Page 153 of Cashmere Cruelty

It’s been nearly ten months. Ten months—and sheremembers.

The urge from before comes back with a vengeance: to flip her around, rip her pretty dress clean off, and show her exactly whatIremember, too. All her sensitive spots, all her weaknesses.

I want to plunge my fingers inside her. I want to hear her screamas I torture her sweetness over and over. I want to make her come with my hands, my mouth, my cock. Feel her tight little pussy squeeze me dry as she moans, and moans, andmoans.

My name. No one else’s.

“Matvey…?” she asks. “You okay?”

I snap back to the present. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” April ventures. “You’re just… looking a little flushed, that’s all.”

It’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed my raging hard-on. I’m tempted to blame the food at Venus Lounge, but I know no amount of gourmet jalapeños are gonna get me like this.

Only April.

But that can’t happen anymore. I need to get a grip on myself: April is off-limits. It can’t be otherwise. That night, I nearly lost her, and it almost tore me apart. I can’t let her wield that kind of power over me.

She’s a stranger.

She’s notfamily.

And she’s never going to be.

I need to maintain a safe distance between us. It’s the only way this works. The only way I can stay fucking sane.Distance—of mindandbody.

Which would be a hell of a lot easier without her hands all over me.

Without a moment’s hesitation, I throw the jacket off. “Hey!” April protests. “I wasn’t done.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m?—”

I grab her wrists. “April.”

Her breath catches. “Y-Yes?”

“Tell me how long you’ve been working today.”

“I…” She pauses. “How long’s the sun been down again?”

I’m taking that as an answer. “We’re going to eat.”

“But I?—”

“We’re going to eat,” I repeat, firm. “Because, frankly, I’m fucking starving.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth, either. I pecked enough at the Venus Lounge to tide myself over until later. But one look at April tells me it’s a miracle if she’s had breakfast, let alone lunch.

It should make me furious: my child’s in there, for fuck’s sake. How can she be so irresponsible? Skipping meals, losing track of time?

And yet, thepakhanin me is… appeased. Proud, even.

After the huge disappointment myvoryhave proven themselves to be, it’s refreshing to see someone working her ass off. Someone who still knows the meaning of the word. If half of my men worked as hard as April, we’d have conquered the world by now.

The biggest irony of all is, she doesn’t have to do that. If she asked me to provide, I would.

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