Page 30 of Shades of Red

“I know what you’re thinking,” she chokes out. “I can see the pity and fury swirling in your eyes. But I don’t need you to save me. I’m not trapped. I’m not a victim. Ichosethis.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” I ask, the strength in my hand on her neck giving way.

“I knew what I was getting into when I married him,” she admits softly. “He hit me for the first time during one of our dinners at La Place when we were dating. In public. No one even batted an eye.”

I’m going to kill him; I’ve already decided. All that’s left to sort out is how long I make him suffer before I finally let him bleed out.

“Afterward,” she continues. “I got a diamond bracelet as an apology. I knew from that moment that the abuse would be transactional—the pain and humiliation I endured was currency. And after spending so many years of my life going without even basic needs sometimes, it was a price I was more than willing to pay.”

I feel my blood run cold. She chose this on purpose. She whored out her body and her soul for pretty dresses and red-soled shoes. And I fucking hate her for it. “You’re such a gold digging whore that you’ll choose a man who will crush you one day at a time rather than a man who will worship your body like you deserve?”

“I don’t expect you to understand?—”

“You’re right. I don’t understand how you could sell your soul at such a cheap price.”

“Fuck you, Grey,” she spits back, trying to push off the counter. I force her back down with my hold on her throat, leaning over her until she’s flat on her back.

“I’m not sure that I could afford the price for that,chérie,” I retort, my words bitter like red wine and just as acidic. “But I would fuck your slut holes for free if you begged me hard enough.”

“You’re being cruel,” she gasps.

“Oh, but that’s just how you like it, isn’t it golden girl?” I reach down and unbutton my pants, jerking them down until my erection springs free. “What’s it going to be?”

She bites her lip, indecision filling her beautiful, traitorous eyes. “Please,” she whispers finally.

“Please, what? You know you need to be specific, Aurélie. Tell me what you want. Tell me what the fuck youare.” She looks at me like she wants to push me onto the stove while all the burner flames are set on high heat. But that doesn’t make her pussy any less wet. Her body will always long for me. Even if she hates me as much as I hate her. “What are you?” I ask again, relishing the chance to humiliate her before fucking her for the last time.

“A whore,” she breathes, a furrow between her brows.

“And what does the lying whore want?” I question, slapping apart her thighs and spreading her wide.

“For you to fuck my slutty holes.”

I groan at the sound of her degrading herself for me. “You’re so fucking pretty when you beg for it.” I stroke my hands over her hips. “Do you want it soft, or do you want me to make it hurt?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

Aurélie bites her lip, deciding if she wants the last time I touch her to bring her pleasure or pain. “Make it hurt, please,” she pleads at last.

A deep growl of bloodlust sounds in my throat as my golden girl gives me free rein to ruin her. I grab her wrist and jerk her off the counter, flipping her around so that she’s bent over it with her face pressed against the cool marble. I fist her hair in one hand to hold her down and jerk her white dress up to her hips with the other. The skin of her ass is creamy and pure, but not for long.

I snatch the knife I used on her panties from the counter and slap the flat side against the unmarked skin of her ass. Aurélie cries out from the shock as red immediately blooms on her skin. I use the knife to spank her again, the stainless steel punishing and cold. She whimpers, but she doesn’t fight me or even flinch as I slap her ass over and over, taking out all my anger and hatred and hurt on her skin.

“I fucking hate you,” I bite while smacking her as hard as I dare to with the knife.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice trembling at the end when she takes another blow. “More.”

When I hit her again, I don’t hold the handle flat enough, and her skin catches on the edge of the blade. A thin slice of red erupts on her pale skin. The knife is so sharp the Aurélie doesn’t react to the cut right away. Not until I press my fingers into her split skin to make her bleed more. She cries out, but when I look at her eyes, she’s not shed a tear. She’s holding back. I can’t break her if she’s wearing armor.

“I want you to cry for me,” I command, hitting her at enough of an angle to give her another small slice of red. Her breath hitches, but she still doesn’t give me the reaction I need. “I want to see goddamntears.” Another blow, another cut. “For the last time, I want those tears to bemine.” I slap the metal against her skin, this time cutting deeper as I try to purge the devastation from my blood. “Even though they should have all been fucking mine.”

I don’t think it’s the pain that finally causes warm tears to roll down Aurélie’s cheeks. “Does it hurt,chérie?” I ask, brushing my thumb over her tears and bringing it to my lips so I can taste the bitterness of her regret.

“Yes,” she sobs, her chest heaving with the effort to not fall apart in the middle of the kitchen.

“Good. Do you think you can take more?”

She nods her head as much as she can with her hair twisted in my fist. “Yes, chef.”

Fucking hell. I hate the soft part of me that still wants to cave to her when I hear those two sweet words. If I could cut out my traitorous heart and still survive long enough to make sous chef, I would. “Don’t move,” I command before storming away from her. I need a moment to breathe without smelling the sweetness of cherries, and I need oil from the pantry to make sure I don’t ruin her permanently. I grab the first oil I find and storm back toward where she’s still lying bent and spread on the counter.

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