Page 57 of The Butcher

“Show me.” He squeezed my throat.

My fingers went to my clit, and I started to play with myself, rubbing in a circular motion, applying the pressure that I liked. I tried to gasp, but he tightened his grip and my words disappeared into the void.

Less than a minute later, I finished, bucking against my fingers, his big dick ballooning inside me even more as he watched me reach the clouds.

He grabbed on to my hips and tugged me hard against him, giving me all his length as he came, as he released deep inside me and made one of his biggest deposits. He gave the sexiest moan when he finished, his eyes locked on me possessively. “Turn over.”

Lost in the haze of the lingering climax, I didn’t understand what he said.

“I said, turn over.” He pulled out and started to roll me over, getting me on my hands and knees. He grabbed my hips and tugged me to the edge of the bed again before he shoved himself inside me once more, just as hard as he’d been a minute ago. He fisted my hair and tugged me back like I was a horse, and he fucked me relentlessly. Then his palm struck my ass with a hard smack.

I cried out then moaned, hating the pain but loving the pleasure that followed.

He spanked me again, harder this time.

I cried out louder, feeling the sting of his palm against my flesh, feeling how hot and red the skin turned.

“Want me to stop, sweetheart?” His palm turned gentle, his fingers kneading my ass as he continued to fuck me.

“No.”

His fingers grazed over the flesh gently before he gave me another squeeze. Then he spanked me again, harder than before. “I didn’t think so.”

I woke up in the middle of the night to pee.

That was when I realized he wasn’t there. The sheets were cool, like he’d been gone awhile, like he hadn’t left for a moment to use the bathroom. I blinked a couple times to discern the darkness in the bedroom before I left the bed. I’d fallen asleep without any clothing, so I helped myself to a t-shirt from one of his drawers. My fingers grazed something cool, and that’s when Irealized there was a pistol there. I stilled before I gently removed the shirt without touching the gun and pulled it over my head, the soft cotton immediately swallowing me whole like a blanket. I went into his big bathroom with the golden sinks and the dark wallpaper and did my business in the dim light. When I left, I looked through the crack in the door that led to the sitting room and found him sitting at his desk, the fire burning in the hearth and basking him in a gentle glow, his eyes out the window on the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city.

I watched him for a while, seeing the heaviness in his eyes, the weight of his troubles.

He brought a cigar to his lips and took a drag as he continued to stare out the window. After a pause of several seconds, he released the smoke from his mouth, creating a cloud that hung in the room before it floated elsewhere.

I opened the door wider and stepped into the room.

His eyes immediately flicked to me like he didn’t realize I was awake. He immediately ground the tip of the cigar in the black ashtray on his desk to put it out. His striking blue eyes looked into mine with that usual calm confidence, a man who was always composed, regardless of what transpired underneath. “A little early for pancakes…”

The shirt was so big that one side of it slid off my body and exposed my shoulder. It almost hit my knees, fitting like a dress rather than a shirt. “It’s never too early for pancakes.” I gave him a slight smile before I approached his desk, my arms across my stomach because there was a cold draft in the room from where he cracked the balcony door to let the smoke out.

He left his chair and wordlessly shut the door, stopping the cold air from entering the room. He didn’t move behind the desk again but instead came straight to me, circling his arm around the small of my back and pulling me into him hard before he brushed a kiss over the corner of my mouth. “Go back to bed, sweetheart.” He was warm to the touch, hot like the fire that burned in the hearth, bare-chested and covered in his black ink. His black sweatpants hung low on his hips, and he was barefoot.

“What about you?” I asked quietly.

“Not tired.” He leaned against his desk and crossed his arms over his large chest, his eyes showing the fatigue he claimed not to have.

“Something is bothering you.” As far as I knew, he was always beside me all throughout the night, whether he was awake or not. But something troubled him enough to get out of bed and stay there.

His blue eyes were locked on mine with that quiet confidence. “I knew what I signed up for when I took this job. It is what it is.”

“I’m sure you’ll find him.”

“That’ll be the easy part.” His eyes shifted past me, back out the window with the Eiffel Tower brilliant in the dark.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

He was quiet for a long time, letting the silence pass for so long it seemed like he might not say anything at all. “My job isn’t usually complicated, but in this case, it is.”

“Why?”

He gave a slight shake of his head before he looked at me again. “These are my problems, not yours.”

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