Page 31 of Shades of Red

Without giving her any warning, I pull the stopper from the bottle and pour a heaping amount over her ass. She jumps a little at the contact of the liquid, but she doesn’t pull away. From the smell of it, it’s truffle oil. My favorite. I use my fingers to spread it over her ass, smearing it into her cuts and over the red welts from my knife. When her whole ass is bright and shiny, I dip my fingers between her cheeks and start to rub the oil over her asshole. That’s when she starts to squirm beneath me.

“Does your cunt of a husband take you here?” I ask, tapping my fingers against her back hole.

“Y-yes,” she answers, her voice shaking.

“Good.” I pour more oil into my hand and use it to lubricate my erection. “You should be half-prepped to take me then.” I spread her ass open with both hands and slide the swollen head of my cock up and down her crack, smearing around the lube.

“Grey,” she pleads, sounding panicked as she tries to slide out from under me. “You’re a lot bigger than he is.”

I throw my elbow into the small of her back and hold her down with the weight of my upper body. “Oh, do you think it will hurt,chérie?” I line the head of my cock up with her asshole and start to press into the tight ring of muscle. “Good, that makes it even better.” Then I force my way into her.

She screams, and I feel my cock pulse inside her at the sound of it. “I’m going to claim every piece of you before I let you go,” I growl against her ear as I pull almost all the way out. “Because I gave you every piece of me.” I slam into her again hard, loving the sound of her cries as I make her take my cock. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall as I use Aurélie’s ass, knowing we’ve already wasted too much of the time we should have been inventorying the restaurant’s current supplies. The vendeur de fruits will be here in five minutes with the first pick of the day. So as much as I hate to rush, there’s no time to waste.

“We have five minutes before the vendors get here with today’s produce,” I tell her as I pump into her hard and fast. “Either you come before then, or I’ll stuff your ass full of cum and leave you aching for the rest of the day.” I slip my hand between her legs and find her swollen clit. “What do you say, golden girl? Want to give me one more?”

“Grey,” she sobs, the single word sad and desperate at the same time.

“This is the last time I want to hear my name on those pretty,lying lips,chérie. So make it fucking count.” I touch her clit the way she likes, soft and precise, while I pound into her ass like an animal, giving her all the pain she likes too. I feel her clench even tighter around me as her whole body starts to tense with the first ripples of an orgasm. “Come, Aurélie,” I command.

“Grey,” she cries out as her climax tears into her, ripping screams from her fragile body.

I thrust into her violently until I reach my own peak alongside her. Bending down, I sink my teeth into her neck as I ride out the pleasure pulsing through me and stuff her full for the last time. When I finally pull out, there’s cum dripping out of her asshole and down her thighs. Unable to resist, I kneel between her legs and lick her clean. The truffle in the oil compliments the earthy taste of her ass and the saltiness of my own cum. It’s a surprisingly balanced composition of flavors.

“You’ve got two minutes to freshen up before the vendors get here,” I tell her as I rise to my feet and readjust myself in my pants. “Unless you want to play the whore as well aslookthe part?”

Aurélie stands up on shaky legs, her cheek red from being pressed into the counter. Her ass is covered in red welts and cuts that will show right through the white material of her dress, which I’ve also ripped. “Your chef’s whites will cover it,” I tell her when I see her look down at her body in dismay.

“We still need to talk,” she says, pulling down her dress until it almost covers her bare cunt. She’ll be going home without panties tonight. “We can figure out a way to see each other without him knowing.”

“We don’t need to talk,” I scoff. “We’re done.”

“We can still?—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not going to wait around for whatever scraps you choose to give me while you go home every night to the man who hits you just so that you can keep your expensive shoe collection.I need more than waking up in an empty bed every morning wishing you were there. And I’m over being played for a goddamn fool.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, her eyes shining with tears.

I don’t believe the tears any more than I believe her. “You can shove that apology up the ass I just fucked,chérie.”

Idon’t go home after leaving Dix. My work for the night is nowhere near finished. Instead, I walk to the boucherienear Rue Montorgueil. I already contacted Philipe this afternoon and told him I needed to use his equipment after hours to prep for the final challenge before winning sous.

It’s not a complete lie. There’s one challenge left. The tenth challenge—given the name of the restaurant, it’s only fitting. Javi has won one of the last three challenges; I’ve won two. In my opinion, we’re almost evenly matched, and it’s going to take something special to push me ahead and into first place.

But tonight isn’t just about food. No, tonight is about removing a parasite that has already taken far more than he deserves. And I won’t allow him to feed off others anymore. Tonight, Blaise Moreau is going to bleed.

As much as I hate Aurélie, I’m not going to let her bear the punishment for the things we’ve done together this summer. If she had been willing to leave—if she’d been brave enough to give up a lifeof luxury for a chance at something beautiful and real—these sorts of extremes wouldn’t be necessary. But she chosehim, and my hand has been forced.

I don’t turn a blind eye to abuse, and I refuse to let that kind of consistent cruelty run unchecked. After seventeen years of living under the harsh rule of my father, I vowed to never again be complacent in the suffering of others. And her decision is making me fulfill that vow to a very extreme and permanent extent. It would have been more convenient to resolve this situation without bloodshed, but I’m honest enough to admit that this way is far more fun.

The boucherie is dark when I get there. They’ve been closed for hours, as has every other shop on this block. The streets are mostly empty; people are in the comfort of their homes even though there’s still plenty of daylight left. I open the door to the shop with my spare key and start to prepare for my task.

It makes perfect sense to dismember a body in a place that deals with blood, organs, muscle, and bone on a daily basis. Mess and disposal are already taken into account with hoses and drains. There are plenty of the sharpest knives, cleavers, and bone saws. You’ll find everything you need for processing the meat properly. And Philipe has an incinerator for animal waste at the back of the shop. After tonight, it will be like Aurélie’s swine of a husband never even existed.

I really thought it would be harder to get her husband alone, but it turns out that rich pricks like him are shockingly simple. One blow to their manhood and reputation, and you’ve practically got them on their knees. In the end, all it took to get Blaise Moreau out in the open was a photo of his naked wife riding my cock with my hand wrapped around her throat and her cherry lips spread in ecstasy as she moans my name. With my extensive tattoos clearly visible in the photo, it’s obvious that Mrs. Moreau isn’t getting dicked by herhusband.

Pretending to be the lowly piece of shit he thinks I am, I secretlystole his number from Aurélie’s phone and sent him the picture with a demand for money or that photo and the other twenty I have like it are being sent out to every news publication in Paris. I did a little digging on him after he showed up at Dix. Turns out, Blaise is quite the socialite, even though he keeps his wife out of the spotlight so he can hide his predilection for violence. And exclusive info on Moreau being a cuckold would actually cause quite a ripple amongst the high society Parisian sycophants.

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