The Boss (Chateau Book 3) Read online

  The bed dipped beside me, and the air was instantly different. It smelled like pine, like fresh air, like the woods after a rain. He was on the opposite of the fire, but he brought his own heat as if he were engulfed in flames. “Chérie.” He didn’t touch me, kept a foot of space between us.

  I was swallowed whole by my pain. I wished my next breath would be my last.

  “Chérie.” His hands gripped my wrists and pulled them from my face. “What did I say?” He leaned toward me, closer to me than he’d ever been before. “Tell me what I said.” He grew more demanding as I didn’t answer, even angry.

  “It’s all my fault…” I pressed my eyes tightly together, so more tears squeezed out. “She tried to save me, but I wouldn’t listen. She tried to warn me, but I was a fucking brat. I’m the reason she’s here. And she won’t…she won’t forgive me.” I lowered my wrists to my thighs where his hands remained, three times the size of mine, exerting the gentleness of a feather, like he knew exactly how to touch someone so delicate.

  His coal-colored eyes looked at the side of my face, drilling deep into my core. The light from the fireplace brightened his face, sharpening the lines of his jaw by deepening the shadow behind the edges.

  “I’ve tried to apologize a few times, but she won’t hear me out.” I gave a loud sniff then reached for a napkin on my tray to blot the tears away. The material balled up in my closed fingertips. “She’s right about me…she’s always been right. It made me angry with her, made me resentful. Not because she was wrong, but because she was right…and I hate that she’s right.”

  “Right about what?”

  I gestured to the fire. “That I’m worthless. That I always need someone to take care of me. That I’m an idiot who constantly makes bad decisions, so I need someone to make decisions for me.”

  “Doesn’t mean you’re worthless. Means you have a different kind of worth.”

  I patted the napkin against my cheek again, absorbing the final trail of tears.

  “I can take care of you.”

  My eyes stayed on the fire, his hands cupped underneath mine, letting mine rest inside his like they were pillows.

  “You will never feel worthless with me.” He moved his face to the crook of my neck, his warm lips coming into contact with my skin. A soft kiss was pressed to my flesh, the same gentleness he showed with his hands. He let his mouth linger awhile before he shifted upward into my hair, smelling me, breathing against me. He turned a little bit more and pressed a kiss to the shell of my ear.

  I closed my eyes and automatically interlocked our fingers. I was at the beach, and my fingers dove into the soft sand, the grains surrounding me until I was buried. His hand gave me a gentle squeeze in return. “The events of our lives that shape who we become are out of our control. Accept who you are.”

  “That’s hard to do…when I’m the reason she’s here.”

  “She’s the one who decided to be responsible for you. Never should have taken on the role if she couldn’t handle every aspect of it.”

  My eyes started to water again. “I knew she moved to Paris to get away from me. So, I kinda forced my visit…just to be spiteful. It hurts that she moved to another continent just to be rid of me. I meant to confront her about it, but I never did.” He was now my confidant, my friend, the man who held my hands and listened to me cry. He was the only person who accepted me as I was…the exact opposite of Raven.

  His hands continued to cradle mine, keep them warm next to the fire.

  “If I hadn’t been a brat, she would still be in Paris, drinking her coffee and going to school. But like always, I came in like a fucking hurricane and destroyed everything.” Being trapped in this camp gave me time to self-reflect in a way I never had before. It forced me to look inward, to pick myself apart and acknowledge all my flaws, my mistakes.

  “I like hurricanes.”

  My eyes left the fire, and I slowly turned to look at him, to see his face so close to mine that his gentle breaths spread across my skin. Instead of pitch-black darkness of space, his eyes were warm like coffee, the fire highlighting the little flecks of gold in his gaze.

  “Tornadoes, earthquakes…I like them all. And I can handle them.” He came a little closer then purposely looked down at my lips. Like they were my eyes, he gazed at them with the same intensity. His hand left mine then gently grazed my cheek before sliding into my hair, pulling it back from my face so he could see all of me, take in the watery eyes, the blotchy cheeks, my ugliness. His eyes lifted to mine. “Let me handle you.”

