Page 24 of Forever Fake

The Black Baron. Wicked. Cruel. Devious.

The devil in a tailored suit.

His face swims before my eyes, as if I’ve summoned him with my thoughts. His deep rumble vibrates in my core. Then I’m floating through the crowd.

CHAPTER 11

Blake

“Get your fucking hands off of her.” My tone’s menacing enough that even over the deafening music the two younger men step away from Ginevra. She sways in place, her eyes glassy, and I catch her before she falls. Lifting her into my arms, I carry her through the club to the exit, where my car’s waiting.

Rage rips through my veins. Dimitri ownsRiot, it’s his club. While, yes, he called me to let me know Gin was here getting sloshed on the dance floor, he should have put a stop to this, to her, before she got wasted. Places like this are full of predators who like to prey on drunk women–or worse, spike their drinks, drugging and abducting them.

What was Dimitri thinking to let Gin be this vulnerable? If I demand an answer, he’ll probably give me some shit about keeping an eye on her via his security cameras. But that’s not good enough for me.

Ginevra murmurs a protest when I slide her into the backseat of the town car and duck in after her. I buckle her in, then tell my driver to take us home.

She tilts in her seat, her head landing in my lap, and I tense. Nuzzling my dick with her face, I begin to harden.

“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath. “Gin, stop it. Sit up.”

She groans. “Fuck me. You know you want to.”

Her palms slide up my thigh and over my chest. The heat of her touch goes straight to my swelling cock and burns low in my stomach. I’m tempted to unfasten my slacks and feel Gin’s sweet, hot mouth around my dick. I want to thread my fingers through her blond curls and pump my release into the back of her throat, to remind her who she fucking belongs to now.

Witnessing her body moving against those two men still has me seeing red. She’s mine. She belongs to me, and I don’t like other people touching my things.

I twine my fingers through her hair and pull her up, off of me. My gaze finds hers, those gorgeous brown eyes unfocused, and I realize she might not even know it’s me. I could be any man right now. Just a cock to get her off. Fuck that.

Roughly, I shove her away. Disgusted.

She slouches in her seat, her head falls to one side, and she’s unconscious. Passed out drunk.

If I was a more depraved man, I’d take her right now in this back seat, fast and hard, then spank her ass in punishment for what she did tonight. For her disobedience, and for putting herself in danger. But I swore not to touch her until our wedding night, and my word is binding.

Why the fuck did I make that one of our terms? Oh right, because she seemed nervous and vulnerable during dinner. A kind of unexpected innocence shone in her eyes and I wanted to do the honorable thing.

But looking at her now? She’s the gold-digging, cum-slut that I know her to be. The first time I fuck her, she’s going to be sober, lucid, and screamingmyname–no one else’s. She’s going to remember every single wicked thing I do to her body, then beg me for more.

In the meantime, she needs to understand that if she ever touches another man again, I’ll kill him.

Iput a passed out Gin to bed last night, then left for work before she woke up this morning. That isn’t exactly the way I pictured our first night together going, butc’est la fucking vie. We have many more evenings ahead of us.

After a rough day of dealing with Yve’s bullshit at the office, the last thing I want to come home to is an angry blond in my living room, but… here she is, that fake smile she greets me with, barely concealing her rage.

With a weary sigh, I settle into one of the leather chairs because we sure as fuck need to talk. Gin’s perched on the sofa across from me, her hands folded in her lap.

“Speak your mind,” I prompt her, and it’s like setting off a bomb.

“How dare you send people to invade my private space and upend my life! We agreed I’d move into your home, but I am not sleeping in your bed–not again.” She throws a decorative pillow at me, which I catch and set on the Persian area rug. She huffs, clearly frustrated. “I’ll pretend every which way you want, but I draw the line at you dictating every second of my life.”

“Hm… Actually, that’s exactly how we’re going to do this.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, and catch her eye. “You are going to be a good girl and do as you’re told—or else our deal is off. After last night’s drunken debauchery, you should be grateful that I’m feeling forgiving right now. You crossed the line and you won’t do it again. Am I clear?”

“That’s not fair. All I was doing was dancing.”

“Bullshit. We both know you were acting out. That may have worked with your daddy, but you will not do that shit with me. Do you understand?”

She stares me down for five seconds before she nods. “Fine.”

---