Shades of Red (Sharp Edges Duet #1)

9. Huile de Truffe Blanche

Steam starts to fill the apartment, turning the already hot apartment sweltering. I open the full-length windows to let in the night air before going back to where I set Aurélie on the toilet and told her to stay put. To my surprise, she’s right where I left her, chewing on her bottom lip with her blindfold untouched. “Such a good girl,” I say in a warm tone as I get down on my knees in front of her and gently untangle the strip of red material from her hair and let it fall to the white tile floor.

Her thick eyelashes flutter as she blinks her bright blue eyes to adjust to the light that must feel glaring after over an hour in darkness. Mascara is smeared beneath her eyes, and I suddenly realize I’m an idiot for covering up the sight of her tears. Guess I’ll just have to make her cry again. “So fucking pretty.” I smile in adoration while running my knuckles over her tear stained cheeks.

She scoffs. “I’m a fucking mess.” She says it like she doesn’t realize being a complete wreck makes her even sexier.

“The prettiest damn mess I’ve ever seen,” I agree with a small pinch on her cheek. I tug on the straps that are still on her shoulders even though I cut her dress down the middle, and what remains of her red dress falls down and pools at her sides. I offer her my hand before pulling her into the shower with me, the temperature of the water perfectly scalding.

The shower is so tiny that Aurélie is pressed into my chest, her back against the tiled wall. I grab a bar of soap and lather it in my hands before bringing it to her skin and rubbing away the remains of chocolate and sugar. The air fills with the sweet scent of bergamot and clove as I wash her pretty white skin clean. The cut between her breasts is even more visible now, and I just want to run my tongue over it and tear at it with my teeth. I drag the soap over her stomach and down between her legs, rinsing away the last of the sugary sweetness from her cunt.

“More, Grey. Please,” she pleads when I move my attention from her pussy to further down her thighs. Today was the first time we’ve played that she hasn’t gotten to come, and she’s aching because of it.

“Is this sweet little cunt feeling left out, chérie?” I stroke my hands back up her thighs and spread her folds wide open. “Do you want my mouth?” I drop to my knees on the slick tile and rim her entrance with my tongue before thrusting inside her. She moans loudly, the sound of it echoing through the shower. Her fingers dig into my wet hair, and she forces my mouth harder against her needy cunt. I flick my tongue over her clit, loving to see her writhe on my tongue. She whimpers when I pull away and sit up on my heels to look at her. “Or do you want my cock?

“Anything,” she breathes. Her eyes are shut while she leans against the wall, her hips thrusting into the empty air like a desperate slut begging to be used.

I slap both of my palms against her wet skin, forcing her eyes to open with a jolt while she whimpers at the sudden pain. “Eyes on me, golden girl, and tell me what you want,” I demand.

“Y-your cock,” she mumbles, although I’m fairly certain she would let me shove anything into one of her holes if it meant she would get off.

“Good choice,” I growl, rising to my feet, grabbing her slick thigh in one hand, and wrapping her leg around my waist so she’s spread open. “Hold onto me so you don’t slip.”

After she wraps her arms around my neck, I line the swollen head of my cock up with her dripping entrance and slam into her, forcing her hard against the tile wall. While I’m still inside her, I grab her other leg and bring it up to my waist so that she’s straddling my hips. She locks her ankles and holds on tight while I bounce her up and down, shoving her against the wet wall with every thrust. My wet hair drapes into my eyes, and the water is scorching as it pounds down on my back; my skin will be red before we’re done.

My climax comes on quick and strong. I attack her mouth with mine, overwhelmed with the need to fill her as much as possible. She opens for me, allowing me to spear my tongue into her warm throat as I shoot my load inside her pussy, filling her with my cum for the second time tonight.

I feel her scream into my mouth as she comes with me, our cum mixing together before it slides down her thighs and disappears down the drain. I find that I’m disappointed when I place Aurélie down on her feet and watch the remnants of me wash away with the water. I frown down at her too clean thighs. Shower sex isn’t dirty enough for my tastes.

