Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Pulling it out, the tight coil stayed in a neat circle thanks to the black ribbon knotted around its length. The dark brown tannins released an oaky, earthy scent. It filled my nose with a thousand urges to swing it and hear it sing.
Stroking the tip where it ended in a nasty forked lash, I hefted the weight and despised that, once again, Victor had seen a weakness and toyed with it. “Thank you.” I cleared my throat. “It’s stunning.”
“And it will deliver stunning results too.” He smiled at Ily. “Now you. Reach into the bag and take out your gift.”
I tensed for her to say something derogatory in return, but she merely soared higher on her knees, dove her hand into the bag on my lap, and pulled out a box with a glass lid and two items nestled in black velvet.
Her eyes narrowed on the present before shooting hate at Victor. “Yet again, you’ve found a way to take something I love and ruin it.”
“I admit…it’s a talent.” Victor chuckled.
“May I?” I quirked an eyebrow, reaching for the box.
She offered it up to me. “Why even bother asking? It’s meant for you more than me.”
“On the contrary.” Victor grinned. “It’s for both of you.”
Opening the glass lid, I ran my fingertips over two long, thick crystals. Carved into the shapes of veiny phalluses, both of them were garishly obscene.
“Rose quartz and obsidian,” Victor said. “I suggest you use the smaller one in her ass to stretch her, mon ami.” He threw me a conspiratorial look. “Preparation is key, yes?”
Images of pinning Ily down and taking her in that way exploded in my mind.
Once I thought it, fuck me, I wanted it.
Badly.
“Why two?” I swallowed hard.
“To stretch both holes at once, of course. Fuck her with both or fuck her with one. The choice is, as always, yours.”
Standing suddenly, Victor grabbed another handful of fries. “Right, that’s enough of chit-chat. I’m going to shower away my travels, have a quick massage by my lovely Rachel, and then…I’ll send my butler to find you. I’m tired but horny so we’ll share a private dinner in my personal chambers before I retire.” He huffed happily. “I never let anyone up there, so I hope you appreciate the invitation. If I’m honest, I’m feeling all round very content. My business went well. The energy in my home is balanced. And I have a true friend who needs some fatherly guidance.” Tugging Rachel’s leash, he smiled. “I look forward to tonight, Henri. We both need a good fuck so tomorrow we can play all day in the snuffbox.”
“See you soon.” I gave him the best smile I could as he left with Rachel in tow.
The moment the door closed behind him, Ily let out a breath.
Our eyes met.
And the dark depression grabbed me all over again.
Chapter Twenty-One
………………………….
Ily
STEPPING INTO VICTOR’S PERSONAL SUITE on the top floor felt as if I’d stepped into the bedroom of the devil. Not because the walls melted with flames or the floor fell away into a bubbling volcano for wretched souls to burn in eternity but because of his sheer presence.
He slept here.
Showered here.
He was vulnerable here, and if we could somehow smuggle a bomb beneath his huge four-poster bed and blow it into rubble, we’d free a million spirits trapped within the walls. Jewels he’d hurt in here. Women and men he’d abused and tortured.
Twice the size of his gold-carpeted office, his bedroom was vast. A sitting area complete with a stripper pole stabbed out of the glass-topped coffee table to the right, a patio with a Jacuzzi waited beneath the moon, and giraffe skins littered the floor leading to another circular lounge. On the walls hung yet more mythical monstrous artwork. Cupids slaughtered on the spears of demons. Men with forked tongues licking out virgins and a huge canvas where soldiers lay like a carpet of corpses, all while some vanquisher rode over them with his blood-splattered white horse.
Was that how Victor saw himself?
The mayor of his own country? The victor of his own battleground?
“Impressive,” Henri muttered, striding forward with long-legged steps.
To me, his voice sounded raspy and off. I’d caught him scrubbing his tongue with his toothbrush as I’d slipped into the bathroom to take a shower earlier this evening. He’d glanced away, but I knew.
I’d heard him throwing up before.
I’d learned what the black shadows beneath his eyes meant.
Nausea tormented him often.
Just like in that video Victor made us all watch the day he almost killed Henri—his tummy had been delicate then, and it seemed to punish him still.
I didn’t know why he suffered such a debilitating condition, but it’d gotten worse.
Is that why he’s lost weight?
Because he couldn’t keep anything down or because unsaid things kept eating him alive?
Victor didn’t seem to care or notice that Henri vibrated with a million different things. Pouring crystal-clear liquid into three glass tumblers, he strode from the private bar by the doors leading to the patio with a grin. Dressed in black silk pyjamas bottoms, bare lean chest, and a long, slackly sashed red silk dressing gown, he either watched far too many pornos or fancied himself as some Mafia boss.