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I made her wear the cuffs. I forced her to ride me—sweet Jesus how she rode me!—and then I fucked her incredible tits. I remember thinking as I pushed her boobs together, as I crushed them against my cock, that I could really get the grip I needed, that I could force the perfect angle because her arms were out of the way.
Shit. Are her tits as bruised as her wrists? Did I leave deep purple prints everywhere I squeezed?
“Princess…” I say, putting down the coffee carafe so I can take her hand. I bring the bruised line to my lips and brush it with the tip of my tongue. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I should have taken care of you.” I know better. In the past, I’ve alwaysbeenbetter. My only excuse—and I know it isn’t valid—is that the whole scene blew my mind. The raunchy wrongness of fucking a whore in my car in the shadows of some dark alley…
I start to head upstairs. “Let me get the salve now.”
“I’m fine,” she says again. “They’re just a few bruises.”
Standing here in the kitchen, with sunshine streaming through the long line of windows, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with a busy Sunday’s tasks running through my mind, I feel like last night happened to a different man. I know Alix and I were simply going over facts, preparing for potential murder charges against us. But something else happened in that car.
We were different people.
We were the Trap and Alix we might have been if Klaus Fucking Herzog had never lived. If Alix’s jizzstain brother had never fucked up her life.
It was a game. I know that. She isn’t a whore. She’s never been a whore.
But for those couple of hours, she wasn’t Alix, either. She wasn’t a woman who’s been beaten, punished, who needed to fight for her life.
I liked that Alix.
I mean, Ilovethe Alix that’s real. I love the woman who’s smart, who’s brave, who’s stronger than I’ll ever be, no matter how many pounds I can bench press in the gym downstairs.
But Ilikethe woman who was sly. Who flirted. Who worked me over, upping my offer, taking me for what she needed. Hell, I like the woman who can take my fist. The woman who shatters into a million pieces around my entire wrist because I tell her to.
“I’m fine,” she repeats, pulling her hand from mine.
I need to get to my office. I’m supposed to be planning the next Diamond Ring outing. There’s still the delicate matter of handling the Ring members and their decisions about whether to pay the Herzogs’ fucking blood money.
I want to take Alix to bed. I want to wrap her wrists in gauze and wait on her forever. I want to take her away from all this, fly her to the moon, or maybe just to Bora Bora.
But I settle for telling her, “I love you.” I allow myself only a quick kiss on her lips. And I try to tell myself she means it when she says, “I love you too.”
It doesn’t matter that she refuses to meet my eyes.
That can’t be important.
Fuck.
19
ALIX
* * *
Iknow Trap wanted more this morning. My short answers worried him. The bruises on my wrists freaked him out.
He didn’t do anything wrong.
I was fine with the scene in the Hummer. After I got past the initial threat of frostbite, it was fun to wear fancy lingerie and sky-high shoes. Being on top turned me on more than I ever thought possible. I loved how he used my breasts, loved that they’re so exciting to him.
I loved his hand inside me. His fist, even bigger than his cock. The feeling of his knuckles pressing against my inner walls.
I loved coming on command.