“Let’s get the rest of you clean so I can take you to bed and get you filthy all over again,” I growl against her ear. “Turn around.”

She does as I ask, spinning around so that her tits are pressed against the wet wall and her delectable ass is in my view for the first time tonight. But I gasp when I see her ass isn’t the perfect, milky white that I remember from her alleyway spanking. It’s a mess of mottled green and yellow with some splotches of purple in the middle. “What the fuck, Aurélie?” I gasp. “What happened?”

“Merde,” she whispers so softly I can barely hear her. She tries to turn back around, but I brace my arm against her lower back and hold her against the wall so I can survey the damage.

“What the fuck happened?” I ask again, very aware that she’s stalling rather than responding.

“Nothing,” she bites back.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.”

“I fell.”

“You fell?” I repeat her own words back to her so she can hear how ridiculous they sound.

“Yes. I tripped over the stairs at home and fell hard on my ass.”

I frown down at her, by some miracle managing to ignore how her peachy ass glistens with the water dripping down. It doesn’t look like she fell. It looks like she got her ass whipped. I recognize the bruises well from growing up with a dad who had a tendency to let his belt and later his fists do all the talking.

“Chérie,” I scold, looking down at her with a scowl on my face. “Don’t lie to me.” I stroke my knuckles over the bruises. “Did someone hurt you? Do I need to gut someone and use their entrails as sausage casings?”

“No, of course not, espèce de psychopathe. I fell. I’ve always been clumsy. Hell, the first time I met you I had blood on my knees from slipping on my bike, remember?”

My frown deepens when she mentions the first time I saw her hurt. I tend to get suspicious when girls have a lot of accidents. My stepmom had a lot of accidents, until one day she accidentally fell down the stairs and broke her neck. Then my sister started having accidents instead. I want to press Aurélie on it, but she seems determined to shut me out. Maybe I’ll have to pay a quiet visit to her father and make sure he’s treating his little girl the way he should be. If not, it might be time for daddy to have the same sort of accident that befell my father when he took things with my sister too fucking far.

“Okay, if you say so,” I reply, doubt thick in my voice. I lean down until my lips are brushing against that sensitive spot behind her ear. “But if I find out you’re lying to me, I’ll give you worse than whoever gave you those bruises.”

She shivers under my touch, and I’m almost certain my twisted girl is at least half-enticed by the idea of me hurting her. I can only hope she hasn’t grown to enjoy pain because she’s only ever been shown the kind of love that hurts.

My bed was empty when I woke up the next morning. I fell asleep with Aurélie in my arms and woke to a note written in red lipstick that she had to go and didn’t want to wake me. I didn’t take it personally on the first night. Or the second night. By the third, I started to think that I’d found the only girl in Paris so afraid of attachment that she spent her nights walking the streets alone at midnight. And after three weeks of waking up to a cold bed, I’m starting to think I should take her rejection personally.

I rush toward the open doors of the kitchen, fixing the skewed buttons on my white uniform as I go. The restaurant is deserted. Beneath the dark cover of early morning, I would typically be considered more than punctual. But at five minutes after six, I’m late to look over the morning produce with Aurélie. I usually sleep like shit, never staying in bed past five, so I’ve never needed an alarm clock. But for some reason, sleep slips in like a thief in the night when I’m with her, and yesterday night I had the best sleep I’ve had in ages.

I hate waking up without her tucked against me where she belongs. Tonight, I might just use one of my ties to fix her to the bed, and then she can’t leave. The idea of her naked and trussed up puts a smile on my face as I sweep into the kitchen. My smile falters as soon as I turn on the lights and see the restaurant isn’t quite as deserted as I thought.

