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I choked on my sip.
Dusk flanked the estate in a gloomy ardour. I waited for the clock to strike afterhours, giving the demons a chance to come out and play so I could unearth the secrets inhabiting the walls of this palatial home.
There was a room down the hallway in the west wing that called to me. I felt its pull from the minute I returned from breakfast with Dacia.
My sheer red robe trailed behind me, the soft feathers caressing the marble flooring with every stride. Goosebumps erupted over my body, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the anticipation of stumbling upon something cataclysmically wrong.
I slotted the key and unlocked the deadbolt, the well-oiled hinges making no noise as the door glided open. Stepping in with caution, I observed the quiet room, graced with blue and grey accents and utter stillness.
I went over to the dresser and carefully pulled open a drawer. I wanted to get an inkling of who’d once stayed here and if there was any dirt on the De la Croixes.
But I froze when I saw the contents inside.
My pearl-encrusted barrette mocked me.
As well as my other hairpins carefully laid together. My initials were visible across the slabs of silver and gold.
DIH.
The same hairpins Zeno wore on his ties like a badge of honour.
Another souvenir bundled beside them was the white stockings from my wedding night. Slightly torn from where Zeno had dug his fingers into my thighs to fuck me harder. Slightly bloodied from when he’d pulled his cock out and smeared it over the delicate material like war paint after a victorious battle.
My pulse clambered with an erratic beat similar to the one from Chaleur, where I’d first gazed upon my husband with the taste of cherry on my lips and the promise ofmoreswirling between us like a heady cloud of smoke.
If I had any doubts about who the room belonged to, they vanished when the deep voice that haunted my dreams beckoned me one step closer to the dark side.
“Darla.”
Gasping, I whirled around, coming face-to-face with all six-foot-three-inches of Zeno. His tattooed muscles glistened with water droplets and a white towel was tied haphazardly around his waist. Low enough that I could see his happy trail and make out the imprint of his thick, ambrosian cock that always tasted clean, masculine, and everything unholy under God’s sun.
My body awakened in the presence of the man who was my darkest fantasy come to life.
I wanted Zeno Gianni De la Croix the same way addicts wanted their next fix.
Remembering the words I relayed to him yesterday to sever all possibilities of a physical relationship between us, I nearly wept.
One step forward and he crowded me against the dresser. His face swirled with a mixture of amusement and something sinful.
“Found what you were looking for, little angel?”
Mustering a glare, I slapped away the hand that reached for my chin. He smirked and placed his hands on the dresser by either side of my hips, barricading me in his fortress.
“I-I didn’t know this was your room.” My voice shook and it was his proximity’s fault. His delicious cologne was my kryptonite.
“What rules did I give you yesterday morning?”
“No snooping,” I muttered like a petulant child, eyeing his mouth. Wet from his shower and looking so inviting, I wanted to dig my teeth into his bottom lip just to see if he’d release that hot, grunting noise of his.
The same one he made when he drove his cock so deep inside of me, I forgot where he started and where I ended.
“Alors, qu’est-ce que tu fais içi?”
A water droplet fell from a curved strand on his forehead and landed over his strong cheekbone. Impulsively, the pad of my thumb collected the bead and smeared it on his skin.
He cleared his throat and I snapped out of my daze, yanking back my hand.
“Snooping,” I said breezily. “But only because I wanted my hairpins back.”