  My mind was empty of consciousness, and I felt like part of the elements. I felt like the fire, the air, the snow on the ground outside. There was a contentment to my heart that felt so comfortable, a peace that was stronger than an entire bottle of wine. My hand rose automatically, and with my fingertips outstretched, I inched closer to him, like I was feeling for something in the dark. My palm flattened against his strong chest, hitting a slab of concrete that had been sitting in the summer sun all afternoon. A rush gave me a nanosecond of vertigo because so much was channeled into my body at once. Lust, desire, raw and unbridled attraction. But there was more. Safety, security, peace, trust, friendship. How could I trust this man when he was the reason I was there? How could I have complete faith in his word when he broke the law? How could I feel…this?

  Now, his eyes were dark again, the restraints in his gaze tightening as he resisted. His breathing sped up, his breath blanketing my face more often, his chest rising and falling at a quicker rate. But he continued to give me all the power, the final say in the matter. A no, while it would make him flush with disappointment, would also make him depart.

  My hand slid up his chest to his shoulder, feeling the mountains of muscle there, the hot skin. My fingers slid down his arm, over the individual hills, valleys, and the rivers of his veins. My hand followed one vein in particular, tracing it all the way to the hand that was sunk into my hair.

  His stare was unmoving like the mountains, as if time had paused and everything was frozen. Then he pulled me toward him slightly as he moved the rest of the way and planted his mouth directly on mine, his kiss warm like the one he pressed to my neck, gentle and soft, a direct contradiction to his hard nature.

  He was a big man, monstrous, with callused fingertips, short hair, and intense eyes, but he knew exactly how to touch a woman like she was a teacup in a china set. He allowed our lips to greet each other with soft tugs and caresses, his eyes open and on mine, watching my reaction to the burn between our mouths.

  My fingers returned to his arm and then his shoulder, touching the strongest man I’d ever felt. He was thick like a tree trunk, but powerful like a wild bear that sometimes approached the camp in search of food.

  His kiss deepened, his hand fisting my hair, giving me a breath that expanded my lungs. His head turned left to right, taking my mouth at different angles, giving me purposeful kisses that he’d practiced in his mind as he’d sat across from me in that armchair. When his tongue met mine, it started off gentle too, getting to know my mouth little by little, his breathing increasing the more acquainted we became.

  The sound of the fire drowned out the sounds of our kisses and breaths, but soon it faded into the background as our passion cupped our ears like headphones, throbbing like the bass from a loud concert.

  He lowered me to the bed as he moved on top of me, pressing me into the thin mattress with his immense weight, dwarfing me with his size. He pulled his mouth from mine and looked down at me. His eyes quickly shifted back and forth between mine, his gaze dark once again, with a burning intensity that almost made him appear angry. With a single arm, he scooped me up by the waist and repositioned me on the bed, so my head hit the pillow at the top.

  The world faded away, and it was just the two of us. I watched him stare at me in a way a man had never stared at me before. It made me feel transparent, like he could see completely through me, see my heart, my flaws, my shortcomings, and didn’t care about the infor
mation he found. Whatever I lacked, he would provide.

  I didn’t think about anything except the two of us.

  In this moment.

  Man and woman.

  His hand slid underneath my top and lifted it as he planted his face against my belly, kissing my soft stomach, dragging his tongue over it as he moved farther up, to my chest and then the area between my tits. His hand spanned my entire stomach, could crush me if he decided to squeeze.

  My eyes naturally closed at his touch because I’d never been worshiped by a man like this, as if every part of my body deserved to be kissed, as if there was more to my body than the area between my legs.

  The bed dipped farther and farther as he positioned his weight directly on top of me, his hand pushing my top higher until it rose above my breasts and revealed my large tits. My nipples were hard, my skin sensitive, and I sucked in a loud breath as I felt him drag his tongue in the little valley between my nearly nonexistent cleavage.