There’s a girl bent over the pristine white counter, her legs spread wide and her familiar golden hair fanned out over the marble. There’s a man behind her; he’s tall and well-built with dark hair and a distinctly French tan to his skin. He’s got one of his hands wrapped around the back of her neck and the other between her thighs. A more studied glance reveals that her panties lie on the ground in a puddle of red lace. I recognize them because they match a few other pairs that have been scattered around my apartment during the past several weeks spent in a love-drunk haze.

For a single, blissful moment, my mind can’t process what I’m seeing. Those panties aren’t familiar because they belong to her, and there’s no reason for my girl to be bent over the counter while another man fondles what’s mine. But slowly logic starts to erode the pretty little fantasy spun in my head like spider silk, and reality takes its place. The girl sprawled out on the counter is definitely Aurélie, although I don’t have a flying fucking who the dick is with his damn fingers between her perfect legs.

“What the fuck is going on?” I ask, my voice vibrating with fury. I clench my fists at my sides as I eye the very enticing row of sharp tipped knives at the nearest prep station. I tamp down the urge to see how easily they can slide into skin. Some of those knives can even cut bone. It’s lovely, really. All that red.

The two of them swear in French as they right themselves. The man seems furious as he jerks Aurélie’s panties back into place and holds her against his side. His hold is possessive, one hand wrapped around her wrist, the other digging into her hip. I recognize the dominance in the gesture; that’s how I fucking hold my girl too.

“Aurélie?” I say, unable to keep the sharpness from my tone. Her name used to taste like champagne on my tongue, sweet and intoxicating. Now, it tastes bitter as I see her in the arms of a man she seems very familiar with. I reach for her, but she shrinks more into the man at her back. The gesture feels forced—her body pulling away as her periwinkle eyes beg for me to hold her.

“Blaise,” she says to the well-formed man beside her, her voice trembling. “This is Grey, one of Matis’ chefs. Grey,” she pauses like she knows what she’s about to say will shatter me, “this is my husband, Blaise.”

Which it fucking does. What. The. Fuck. It’s only when the man scowls at me that I realize I’ve said that out loud.

“Excuse me?” the man asks in offense to my slip, his English heavily accented.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble listlessly, trying to read whatever Aurélie is blaring at me with her pretty blue eyes. At the very least, I can discern that we probably shouldn’t discuss how she and I have been fucking like depraved maniacs for the last few weeks. “I just didn’t expect to be meeting Aurélie’s husband in the kitchen today.”

Her small sigh of relief is the only sign that I haven’t fucked up as I keep talking. “We’re meant to be managing inventory today, and I was already late this morning. Don’t you just hate when things don’t go according to plan?” I ask with a laugh that sounds almost genuine. I’m not sure that the husband buys it.

“Tout à fait,” the husband agrees with a touch of menace.

Aurélie bites down on her lip before trying to match my lighthearted mood. “Yes, it was such a surprise when Blaise came home from his work trip a few days early! I just couldn’t say no when he asked for a tour of the restaurant this morning. I hope you don’t mind the small inconvenience, Grey?”

“Not at all,” I retort through gritted teeth, still trying to paste a fake smile on my face while my head is reeling. She’s married. I’ve been falling for this girl all summer, and she’s fucking married. And she was going to play us both for fucking fools.

“I thought it was time to see what all my money has purchased,” the husband, Blaise, offers in explanation.

“Money?” I ask in confusion. This prick is apparently connected to the restaurant, and I haven’t heard his goddamn name mentioned once.

“Yes, Blaise is the main investor in Dix,” Aurélie answers, her red lips twisting with guilt.

“Matis had the vision, but I had the fucking euros,” Blaise chimes in. “He guarantees me it will be the most successful restaurant in Paris in six months. We’ll see if his fantasies hold up to hard figures.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic about the restaurant where your wife might be made sous chef,” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest.

He laughs. It’s a terrible, cloying sound that grates at my nerves. “Mon chaton will never be made sous chef. She just begged me to have a little fun in the kitchen when I had plans to be out of the country for most of the summer, and I allowed it.” He smiles at me conspiratorially as his fingers dig harder into Aurélie’s side. “She’s just so convincing when she’s on her knees, if you know what I mean?”

