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“You didn’t answer my question,” he states as we pull in through the gates to my mansion.
Was he talking and I didn’t even notice? “What question?”
“Do you need me again tonight?”
“Oh, yes. Your hot date.” I unclick my seat belt and brush some imaginary lint off my trouser leg.
The side of his mouth tips up in a smug smirk. “I’m moving into the property you are so generously letting me use for the time being. I’m going to spend time with my new housemate and get acquainted with the place. Does that please you, my queen?”
“Dennis.” I stare at the garage wall through the windscreen.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re moving in with Dennis, the bartender, right?”
“Yeah.” He narrows his brow and turns to look at me. “You know who is in what property?”
No, I checked the record Diamond keeps to see where you’d be staying. “Of course.”
He raises a quizzical brown but nods and turns off the engine, getting out the car and coming round to open my door. I get out and head in through the house without saying anything to him because I find myself struggling for words in his presence. He follows me through the house and drops the keys to my Bugatti in the key safe before picking up the keys to the SUV I assigned to him.
“Well, I’ll be off then.” He stands in my kitchen with his hands in his pockets as I shrug off my jacket and take the vodka from the freezer.
I have nothing to say to that, so I just watch him as I pour some into a shot glass and knock it back before returning the bottle.
“Goodnight,ma’am,” he says, an air of disappointment in his tone and turns to leave. Lee walks past him, entering the kitchen as Javier leaves.
“Boss,” he says as a greeting, taking a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Call your mother,” I tell him, forgoing a greeting because I’m feeling tired and pissy. I need a shower, the blood on my chest is crusty and itchy.
He snorts. “Is that an official order?”
“Yes,” I say flatly, walking out of the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am,” his voice calls after me, his amusement still evident.
In my room, I peel off my cream blouse and throw it in the laundry chute that goes directly down to the utility room in the basement. Guinevere will have it cleaned, ironed, and back in my wardrobe by tomorrow evening and she won’t bat an eye at the blood on the inside. That’s why she is indispensable. My trousers, bra, and panties follow before I head to my shower. My bedroom used to belong to my father, but when he died and I took over everything, I moved into the biggest room. Oddly enough, it had less bad memories of him than my childhood bedroom. But I did completely renovate it; new grey carpet and off-white walls, with the wall behind my bed papered in textured in a black damask wallpaper. My super-king-sized bed has an intricately carved, wooden headboard that doesn’t necessarily go with the room’s décor, but it reminded me of my grandmother’s back in Sweden. The rest of the furniture is black painted wood, including the doors to the built-in wardrobe. It’s simple but elegant; my own personal style philosophy.
The bathroom is also black and grey, and I had the most expensive shower I could find installed. Two overhead shower heads and four jets on the walls that spray water from the side, extra steam functions, immense water pressure, and different stream settings. I don’t like baths, having to stew in your own filth to get clean, but I can spend an hour in the shower. I turnthe water on as hot as I can stand and step under the stream, tilting my face to catch the spray. My skin tingles from the heat and the water briefly runs pink as I scrub at my chest and clean off the dried blood. I like wearing the blood of my enemies. I’m sure most people would find that strange, it may be why some think of me as the ice queen… not that they know I’m walking round with dried blood on my skin.
Javier liked it. I could tell by the way he stared at the splatter across my breasts, his irises dark and his eyes hooded. That stupid bubbling feeling in my belly starts again and my pussy throbs.Stop it. I lather my body wash in my hands and scrub my body. The air is thick with steam and the floral scent fills the room as my hands gliding smoothly over my wet skin. I rub over my breasts, my fingers catching over my nipples as they peak hard at my touch. Squeezing gently, my pussy clenches and that fluttering feeling intensifies. Behind closed eyes, the image of Javier leaning over me forces its way into my head. His dark chocolate eyes boring into mine, a mixture of frustration and lust playing in the intensity of his gaze. I squeeze harder, pinching my sensitive nipples between my knuckles as the Javier in my head runs his pink tongue over plump lips.
One hand migrates south, sliding over my stomach and the strip of hair on my mound before my manicured fingers dip between my lower lips. I’m wet.Dammit. Thoughts of Javier have me dripping and I can’t stop myself from exploring my folds. I don’t touch myself often and when I do it feels more like a necessity than a pleasure. A bodily need required to carry on with my life like eating or having my period every month, it’s functionality over enjoyment. But now, I keep my movements slow, too slow to get anywhere but just enjoying the feeling of a gentle touch. Javier’s face comes close, his minty breath fanning across my lips and his citrus scent overpowering my soap despitehim not even being here. I shouldnotbe doing this. But no one will ever know,hewill never know.
My hand between my legs becomes his and I can feel a warmth at my back as though he is crowding me against the wall. Pushing my arse out, I imagine it rubbing against a hard cock, the hand at my breast digs into the soft flesh until my nails leave crescent indents in my skin.
“I’m here because I needed a job, rainha. I needed someone who will let me release my…urges. I needed you. I think you might need me too.”
His rasped voice in my ear has me pushing firmly against my desperate clit and rubbing in fast, needy circles. I think my fevered brain makes his accent thicker, his voice even deeper than his already seductive baritone. I’m panting, my legs shaky, and my sex clenching around nothing. I dip my hand lower and slide two fingers into my aching centre.
“I like to see your pretty tits painted red, rainha. Let’s mark you up.” A pointed blade at the base of my throat, thick, oozing blood dripping over my chest, hot and sticky.
“Javier!” I breath his name as I come, my inner walls pulsing around my fingers and my clit becoming ultra-sensitive in an instant.
As the smell of lime dissipates and the heat at my back cools, I’m acutely aware of being alone in the shower with nothing but the sound of water hitting the marble tiles to keep me company.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
