Read Trust Me (Rough Love #3) Online

Authors: Annabel Joseph

Trust Me (Rough Love #3) (6 page)

BOOK: Trust Me (Rough Love #3)
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“Paris makes me horny,” he said through his teeth.

“Oh. Good.” His fingers roved over my body, touching all my sensitive spots, all my curves. One of his hands eventually found its way to my neck, but unlike last night, he didn’t grip me. He stroked over my pulse instead. I squirmed and squeezed on his cock as my pussy came to life. I arched for more.
Oh yes, yeah, please, my G-spot…

He held my hips, stilling my movements. “Don’t be a mindless little slut,” he chided. “Or I might not let you come.”

I whined and felt his smile against my cheek. I loved when he was playful, when we had close, affectionate encounters under the covers before we got up. He pressed inside me again, so, so slow, holding my hips so I couldn’t bounce back against him the way I wanted to. I arched so my shoulder blades rubbed against his chest.

“I guess Paris makes you horny too, little slave girl.”

Little slave girl.
Yes, I’m your slave. Yes, you make me so horny and excited.
He let go of my hips and circled my waist, holding me against him. Even when he was slow and sensual, he maintained control. I loved it. Without that control, I would have been lost.

“Oh, please,” I said, writhing against his hard muscles as he entered me again.

He waited inside me, scratching my cheek and jaw with a series of fleeting kisses. “You want more?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir, I want more.” I knew my part in this erotic drama. “Please, give me more.”

“Tell me what you want. You want it in another hole?” I sighed as he squeezed my ass cheeks, parting them, teasing me with a threat. “You want me in your tight little asshole?”

“Yes, Sir, I would love that,” I breathed.

“It might hurt. Do you want me to hurt you?”

“I always want you to hurt me.” That was the goddamn truth. Since we’d started this dirty negotiation, my pussy had grown ten times wetter.

“Ask for it,” he said. “Ask for what you want.”

“Please fuck my ass. I want to feel your big, thick cock inside my tight asshole.”

“I bet you fucking do.” He leaned away. The bed shifted, and he got up. “Don’t move. You stay right there.”

He didn’t have to tell me. I waited on my side for him to return with the lube. His cock was massively hard, bouncing with each step as he came back to me. He slathered lube over the reddened crown, more than he used when I was a bad girl. I appreciated that he added a little extra to my asshole. My mind was willing—no, eager—for some snuggle anal, but my body was still half-asleep.

He slid closer to me, easing his cock between my ass cheeks. He pressed on my hole, forcing his way forward. I could feel his fingers against my ass, and then it was just his thick shaft sliding inside me, eased by the extra lube.

Oh God, it hurt. Of course it always hurt when something that big was forced into a place that small, but it hurt in the most wonderful way possible, because his arms slid around me again and held me close. His stubble scraped the back of my neck as I curled into the pain. His big hands opened against my heart, then one slid up to my neck again. No choking. Just holding. There was no need to subjugate me beyond the firm, steady strokes invading my ass.

“Is that better?” he said against my ear. “Is that what you needed?”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you. Oh God, thank you.”

I added the last thank you because his other caressing hand had found its way down to my clit. He parted me, sliding a fingertip over my throbbing button. I clenched so hard around his cock that he gasped. He slid his hand lower and shoved his fingers into my pussy, filling the space he’d left empty when he decided to fuck my ass. My toes curled with happiness. He had big fucking fingers and he knew how to use them.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I babbled.

“Does that feel good?”

“Oh God.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He shoved his fingers deeper. “Horny little girl. Do you like feeling all filled up?”

With Price in my life, it was hard to avoid that feeling. He was inside me and around me all the time, and I’d become scarily addicted to his nearness, to the
fullness
of his mastery.

He pressed my clit with the heel of his hand as he fingerfucked me, and continued drilling my ass. I was glad Paris made him horny. I clung to his arms, climbing toward orgasm. “Please, please,” I whispered. I meant
Please don’t stop. Please let me come.

He pressed against me, all down my back and thighs, like he wanted to become part of me. But he was already part of me, more than anyone else had been.