Yes, I fucking do. And I hate him so much for getting to see her in that position that I want to cut out his eyes with the dullest butter knife I can find and feed them to him on a piece of baguette like a tartine with faisselle and jam. “I can imagine,” I answer finally with a touch of acid.

Blaise’s expression goes dark and dangerous a moment before he masks it again. “Well, I need to speak with my wife for a moment,” he says, his hold on Aurélie turning harsh. “And then I’ll let you two get to sorting vegetables. Now that my traveling for the season is over, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, Grey.”

“Can’t wait,” I snap, not even trying to mask my distaste for the man holding the girl I came inside of less than twelve hours ago like he owns her. Which I suppose he kind of does. If anyone is the dick in this situation, it’s me. I’ve been fucking his wife all summer while he’s been away. The thought makes me feel filthy—and not in a good way.

When I’m alone in the kitchen, I find the nearest knife and throw it at the wall as hard as I can. The hate-fueled force of the throw leaves the knife sticking two inches deep into the wall. “Fuck!” I shout into the emptiness.

I can’t believe she lied to me. And yet, I’ve always known she’s a liar. Right from the very beginning. Her lying lips just tasted so sweet that I forgot for a moment. I guess I should thank her dick husband for showing up unexpectedly and shattering the illusion like candy glass.

I’m mid-spiral when I hear the familiar click of heels on the marble floor. She’s alone this time, thank fuck, but her expression is strange. Too rigid, like she’s trying to keep herself from crying. She’s not supposed to cry, she told me once. My fists clench at the memory. And they clench hard enough to break when I notice the smear of bright red on Aurélie’s lips.

Momentarily forgetting my anger and wounded feelings, I close the distance between us and take her face into my hands. “What the fuck happened?” I demand, tilting her head to the side so I can examine the extent of the damage. “You’ve got blood on your lips.”

“Blaise doesn’t like it when other people touch his things.” She tries to shrug out of my hold, but I grip her even tighter. I glare at her expectantly, demanding the rest of the story. “He didn’t believe me when I told him you and I are work colleagues and nothing more.” She scoffs, clearly less upset than I am. “Which isn’t surprising since I was lying through my teeth.”

She wipes at the blood carelessly, only managing to smear it more across her lips—like lipstick that’s too bright. I want to bend down and lick it off her. But then I remember I wasn’t the one to make her bleed, and my veins singe with renewed fire.

“Thankfully, he waited to punish me for it until we got to Chef Matis’ office and closed the doors,” she continues with a nonchalance that slices through my sanity like a sharp knife. “He didn’t want to make a scene.”

“So you’re grateful that your husband chose not to hit you in front of an audience? Do you realize how fucked up that sounds?” My body is trembling with the need to wreck something. “Where is he?” I demand, fully prepared to throw my fists through the fucker’s pretty face.

“He’s gone. He has a busy day since he just got back to Paris. He said he’ll deal with me later.” She braves a smile, and I want to fucking throttle her. “It’s okay, really. You know I like a little pain.”

“I think you like choosing when to hurt. You enjoy giving that pain to someone you care about. I don’t think you like getting knocked around by your abusive fuck of a husband.”

She bites into her lip, her teeth irritating the cut until it bleeds more. “It’s not that easy, Grey. I can’t just leave.” She looks away from me, her eyes darker than I’ve ever seen. “I wouldn’t be here without him.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I huff. “I don’t give a shit if he financed the whole fucking restaurant. You didn’t need your husband’s money to be here. You got here on your own talent. Because you’re a good chef.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, mon bel Américain.” She sighs, the sound bitter and empty. “I cheated to get here, Grey.”

I start to interrupt her, but she holds up a hand and pleads with me to let her finish. Scowling, I lean against the opposite counter and cross my arms over my chest, waiting in impatient, brooding silence.

