Page 83

Laszlo moves away from my ear and studies me properly, with a triumphant look that makes him even more handsome than he already is. God help me, I want to climb into his lap and let him ruin me in the filthiest ways.

"Because I had it recorded," he says. "I asked one of my men to record it for me. Rafe took his time first. They had him tied down to a chair on the deck, and they went at him slowly, because I told them to. He was bleeding for a long while and still squealing, still pleading, still promising them anything he could think of. Money. Names. His mother... But he had no idea this was about you, about how he dared to think that you would be a whore." Laszlo's voice does not change at all. "He was still begging when they set the charges under the hull."

I have stopped breathing.

He looks up at my face, then lifts one hand and runs it slowly over my cheek, down the side of my throat, and lower between my breasts. I do not stop him. I do not do anything at all.

"I know you like this," he says quietly. "So I will tell you a little bit more."

"Stop." The word comes out with almost no air behind it. "Stop talking. I don't want to hear any more."

"No, ma macabre, you love it. Talking about this makes you wet." He tilts his head. "I know how much this turns you on, Manon. Look at you."

"No. Stop. Don't." My voice breaks.

He cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed on me.

"You are lying to me," he says gently, and his eyes drop to my throat, my chest, lower. "Your breathing has changed. Your color has changed. I know what a body is doing. It is my whole life. And I am telling you that your body is not disgusted." He leans in another inch. "You are going to hate yourself for this later, and you are going to blame it on being angry."

I hit his chest and he laughs. That sexual, sinful sound does something to my insides. It’s been months not counting the bathroom incident since we had sex and I had to get myself off several times with my pink dildo, but that orgasm was incomparable to when I climaxed with his dick inside me. Him touching me. Looking into my eyes. Feeling me. Kissing me…

Oh God, oh God, oh God…

I want that. I want him to pull my hair and fuck me until I can’t walk. Damn it.

"Tell me," I hear myself say. "Tell me the rest of it. And don't stop talking." How I’ve changed my tune in an instant…

"You know what happens if I do." His voice has dropped. "It will be exactly like it was with Charles. You remember how that was."

"I don't care." I have his tie in my fist. I do not remember taking hold of it. "I don't care, Laszlo."

And I pull him down to my mouth.

CHAPTER 23

Laszlo

Her lips taste like pure fucking sin and I can't get enough of her. Ma macabre likes it when I tell her how slowly I can kill a man who dares even to look at her wrong. I grab the back of her head and pull her harder against me, and that little moan she makes, like a whimper, gets my cock so hard it could burst. I devour her, fisting her hair then roughly discarding her shirt because I want my hands on those round, full, perky breasts that deserve to be framed and studied. This is all I want. All I think of…

My original plan was to arrange a rendezvous and fuck her senseless on our burial plot, but things got in the way, then time rushed by and it never happened. It's not that I didn't try—I fucking tried—but Manon was still treating this marriage as a contractual obligation. She has refused to touch me, punishing me for the fact I did not tell her about the years I’ve known about her.

And she still doesn’t know the half of it.

But now, in this moment, everything has changed. All bets are off. One exploding yacht and the gruesome details of a dismemberment, and my wife is desperate for my cock. Other men buy jewelry or flowers. I've been speaking the wrong love language for six months.

There's a room full of people on the other side of that wall. People who are about to learn things about my marriage that aren't on the agenda. I don't care. Better yet, neither does she.

I get rid of her bra and toss it to the floor. My mouth finds her nipple while my hand works its way down between her thighs. Whoever said men can't multitask? I chuckle at my own joke.

I lick her breast and she arches into me, sliding to the very edge of the table, nails in my scalp, and when I bite down she gasps. She’s still behaving. That won't last. I intend to make sure of it.

My mouth needs to be on her pussy. I need to suck on that little bundle of nerves until she's screaming my name, so our witnesses hear how much Mrs. Novak enjoys being fucked by her husband. God knows I need to hear it too. That's the plan. Then her legs over my shoulders… I shove her skirt up her thighs when her hand closes in my hair and pulls my head back up.

"No."

I stop and glance at her. Nobody tells me no in this room. Men have signed away entire shipping routes here when they owed me big and got on my bad side, specifically to avoid telling me no. My wife says it to me twice a day, unprompted, for free.

"No?"