backed away to allow me to exit.

“Miss Kincaid will probably be staying a while.”

“The guest rooms are full,” he reminded me stiffly. “There is the guest house, but it will need a thorough cleaning.”

“We’ll deal with it tomorrow.” We’d had more than enough on the list for today.

His bushy eyebrows met like two caterpillars bumping together, but he quickly rearranged his face into subservience. “I hate to bring this up, but I should remind you that I’m leaving in the morning to visit to holiday with my family in Wales. Would you prefer if I canceled my trip?”

I stifled a groan. Now more than ever we needed stability at Thornham, but the only person I could count on was Mrs. Winters, the least agreeable one of the bunch. I pasted a forced smile on my face. “No, of course not. I’ll speak to Mrs. Price about the guest house. Georgia can take the couch tonight.”

“I will see to it.”

I found Georgia leaning against the wall, staring around her.

“Forget I was coming?” she asked.

“We’ve had some excitement here.” That was a gross understatement, but she would know soon enough.

The last time I’d seen her, she’d been dressed for her part as Clara Cambridge’s personal security. Today, in a black leather jacket and skin-tight dark denim jeans, she looked more like her old self right down to her knee high black boots.

“Have you ever heard the term nouveau riche?” she asked as I led her up the stairs toward my office.

“It cost less than our place in Holland Park,” I said evenly. “Remind me where you’re spending your time these days.”