“Yes, I’m a good chef,” she continues. “Because that’s what I was trained to be. But I’m not like you and Javi. I’m not an innovator. I follow the recipes. I do what’s traditional.” She looks over at me, her eyes rimmed with the heaviness of guilt. “I begged Blaise to get me a spot on Chef Matis’ team. And because the restaurant wouldn’t exist without Blaise’s significant funds, Chef begrudgingly agreed.”

Her words are eviscerating, ripping my heart from my chest. I want to cover my ears and drown out the sound of her confessions dripping into my ears like poison. This isn’t the girl I’ve been falling harder and harder for with every passing week of summer. This is a stranger with a mouth full of lies and a husband on the side.

Wait, that isn’t quite right. I’m the side dish, not him. The realization has shame and fury vying for dominance in my bloodstream. I can’t decide if I would rather use him for carving practice or her or maybe just take myself out of the equation entirely. Indecision is a dangerous thing.

“I shouldn’t even be here, Grey,” she continues, digging the blade of her betrayal deeper into my chest. “Number ten was a girl from Colombia. A pastry genius. I was so desperate to belong in the culinary world that I took it from her. You and I never should have happened.” Her eyes shimmer with unshed tears, but she doesn’t let them fall. Even now, she’s obeying him. “You probably hate me, now.”

“Well, I’m certainly trying to,” I sigh, rubbing at my temples as I will the anger back into my body. But all I feel is devastation. “It would be a lot easier to do if I didn’t already fucking love you.”

Her eyes close, her expression bittersweet. “You don’t mean that,” she whispers, her lips trembling.

“How the fuck would you know, Aurélie?” I demand, shoving off the counter and stalking toward her. “You’ve been listening to your own lies for so long you can’t even recognize the truth when it’s staring you in the face.”

My hands land on her shoulders, and I hold her firmly. I let her sense the violence in my body while just barely having enough control to keep her from feeling it. “Besides, wasn’t this your plan? Manipulate the stupid, naive boy for a bit of summer fun while your husband is away? I’m sure these sorts of summer flings are à la mode for rich bitches like you.”

“You think I wanted this to happen?” she yells, her small hands pushing against my chest. “I pushed you away every chance I had! I was cold and cruel, and all you did was beg for more. I tried to warn you that it would never work out.”

I laugh bitterly. “Well, it must have been in French because I certainly didn’t get the message.”

Her face crumples beneath the weight of trying to control the emotions she shouldn’t even be feeling. “I care about you, Grey. It’s been torture to tear myself away from you every night. Like being dismembered bit by bit.”

Realization dawns on me. “You were leaving because of him.” I won’t say his name. I can’t bear to have such a distasteful flavor in my mouth.

She nods, shaking a single tear loose and sending it sliding down her cheek. I lean forward and run my tongue along her skin from jaw to brow, licking the warm salt from her face. Happy tears are sweet, ecstasy tears zing like citrus, sad tears hold the bitterness of regret and loss. Hers taste like pure dark chocolate without a hint of sugar.

“There’s security at our flat,” she explains. “We have staff. Late hours would be explainable with working at a startup restaurant and needing extra practice in the kitchen. Not coming home one night would result in Blaise taking the first plane home and using his belt and his fists and his cock to educate me on the duties of being a good wife until I can barely stand, let alone walk.”

She takes a shaky breath. “Self-preservation demanded I leave your side every night. But to be honest, leaving might have hurt more than the punishment I would have earned staying.”

Her periwinkle eyes find mine, her full lashes wet as black smears under them. She’s silent as she stares up at me, begging for something I can’t decipher, her lips quivering until she bites down on her bottom one to keep it from trembling. I instantly pull her lip from her teeth. If anyone is going to sink their teeth into her soft skin, it’s going to be me.

And in a hot burst of impulse, I do, bending low and sucking her lip into my mouth. I bite down hard, my sharp teeth irritating the cut she already has, courtesy of her asshole husband. Her skin breaks easily, the taste of her bursting against my tongue. I drink from her, devour her as she wraps her arms around me and silently begs me to take more.

