Page 69 of The Carver

I cried out because it was a lot of dick in a little amount of time. It hurt because he had so much of it, but once the pain faded, just the pleasure remained, and it was so damn good.

He grabbed on to the back of my hair and tugged as he thrust into me, fucking me hard from the start, smacking my ass until it turned red, making me his and making sure I didn’t forget that.

We had dinner at the dining table near the terrace, the view of the Eiffel Tower so special that someone would pay a lot of money to sit where we sat now. Gerard had the chef make us two different things, protein and vegetables for him and something full of carbs for me.

It was a quiet dinner, the two of us enjoying our food and wine in comfortable silence. I looked forward to this every weekend when I didn’t have to worry about work, and it was nice to have it on a weekday. To see him for more than just a quick dinner or a hookup. I should stay far away from a magnet for violence and find a nice guy who wasn’t a cheater or a criminal, but I was trapped in Bastien’s force field.

There was no getting out now.

“Going to work tomorrow?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t have to.”

I wasn’t a billionaire like him. Or even a millionaire. I had a couple thousand euros in my bank account at that very moment, and it was the most I’d had in a while. “I’ve got bills to pay.”

“You still get paid whether you go or not.”

I gave a quick roll of my eyes. “I’m not going to do that.”

“I told you I’d pay you to be my woman. Best job you’ll ever find.”

“And I told you I want you for you—not your money.”

That smirk came over his mouth. “But it would be fun to role-play, wouldn’t it? You pretend to be my little whore, to do whatever I say when I say it.”

“We’re pretty much already doing that.”

His smirk widened. “Touché, sweetheart.”

“What about you?” I asked. “I hope I haven’t kept you from your obligations.”

“You’re always my priority.”

“But I’m okay.”

“You’re okay now. But you weren’t okay yesterday.”

“I just don’t want to burden you?—”

“My job is my problem, not yours. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

I spun my fork in my pasta, getting a big helping before I placed it in my mouth. I normally ate very little, but all this good food that Bastien was giving me was making me eat nonstop and making my jeans a little tight. That first month I lived on my own, I hardly ate anything and lost at least ten pounds. Now, I was gaining it back far quicker than I’d lost it.

“So…did you get the guy?”

He was quiet for a while, just staring at me across the table. “I told you not to worry your pretty head about it.”

“I know. But it would make me feel better to know he was dead.” That he wouldn’t come back for Bastien.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t say what I wanted to hear to make me feel better. Let the silence speak for itself.

I was disappointed I didn’t get the answer I wanted, but I appreciated his honesty. “Do you ever get scared?”

“No.” He didn’t have to consider the question for more than a second to know how he felt about it. “Death is just another part of life. It comes for us all in the end.”

“But most people aren’t shot dead in a restaurant…or stuffed in an oil drum.”

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