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Augustino keeps his head bent, but he’s too young to dissimulate effectively. His eyes keep darting up the frame of the sculpted god towering over him, a heavy white towel hanging over his mighty erection. He only gets to glance at me a single time, though, before Zayne’s thundering voice makes him wince.
“You can leave it over here, thank you.” His tone is thick with a warning that his face mirrors.
The boy scurries out, Zayne closing the door before he’s even done stepping over the threshold.
“Did you have to do that to him?”
“I didn’t realize I was doing anything but being polite.” He turns towards the cart and pours us both two glasses of orange juice.
“You were polite all right, like a snarling wolf.”
“I have no problem with men seeing me naked or eyeing my junk. But I’ll fucking kill anyone who stares lecherously at my woman.”
My heart slams hard into my chest.
“Is that what I am now? Your woman?”
Setting the second glass of orange juice on the table, he goes on to unload the croissants, jam, eggs, and fruit onto it, the towel slipping off his erect cock and pooling at his feet.
“It’s the easiest way to put it to your employees. To the ones who are hunting you, you’re my possession.”
“And what am I to you?” It takes all the nerve I’m capable of to ask that. And, usually, I’m capable of a lot of nerve. I can be insidious and even dangerous if I want to. After all, I infiltrated the mafia more than once, I spied on deadly men, not to mention that I reached the head of the pharma industry when I didn’t know who he was. But now that I know Zayne Thorngren, I’m becoming a blabbering schoolgirl, and I’m not even sure I hate it.
The time he takes to think about an answer has me chewing on the inside of my cheek. After what feels like forever, even though it must have been no more than a few seconds, he says, “You’re exactly what you wanted to be. My protégé.”
“I wanted to be your partner.”
“You’ll find that I don’t partner with people easily.” His eyes flash to me while his hands still work on our breakfast. “But I don’t declare myself someone’s protector in front of the entire city easily either, so maybe if you play your cards right...”
I wonder if playing my cards right means fucking him good or maybe using him more often. He sure seemed to enjoy the way I rode his face. He reveled in it.
When he’s done with the table, he holds out a chair for me like a servant waiting on a queen. I wrap the duvet around my naked body and head over, my feet sinking into the fluffy carpet. I do feel like one of those empresses from the movies with the sculpted male slave.
My eyes flick down to Zayne’s cock as he takes a seat, buck naked, his body bathing in the daylight. I can’t help but let my eyes lick over the powerful contours of his muscles, wondering what kind of exercise gave him this perfect shape. Was it before or after a twisted mind went to town torturing him? I’m dying to ask him about that again, but I need to find the right time, the right context, and maybe the right place. Last night he snarled at me like a beast at someone who prodded too close to an open wound.
I clear my throat, doing my best to keep a straight face.
“Aren’t you afraid to expose yourself like this at the window of a boutique hotel? A man of your caliber is surely always the target of some whacko.”
“If you’re referring to the danger of assassination, I’m afraid that’s not as high as you’d like it to be in my case.”
“I’d be pretty stupid to want you dead, don’t you think?” I say, preparing to sink my teeth into a croissant with marmalade. I rarely indulge in such a rich breakfast, but a night with Zayne can make a girl ravenous. “After all, you’re my only chance of surviving the mess my husband put me in.”
“Ex-husband,” he replies.
I pause with my mouth open, the croissant poised between my lips. Zayne gives me a smirk as he raises the glass of juice to his mouth, reading the question on my face.
“There’s no way you and Joseph are ever getting back together, that’s a fact. So why still give him a status he doesn’t deserve and will be stripped of soon anyway?”
“Is this you trying to make yourself feel better for sleeping with a married woman?”
“Morality isn’t my strong suit, Sirenna, at least not in the sense that the modern world understands it. So no. Besides, in my eyes, you weren’t a married woman when you came to see me.”
“Well, officially–”
“Officially, a husband must protect his wife. The moment you sought another protector, your husband lost all of his rights over you. This was the law on this earth for many thousands of years before humanity started fooling around with bureaucracy.”
“Wow, that’s one shocking statement from the head of a bureaucracy-heavy business.” I start munching, sinking into the chair and the duvet around me, hoping he blames the flush in my face on the sugar hit. I like his declarations of possessiveness a little too much for a woman who prides herself on her independent spirit.