“Leave with me,” I demand between nips. “Right now.” Her warm tongue slides into my mouth, and I suck on it hard. Her answering moan has my hard cock pressing painfully against my jeans. “Forget the restaurant.” My hand wraps around her throat, holding her against me, pressing hard enough to steal her breath. “Forget being sous.”

My other hand slips beneath the material of her white dress, clawing at her breasts. I’m not gentle—she doesn’t like it gentle. The thought reminds me of the other man who likes to give it to her rough, and my hand slips down between her thighs and grabs her pussy viciously. “Forget your stupid cunt of a husband,” I growl against her ear. “It can just be you and me.”

I feel her soften against me, just for a moment, and my body electrifies with the hope that I might actually convince her to be mine. “We could go to America, somewhere he’d never find you. We could open our own restaurant. Gold and Grey’s. We could make our lives whatever we want them to be. And you’d never have to leave. You could fall asleep and wake up in my arms where you belong.”

She shudders beneath me before pulling away. Her cheeks are wet with tears she didn’t let me see her cry. She takes a shaky breath before tugging herself from my hold. “I can’t,” she says, the two worded rejection simple and final.

“Yes, you can,” I reply, my tone so forceful it sounds like a command.

The sadness in her eyes turns to frustration. “Fine, I won’t.”

Anger reignites in my blood, rippling through my body and filling me with fire. “What do you mean, you won’t?”

She heaves a sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“You care about me, don’t you?”

“Yes—”

“And your husband is an abusive fucking cunt that likes to hit you when he doesn’t get his way?”

“Sometimes, bu?—”

“Then it sounds pretty fucking simple to me.”

“Nothing about this is simple,” Aurélie huffs in exasperation, sounding as though she’s trying to explain how the world works to a child. “Blaise isn’t an easily discarded man. If I leave, he’ll come after me.”

She thinks I don’t understand her situation, that I’ve never known the sick cruelty of men who feed off the weaknesses of others. But there was a time when I was greeted every day with fists. Until one day, I decided to stop letting my father use everyone else as punching bags. When you remove the haze of fear, the monsters in your life seem so much smaller. And abusive pricks are actually dealt with quite simply if you have the motivation to do it. Turns out, they bleed as easily as you do. Just make sure to keep your knives sharp.

“Let him try,” I growl, already considering ways to make her husband disappear from her life for good. To give her a taste of freedom I imagine she hasn’t had in a long time.

“You won’t be able to stop him.”

“And why not?” I ask, challenging her to give me one reason why her fucking husband is more of a threat than I am.

Aurélie glares at me like I’m an idiot. “He is on every food board in France. Half of the EU boards. If he wants a restaurant to fail, it does. If he wants a restaurant to succeed, it’s practically golden because he knows the right people. He could buy Michelin stars if he wanted to—he has before. He’s stainless steel, and nothing can touch him.”

I step closer, pressing myself against her until her back hits the edge of the marble counter. “And what am I then?”

The smile that twists at her red lips is wistful. “You’re just a small chef with big dreams, no money, few prospects, and the most beautiful cock I’ve ever seen.”

“Frankly, it already sounds like I have the upper hand,” I retort, pressing my knee between her thighs so she can feel how hard the most beautiful cock she has ever seen is for her.

She isn’t able to resist rubbing against me, inching her white dress up her thighs so I can thrust closer to her cunt. I can see the lace of her red panties peeking out from between her legs. The panties her husband had around her ankles less than an hour ago. The thought of him touching her makes me livid, driving off the edge of sanity. I grab the edge of her little white dress and tear it all the way to the hip. She gasps in shock, knowing that I’ve done something reckless that can’t be undone.

“Grey, we can’t,” she whimpers even as she spreads her legs wider. “He’ll ruin us both.”

