Page 46 of Lords of Ruin: Cherished

He growls, his hips snapping harder against mine. “Say it,” he demands, his breath hot against my ear.

“I love it,” I moan, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I love being your little slut.”

He groans, his thrusts even harder, even deeper. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and the praise makes my toes curl.

I can feel the orgasm building, threatening to overwhelm me, but I’m not ready yet. Not until he’s there with me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he grunts, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to leave bruises.

“Cum for me,” he growls, his voice ragged. “Be a my naughty fucking slut and cum for me.”

And that’s all it takes. My climax crashes over me, and I cry out, my body tightening around his. He groans, his pace faltering as he follows me over the edge, his fingers digging into my skin.

Then he pulls back, his eyes meeting mine, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my stomach flip. “You’re mine,” he says, his voice low, possessive.

“Always,” I whisper, my heart racing.

And then his lips are on mine again, and I lose myself in him all over again.

14

VINCENT

It’s been ten years since I’ve sat in this house, eaten these sandwiches, and faced this man across the table. I’d forgotten how effortlessly he can make me feel small. How quickly he can strip me down to nothing with just a look. How easy it is to see the soullessness behind those sharp blue eyes.

I forgot this particular brand of torture. But forgetting doesn’t stop the weight of insignificance from slamming into me the moment his gaze locks onto mine.

Gerald Beaumont also known as ‘Papa’ used to hold the world in the palm of his hand. Now, he’s a shell of the man he once was, but that doesn’t make him any less terrifying. If anything, it makes him worse.

“You’re thinner,” he finally says, his voice as cold and detached as I remember. “Not eating well?”

My stomach knots, but I keep my posture straight, my hands folded neatly in my lap to keep them from trembling. “I eat just fine.”

He hums, unconvinced, and dabs at the corner of his mouth with a linen napkin. “I’d say you look like your mother, but you don’t.” His lips curve, but there’s nothing warm about it. “She had a softness to her.”

The words land like a slap, but I don’t flinch. I won’t give him that satisfaction. “Ouch, Papa, and I thought I was your favorite.” I sigh in an over dramatic manner, widening my eyes so it looks like I am pouting.

“You wouldn’t be the devil's favorite,” he grunts, opening a cucumber sandwich and peeking inside.

I force myself to lean forward, resting my elbows on the pristine tablecloth—a deliberate breach of the etiquette drilled into me as a child. Etiquette he prides himself on.

"We need to talk about the family finances," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

Papa's eyebrow arches slightly—the only indication that I've caught him off guard. "Do we now?" He sets down his sandwich, untouched.

"The Beaumont accounts are empty." I keep my eyes locked on his, searching for any flicker of surprise or concern. There is none. "The properties are mortgaged to the hilt. The art collection's been replaced with forgeries." My voice hardens. "We're broke, Papa. The empire you built is nothing but smoke and mirrors now."

For a moment, silence hangs between us, heavy and suffocating. Then, unexpectedly, Papa throws his head back and laughs. It's a harsh, grating sound, devoid of any real humor.

"Broke?" he repeats, his eyes glittering with cruel amusement. "You think the Beaumonts are broke?" He leans forward, mirroring my posture. "You never were very bright, Vincent."

“I've seen the accounts. I've talked to the bankers. The family is in ruins.”

Papa reaches for his teacup, taking a slow, deliberate sip before responding. “And you came running back to me for what?” Another laugh, shorter this time. “Oh I know! Thank you, Vincent. It is very noble of you to keep an old man in the loop.”

“Papa,” I snarl, my eyes widening as I get closer to the table and push my finger into the table. “Your legacy is gone, the Beaumonts--”

“The Beaumonts will never be broke, dear boy.” Papa clicks his tongue, filling my teacup with the hibiscus tea from the teapot on the table. “Do you know how the Beaumonts got our money?”

“Thomas Beaumont made some mechanical parts that revolutionized the automobile.” I rattle off and Papa gives me a toothy smile that immediately makes my skin crawl.

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