  He kissed me like I was perfect.

  He dipped his head as he kissed one nipple, flicking it with his tongue before he gave a harsh suck, making me wince in both pleasure and pain. He lifted his head, brushed his nose against mine before he kissed me, his eyes open and deep with desire, and then he moved to the other tit that required his attention.

  I hadn’t even had him yet, and he was the best I’d ever had.

  His kisses became more aggressive, treating my second tit far more harshly than the first, his hand cupping my rib cage like it was my waist. His thumb pressed into my sternum, testing my petiteness, memorizing the measurements of my body.

  My hands explored his body as I arched my back to give him more of me in his mouth, my unclipped nails dragging into the searing skin of hot muscle, of the beast that pinned me to the mattress and devoured me like his dinner of steak and potatoes.

  When he held his head over mine again, he pressed his forehead to mine, his eyes on my lips, and his fingers unbuttoned my pants and got the zipper down, breathing hard with me, his arousal growing.

  His lips returned to mine and kissed me as he gripped the material over my hip and yanked it down. My hips lifted off the bed automatically, and he moaned as he got the pants loose over my ass and down to my thighs. My cooperation turned him on, made him moan again when I helped him kick the material away and leave my ankles.

  His hand gripped the inside of my thigh with his big fingers and slowly positioned it. His kiss ended so he could look at me, stare at my face in the firelight, his fingers trailing to the area between my legs, over my underwear, and then down the front.

  When his fingertips reached my clit, I released a loud moan, and that was when I realized how much I’d been waiting for that touch. My hands automatically held on to his arms for balance even though I lay completely still, and the increased desire in his eyes only made my desire increase more.

  He rubbed my clit with the perfect pressure, with the perfect touch, like he knew exactly what my body wanted.

  I breathed deeply as the sensations made my hips rock automatically, letting out quiet moans because every time he touched me, it felt so good. My nails started to claw, and I looked into his eyes and felt his pleasure as I felt mine.

  His features hardened the longer he touched me, his jawline turning sharp like the edge of a knife, his eyes turning into black abysses that knew infinite depth. His fingers shifted farther back to my entrance, and he moaned as his fingers became coated with my flooding arousal.

  When he knew I was ready, he pulled out a condom from his pocket and dropped his pants.

  My eyes took him in, seeing his bottom half match the top half. His thighs powerful and toned, full of the same muscle definition he had in his torso and arms, and his narrow hips had that prominent V that segmented two levels of muscle.

  His dick was exactly what I expected—and it matched everything else about his body.

  Humongous.

  He got the condom on then moved between my legs, his arms pinning my legs back so he could sink inside my pussy with the least resistance. He left my shirt pushed up to my shoulders with my tits on display, and the bed shifted and moved again as he repositioned himself. “Just for tonight, chérie. I will give you all of me.” He pressed his head covered with the stressed latex between my lower lips and slowly pushed to get through.

  Completely absorbed in this moment, nothing could pull me out of it. Our surroundings, our reality, nothing could break the trance between our eyes, our bodies, and our hearts. I’d never wanted a man more, never wanted to give myself to someone like this, never wanted someone to take me, all of me.

  He slowly sank inside me, patiently waiting for my body to accept him inch by inch, giving quiet moans as he claimed my body further and further.

  My hand cupped his neck as I moaned at his entrance, winching at his size but appreciating it at the same time. His size was part of his nature, and I would never change it even if I could. I took the bad as well as the good. My other hand planted against his chest, and I breathed harder as he moved farther inside me, stretched me to full capacity, making this time somehow feel like my first time.

  His intense eyes were glued to my face, his jaw tenser than it’d ever been, razor-sharp. When he reached a dead end inside me and could go no farther, he released a moan as he gently rocked his hips. “Chérie, tu es à moi.” With his eyes on me, he rocked into me at a quick and steady pace, his eyes burning into my fiery ones with lustful flames. “Si belle.” He spoke to me in French as he had me, enjoying me in a way a man had never enjoyed me, like I was the best he ever had when I just lay there and enjoyed it. “Je suis ton homme. Il n’y a que moi. Tu comprends ?”