“Leave him.” I push her harder into the counter as I lean over her and grab a knife from the counter. I slip the knife along her hip and underneath her panties, and with one flick of my wrist, the material is shredded. “Choose me.” I slide the knife over her stomach to her other thigh and cut through her panties, letting them fall to the floor. “I can give you everything you fucking need.” I slide two of my fingers into her pussy, groaning when I feel how soaked she is for me already. “Your cunt knows who fucking owns you, and it’s not your goddamn husband.”

“It’s not worth risking everything, Grey,” she pants, even as she wraps her leg around my hip so I can finger her deeper. I grab her other leg and throw her onto the counter, keeping her splayed open so I can see every detail of her perfect, dripping pussy in the kitchen’s overhead lights. “This thing between us isn’t worth losing everything I have.”

I seethe at how her mouth fights me even as her body is willing to give me everything. “Stop fucking talking,” I grit out of clenched teeth while my hand finds her throat and squeezes hard enough to choke the excuses out of her.

“Grey, stop,” she gasps with what little breath she has left. “You need to hear this.”

“What, Aurélie?” I thunder, loosening my grasp slightly. “What could you possibly say that I don’t know already?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” she chokes out. “I can see the pity and fury swirling in your eyes. But I don’t need you to save me. I’m not trapped. I’m not a victim. I chose this.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” I ask, the strength in my hand on her neck giving way.

“I knew what I was getting into when I married him,” she admits softly. “He hit me for the first time during one of our dinners at La Place when we were dating. In public. No one even batted an eye.”

I’m going to kill him; I’ve already decided. All that’s left to sort out is how long I make him suffer before I finally let him bleed out.

“Afterward,” she continues. “I got a diamond bracelet as an apology. I knew from that moment that the abuse would be transactional—the pain and humiliation I endured was currency. And after spending so many years of my life going without even basic needs sometimes, it was a price I was more than willing to pay.”

I feel my blood run cold. She chose this on purpose. She whored out her body and her soul for pretty dresses and red-soled shoes. And I fucking hate her for it. “You’re such a gold digging whore that you’ll choose a man who will crush you one day at a time rather than a man who will worship your body like you deserve?”

“I don’t expect you to understand?—”

“You’re right. I don’t understand how you could sell your soul at such a cheap price.”

“Fuck you, Grey,” she spits back, trying to push off the counter. I force her back down with my hold on her throat, leaning over her until she’s flat on her back.

“I’m not sure that I could afford the price for that, chérie,” I retort, my words bitter like red wine and just as acidic. “But I would fuck your slut holes for free if you begged me hard enough.”

“You’re being cruel,” she gasps.

“Oh, but that’s just how you like it, isn’t it golden girl?” I reach down and unbutton my pants, jerking them down until my erection springs free. “What’s it going to be?”

She bites her lip, indecision filling her beautiful, traitorous eyes. “Please,” she whispers finally.

“Please, what? You know you need to be specific, Aurélie. Tell me what you want. Tell me what the fuck you are.” She looks at me like she wants to push me onto the stove while all the burner flames are set on high heat. But that doesn’t make her pussy any less wet. Her body will always long for me. Even if she hates me as much as I hate her. “What are you?” I ask again, relishing the chance to humiliate her before fucking her for the last time.

“A whore,” she breathes, a furrow between her brows.

“And what does the lying whore want?” I question, slapping apart her thighs and spreading her wide.

“For you to fuck my slutty holes.”

I groan at the sound of her degrading herself for me. “You’re so fucking pretty when you beg for it.” I stroke my hands over her hips. “Do you want it soft, or do you want me to make it hurt?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.

Aurélie bites her lip, deciding if she wants the last time I touch her to bring her pleasure or pain. “Make it hurt, please,” she pleads at last.

A deep growl of bloodlust sounds in my throat as my golden girl gives me free rein to ruin her. I grab her wrist and jerk her off the counter, flipping her around so that she’s bent over it with her face pressed against the cool marble. I fist her hair in one hand to hold her down and jerk her white dress up to her hips with the other. The skin of her ass is creamy and pure, but not for long.

