Page 58 of Heartfelt Pain
“Sorry, if I’m being too nosy.”
She shrugs again. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t nosy.”
My shoulders relax.
“He’s all right,” Isolde says after a few bites. “Looks like an arrogant bastard most of the time.”
Um, I’ve heard plenty of stories. “That’s because he is an arrogant bastard.”
Her chest lifts, wearily. I’m not sure what she’s been up to the last few days, but she’s not getting enough sleep. She takes another bite and then pushes the food away from her. There’s still half a bowl left.
“He’s not as bad as people say. He was the first person to ever hire me,” she says.
“Hadrian Hallow?” I frown.
“Back at Oxford. He’s the guy who hired me to take out my sister’s killer.”
A large group of tourists burst through the door. Jane greets them. Otherwise, it’d be completely quiet.
“That’s twice in a week he’s come to see you,” I note.
Abe drops off two slices of cake. He never lets me have dessert so he must notice Isolde’s downtrodden vibe.
At the last minute, Abe tries to take my cake back and I fight him for it. Someone clears their throat and I’m lucky I don’t end up flinging the plate in surprise.
Because Yelena Zimin is standing in the middle of Fujimori’s. And I think she’s here for me.
CHAPTER 13
Roma
Iwanted to fuck Ren’s throat this morning but she looked so pleased after tying my hands and sucking me off. I wanted to pump my cock into her mouth without control. To force her to take me instead of the sweet, warm strokes of her tongue.
It’s cute, how she’s taking control. Her cheeks grow pink and her voice husky. Her nipples tighten when she whispers little things into my ear. There’s a devious look in her eye when she sends me home.
The Ren I used to fuck tried to hide her face, always embarrassed about how I made her feel. Now she doesn’t give a fuck about who’s nearby. And maybe I like a little bit of pain with my pleasure.
I could analyze it all day, but it doesn’t matter. If she wants to try her hand at being the dominant one then I’m here for the ride. Because it’s going to be me she keeps playing with, no one else.
I’m broken from my reveries by the soft click of heels against the concrete floors.
“What are youdoing here?” I ask Mom.
She looks completely out of place in the garage. She’s in one of her long skirts, with a nice shirt tucked in under her trench coat. Her beige heels are even skinnier than the ones Ren wears.
Blonde hair is swept back into some elaborate updo. The angular planes of her face startle me. She’s always been bony, but I think she’s lost weight recently. She doesn’t have much to lose.
“Can I not come see my son?” she asks. Despite the stained concrete floor, her steps are sure of themselves as she takes in the garage. “This is very nice, son.”
I mess with the tool in my hand, bent next to my car.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
My Barracuda is up on jacks. “New brake pads.”
She steps closer to inspect my work. “Your grandfather would be very proud to see you in such a place.”
It takes me a minute to realize she’s talking about her father. I never met the Russian tycoon, but there’s pride in her voice. It bleeds into her words and as she looks around I realize she’s not wrinkling her nose.