  He didn’t climax and leave.

  He changed his condom and kept going, taking me again in the exact same position, speaking to me in French. His powerful body was slick with sweat, glistening in the light of the fire, making my sheets smell like him and our spent bodies combined. A pool of arousal had dripped down my ass to the sheets beneath me because he didn’t take me in another position, and that moisture grew until I could feel it coat my lower back.

  Frenchmen fucked differently from Americans. His passion was unbridled, wild and free, and once, twice, even three times wasn’t enough. He was ready to keep going, to kiss me hard, to please me so thoroughly that my body actually ached. The fire burned down without either of us noticing, and the heat we made together kept the cabin warm despite the snow that fell out the window. He didn’t even want me to do any work. He just wanted me there, underneath him, taking his pounding dick. My only responsibility was to lie there and come, to scratch his skin with my sharp nails, to watch him fuck me like he’d never wanted a woman more.

  I was about to come again, for the fourth time, when I didn’t think that was possible. Once was a miracle sometimes. Twice was a fluke attributed to my hormones. But three and four times…that was all him. I tugged on his lower back as I pulled him flush against my clit, ready to come again, my lips trembling and incoherent mutterings coming from between them. I reached for a word I couldn’t find, begged for a name to enter my throat so I could say it out loud.

  He supplied it, as if he knew I was desperate to say his name in gratitude for the night he’d given me. “Fender. Say my name, chérie.” He pounded into me harder than before, filling the cabin with his grunts and heavy breaths, driving me into a final explosion as he reached his. “Say it.”

  My eyes blurred with tears as I came around him, looking at him above me, saying the name in worship. “Fender…yes.” I said it again, like he was a god, like I should be nothing short of utterly grateful for the way he made my toes curl, the way he made everything hurt and feel good simultaneously. “Fender.”

  He came with a loud groan, filling the condom that separated us, shoving himself as far as he could go without hurting me as he finished. His forehead rested against mine until he was completely finished, the gentle rock of his hips coming to a standstill. His moans died away, and a
ll that was left behind were breaths.

  My nails released his scratched skin.

  He opened his eyes and gave me a passionate kiss like he still had a little bit left in his engine. It had tongue, breath, possessiveness. He pulled himself out of me and rolled off me.

  I winced when he left my body, aware of the soreness now that the passion was gone.

  He pulled off the condom and tossed it aside before he immediately got dressed, like he had no intention of sleeping beside me.

  I was so tired that all I did was turn over and pull the sheets over me. I didn’t even care about the stain that my wetness had left behind. My body and mind were both exhausted, and I just needed sleep.

  He didn’t seem to have brought a shirt or a jacket, so he pulled on his boots and prepared to leave. But he hesitated.

  I heard him stop, my eyes on the dead fire, unsure if he was looking at me or had something to say.

  His bootsteps sounded as he moved to the fireplace. He kneeled, added more logs, lit them on fire, and made the cabin brighten once more so I would stay warm for the rest of the night. “Goodnight, chérie.”

  Six

  Soft Graves

  Fender

  I stepped into the infirmary and stared down the only doctor I had on duty.

  He looked at me from his chair then quickly rose to his feet. “What do you need, Boss?” He approached the table between us, his eyes slightly fearful like he didn’t know if I was there to berate him for something.

  “Birth control.”

  He didn’t have any reaction at all, even though I’d never made that request before, and the only people who did were the guards that had relationships with the girls. Not romantic relationships. Barter relationships. They gave them medicine, desserts, books in exchange for pussy. It was the only currency used in the camp. Wordlessly, he unlocked one of the cabinets and pulled out a pack before he set it on the table between us.

  Footsteps sounded behind me from the door that I’d left open.