Page 30 of The Carver

Her dots disappeared.

I pulled up the pictures of her that I’d taken when she wasn’t looking. A distraction from my anger, a cold breeze to my fire. I’d taken a picture of her against my chest when she was dead asleep. Another one of her when she’d rolled over to the other side of the bed and kicked away the sheets because she was warm. The top of her ass was visible above the sheet, the small muscles of her back hugging her spine. The curve in her lower back was prominent when she didn’t even try. I had another one of her tits because I’d gently pulled the sheet down to expose them, plump and hard, nipples sharp as knives. I flicked through them all, feeling the heat start to burn under my skin from desire rather than rage.

By the time I arrived home, I didn’t want to kill anyone.

I walked in, took the elevator to the top floor, and entered my suite. The double doors that led to the bedroom were open, and there she was. Ass in the air with the pride of a raised flag. Her face was in the sheets, her long hair everywhere. Her sex was proudly on display, her subtly pink folds begging for my fat dick.

I pulled my shirt over my head as I approached the bed. “Good girl.” I kicked off my boots and dropped my bottoms before my knees hit the bed. When I drew close to her, her back rose with the deep breath she took.

I grabbed the back of her hair like reins to a horse and yanked her up as I guided myself inside her, pushing through her slick folds to sink inside, to absorb her lubrication until my flesh was soaking wet. With a single thrust, I pushed deep inside and listened to her give something between a moan and a cry.

Then I smacked my palm against her ass—hard. “Don’t roll your eyes at me again.”

She gave another cry, her ass immediately red from where I’d struck her.

“Understand me?” I tugged on her hair, forcing her head so far back she could look up at me.

“Yes—yes.”

I relaxed my hold and thrust into her hard, one hand moving to her hip to tug her back into me after every thrust, giving her all my length to claim her as mine. Adrien was at home alone while I was ten inches deep in the woman he’d tossed, and she was fucking wet. “This pussy kills me—every fucking time.”

She snuggled into my side, the sheets to her shoulder like she was cold, and she was so still, it was as if she’d already fallen asleep. But then her fingers would move against my skin, she would trace a line that bisected the muscles in my arm or chest, and I knew she was still awake.

“How was dinner?” she asked quietly, her fingers right on the line that separated my biceps from my triceps.

“Bullshit like everything else.”

“What did you order?”

“An old-fashioned.”

She chuckled. “I meant to eat. A steak?”

“You know me so well, sweetheart.”

She shifted back so she could look at me, leaving the protection of my arms as she lay on the pillow.

I turned to face her, the two of us sharing the same pillow. I flattened my hand against her stomach before I slid it up between the swell of her tits. Her body was perfect, and I loved to explore lands that I’d already claimed in my name. “Hungry, sweetheart?”

“A little.”

I felt the smirk creep on to my mouth. “I’ll give you Gerard’s number. That way, you can order food when I’m not here.”

“I’m not going to ask your butler to do that.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know… It’s presumptuous.”

“How is it presumptuous if I’m telling you to do it?”

“It just seems a bit entitled.”

“It’s not entitled. I want you to be comfortable and have what you need when I’m not around.” I reached for my phone on thenightstand and shared his contact information before I texted him myself and let him know I wanted him to serve her if she ever needed anything. “You have something in mind for dinner or chef’s choice?”

“I’m fine with McDonald’s.”

“Chef’s choice, it is.” I texted him again.

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