Please, please, please…

“Come,” he said. Not
Are you going to come?
Or
I want you to come
. Just the simple command.
Come.
He slid deep inside my ass and stayed there, allowing me to jerk off on his fingers while I was impaled. I felt warm, safe, and of course, deliciously filled up. The orgasm unfolded like the best morning orgasms, in a shatteringly intense rumble of sensation. The earthquake started in my pussy and ass, then reverberated out to the rest of my body, until my nipples were aching and my toes were once again curled in ecstasy.

It was a long time before I uncurled them. I felt him shuddering at my back, stifling the roar that sometimes accompanied his orgasms. This was too close and snuggly for that. Instead I got another volley of kisses along my neck, and another hard bite on my ear.

“Ow,” I said, even though I barely felt it. My pussy was still contracting around his fingers, and my ass still felt full. I sighed when he finally pulled away.

“That was wonderful,” I whispered.

“Wonderful and naughty.”

I turned and nestled against his chest. “You make me so naughty.”

He laughed. “I think you were plenty naughty before I came along. I just know how to capitalize on your filthy urges.”


My
filthy urges?” I feigned outrage. “You suggested anal.”

“Silence, filthy little slave.”

He prevented further outbursts by sticking his tongue in my mouth and kissing me into submission. By the end of our make out session, I felt so blissed out and content I could have fallen back to sleep, but he wouldn’t allow that. After a shower and an elegant breakfast in the restaurant downstairs, I headed out into Paris determined to wring all the inspiration I could from the City of Love. While Price attended his conference, I was to spend my day exploring the Louvre.

Honestly, I could have spent a month at the Louvre absorbing everything I wanted to see. I made a list of each exhibit I visited, because I knew Price would ask me about them when he returned to the hotel. I took a break at lunchtime and basked in the sun at an outdoor cafe. So many people, some locals, some tourists. It struck me that they all had a story, perhaps as complicated and disjointed as my own. As traumatic as my own.

No, I didn’t want to think about that here, in the sun and loveliness of Paris. My past was my past. I knew that, but it still haunted me sometimes. Here in Paris, the past felt very close. I couldn’t help remembering the time I’d come here with Simon, and walked with him through the Louvre until we found his newly installed painting.
Heart-Lust.
I could close my eyes and see it, or…

Well, I was here at the Louvre. I could go see it for real.

But I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. After our run in with Simon at Andrew’s art show, Price had forbidden me to have anything to do with my ex. He’d actually forbidden it two years earlier, when he’d bought me an apartment on the condition that Simon never set foot inside.

Still, the painting wasn’t Simon. It wasn’t like I was drifting toward the Modern Impressionists area of the museum so I could see Simon.

It’s your history with him
, my conscience whispered.
It’s practically the same.

I tried to get engrossed in other things, but I kept thinking of
Heart-Lust
as Simon had worked on it, as it had hung on his studio wall in our loft. He’d done other paintings inspired by me, but that was the first one, the one that changed my life.

I thought of how he’d stood me in front of it and pointed out all the things I couldn’t see in the whirls and swirls of scarlet paint. I thought of the poem Simon had given me.
Her heart breaks in a smile, and she is lust.
It was the same E.E. Cummings poem that Price had given me years later when my life—and my relationship with Simon—was falling apart. In that way,
Heart-Lust
joined all of our histories, and I was here in Paris, so why shouldn’t I see it while I had the chance?

Because Price wouldn’t want you to…

I silenced the warning in my head and found my way to the correct gallery. I tried to go by memory, but in the end I had to consult a map. Funny how we forget things we should remember so intensely, or perhaps the museum itself had changed.

But when I found the right place and walked into the large atrium where the painting was lit and mounted, I was shaken by a recognition so strong and so poignant that my eyes filled with tears.

Heart-Lust.
It was a beautiful mess, just like Simon had been before he got sober, just like I was before I met Price. The massive, rough-edged canvas was red and angry and sweet and lyrical at once.

I was over Simon, I was absolutely over him, but the sadness of our ten-year failed relationship would always be there, just like this painting would always be on display in the world. On the back, where no one could see, he’d painted my name over and over,
Chere Chere Chere Chere Chere.
I couldn’t see that now. I couldn’t touch it the way I once had, with Simon’s permission. I couldn’t run my fingers over the textures, not with the surly museum docent standing in the corner.
But I did it once
, I thought.
I traced those million dollar brush strokes. I have quite a contemptible past.

