Page 17 of Taming Achilles

A tear went down my cheek. I don’t know why I was crying. The feeling of melancholy filled me, knowing that the pleasure was over, and reality was crashing down on me. What connection we had felt … no. Not we. The connection I had felt was an illusion. It was like a moment between sleep and wakefulness, when your pleasant dreams are given a moment of life. Then the dreams fade like mist, just as the world rips you apart again, and you are alone to face the demons at your door.

In his tuxedo, and me collared by his hand, he was like a king, and I his whore. And it wasn’t romantic, or right. It wasn’t two bodies seeking to please and be pleasured in return. He was taking, and I was being taken.

“Get off of me.” His eyes turned cold again. “You’re done.”

Chapter 7

Geordie

I wanted to pull her in close. I wanted to fill my arms with her warmth and bury my face in her strawberry-blonde hair. But I couldn’t do it. I needed to keep a safe distance. Pushing her away and sending her off to bed did my head in.

I had carved Pippa Fox from my body five years ago. But the phantom ache remained. Sometimes, I forgot that she wasn’t my Princess anymore. I’m a weak man, and she is a walking temptation.

Watching her sleep would bring back memories of stolen nights in a chalet dormitory, when we had snuck into each other’s rooms and curled together on a twin bed.

Offering my services for her body … that was genius, devious, and evil all at once. But she didn’t reject my indecent proposal.

She had obeyed every command, and her panties burned a hole in my pocket. They longed to be in the box of all the things I had collected of Pippa. My psychopathic, disgusting assortment of stolen momentos that I should have burned a long time ago.

I was a creep. I should be locked away.

I brought my phone to my ear, dialling and listening to it ring. When the receiver clicked, a Parisian voice came over the line.

“It’s late,” he complained, but he was perfectly alert. He hadn’t been sleeping.

“It’s early, actually.” I glanced at my Rolex watch. It was four in the morning, and we were in rare form, being in the same city. Afterall, Cal’s wedding was practically a company event. “And we need to talk.”

Hugo was reliable. He spent his nights watching the screen of his laptop, waiting for a glimpse of a person through the various CCTV cameras that peppered her city. He did it to protect her, or so he said.

He was the last person to sneer at me for my lapse in judgement.

I summarised what happened with Pippa, leaving out the dubious arrangement we now had. I heard Hugo typing away.

“And how are we invoicing this?” I knew exactly where he was on the form he was filling out.

“We’re not. I’m going to pay for this.”

The silence on the other end spoke volumes.

“That’s expensive,” he said slowly.

“I think we know I’m good for it,” I said with a small chuckle.

“I’m not one to be concerned—“

“So don’t start now.”

“—but this way madness lies,” Hugo said, his voice the somberest I had ever heard. “Are you sure you want to go down this path?”

No. I didn’t. I wanted to be free of Pippa Fox. If I could lobotomize her from my memories, I’d hand Hugo the ice pick, and tell him to hack away. But I could no more live without her than I could live without my prefrontal cortex.

“I have no choice.” It was a truth that threatened to crush me.

“As you wish. I’ll be at the police station in the morning, and will make contact with the detectives.”

“We’ll meet you there.”

I wasn’t going to get any sleep.