Price hated when I lived in the past. He’d be angry to know I was lingering here, staring at
Heart-Lust
, crying and reminiscing over a relationship that had been so very bad. I’d have to confess that I’d visited Simon’s painting. He’d consider it a breach of the rules. He’d punish me.
This isn’t why you’re in Paris.
I could practically hear him say it in his hard, firm, angry-Master voice. He’d tell me that I needed to look forward, not back. I needed to become who I was supposed to be.

I turned to escape this wing, wiping away guilty tears. I had my head down, so I didn’t see the elderly man I bumped into. A younger man at his side steadied him with a sharp, foreign volley of words.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered, looking into dark silver eyes framed by thinning gray hair. The old man had deeply bronzed skin and a compact body that felt strong for his age. His companion watched me with dark eyes, inclining his own head of jet black, close-cropped hair.

“Are you all right?” the older man asked. “Our collision was my fault. I was fiddling with my tie pin.”

His English was impeccable, despite his Indian accent. His clothing, for that matter, was impeccable. Rich suit, rich shoes, and a jewel-encrusted gold tie pin that was indeed sagging to one side.

“It’s a bit top-heavy for a tie pin,” I said, as he fussed at it some more.

“I know, and it greatly disappoints me. I had it specially made.”

The giant at his side muttered something urgent, but the gray-haired businessman waved a hand.

“She’s not going to steal anything,” he said. “She is not a gypsy. She speaks English.” His striking silver eyes softened as they studied me. “She is a lover of art. Look, she’s been crying.”

I ran fingers beneath my eyes. “These paintings are so powerful,” I said, even though I was really crying about something else. “I’m sorry I bumped into you.”

“My dear, I am a lover of art as well. I understand how it can affect you. My name is Vinod, and this is my friend Jino, who follows me about to make sure I don’t get into trouble.”

I took his hand when he offered it. His fingers felt soft and cool. Though his “friend” was very tall, the old man was just my height, so it was easy to hold his gaze.

“I’m Chere. It’s nice to meet you.” I looked back at his tie pin, wishing I could take it off and try to fix it. “I design jewelry,” I said. “Forgive me, but I think that piece is poorly made, even if it’s beautiful.”

He gave a grunt of agreement. “You see,” he said, turning to his companion. “Finally, some honesty.” He plucked at the pin again. “They say it’s my fault, that I don’t position it properly. But no matter how I position the thing, it droops.”

“I think maybe…it’s just too much. I could take that apart and make three different tie pins that were just as beautiful with less weight. Right now…” I touched the heavy piece. “Right now it has too much all at once. Sometimes understated elegance looks just as rich.”

“You say you’re a designer?” he asked, regarding me closely. “Do you have a studio here in Paris?”

“I have one in New York, on Park Avenue.” I was trying to sound more important than I was, like I had some big storefront when all I had was a two-room converted office. Still… “Can I give you my card? Or…” I slid a look at his companion, who I had come to suspect was a bodyguard. “I’m staying at a hotel just down the street. I have some samples with me, tie pins and cuff links and women’s jewelry too. I also do custom work, if you…”
If you would like to become a client. You obviously have money, and I don’t want to get my ass beaten…again…

“I would like to learn more about your aesthetic,” he said. “I love anything well-executed, and lately understated elegance has been in short supply.”

We returned to the hotel in the car Price had hired for me, keeping up a steady stream of conversation. Vinod was excited when he learned I’d recently graduated from the Norton School of Art and Design, and told me a little about his work in a fashion design firm in Mumbai. We were on the elevator heading upstairs before I realized I didn’t really know these two men. I’d been so excited that someone was interested in my work that I hadn’t considered whether it was safe or reasonable to invite them to my room. It wasn’t even my room, it was Price’s room.

But in my ten years as an escort I’d developed a sixth sense about people, and Vinod didn’t have a shred of evil about him. This might be my only chance to pick up a client, so I decided it was worth the risk.

BOOK: Trust Me (Rough Love #3)
12.39Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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