I snatch the knife I used on her panties from the counter and slap the flat side against the unmarked skin of her ass. Aurélie cries out from the shock as red immediately blooms on her skin. I use the knife to spank her again, the stainless steel punishing and cold. She whimpers, but she doesn’t fight me or even flinch as I slap her ass over and over, taking out all my anger and hatred and hurt on her skin.

“I fucking hate you,” I bite while smacking her as hard as I dare to with the knife.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice trembling at the end when she takes another blow. “More.”

When I hit her again, I don’t hold the handle flat enough, and her skin catches on the edge of the blade. A thin slice of red erupts on her pale skin. The knife is so sharp the Aurélie doesn’t react to the cut right away. Not until I press my fingers into her split skin to make her bleed more. She cries out, but when I look at her eyes, she’s not shed a tear. She’s holding back. I can’t break her if she’s wearing armor.

“I want you to cry for me,” I command, hitting her at enough of an angle to give her another small slice of red. Her breath hitches, but she still doesn’t give me the reaction I need. “I want to see goddamn tears.” Another blow, another cut. “For the last time, I want those tears to be mine.” I slap the metal against her skin, this time cutting deeper as I try to purge the devastation from my blood. “Even though they should have all been fucking mine.”

I don’t think it’s the pain that finally causes warm tears to roll down Aurélie’s cheeks. “Does it hurt, chérie?” I ask, brushing my thumb over her tears and bringing it to my lips so I can taste the bitterness of her regret.

“Yes,” she sobs, her chest heaving with the effort to not fall apart in the middle of the kitchen.

“Good. Do you think you can take more?”

She nods her head as much as she can with her hair twisted in my fist. “Yes, chef.”

Fucking hell. I hate the soft part of me that still wants to cave to her when I hear those two sweet words. If I could cut out my traitorous heart and still survive long enough to make sous chef, I would. “Don’t move,” I command before storming away from her. I need a moment to breathe without smelling the sweetness of cherries, and I need oil from the pantry to make sure I don’t ruin her permanently. I grab the first oil I find and storm back toward where she’s still lying bent and spread on the counter.

Without giving her any warning, I pull the stopper from the bottle and pour a heaping amount over her ass. She jumps a little at the contact of the liquid, but she doesn’t pull away. From the smell of it, it’s truffle oil. My favorite. I use my fingers to spread it over her ass, smearing it into her cuts and over the red welts from my knife. When her whole ass is bright and shiny, I dip my fingers between her cheeks and start to rub the oil over her asshole. That’s when she starts to squirm beneath me.

“Does your cunt of a husband take you here?” I ask, tapping my fingers against her back hole.

“Y-yes,” she answers, her voice shaking.

“Good.” I pour more oil into my hand and use it to lubricate my erection. “You should be half-prepped to take me then.” I spread her ass open with both hands and slide the swollen head of my cock up and down her crack, smearing around the lube.

“Grey,” she pleads, sounding panicked as she tries to slide out from under me. “You’re a lot bigger than he is.”

I throw my elbow into the small of her back and hold her down with the weight of my upper body. “Oh, do you think it will hurt, chérie?” I line the head of my cock up with her asshole and start to press into the tight ring of muscle. “Good, that makes it even better.” Then I force my way into her.

She screams, and I feel my cock pulse inside her at the sound of it. “I’m going to claim every piece of you before I let you go,” I growl against her ear as I pull almost all the way out. “Because I gave you every piece of me.” I slam into her again hard, loving the sound of her cries as I make her take my cock. “It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

I glance at the clock on the kitchen wall as I use Aurélie’s ass, knowing we’ve already wasted too much of the time we should have been inventorying the restaurant’s current supplies. The vendeur de fruits will be here in five minutes with the first pick of the day. So as much as I hate to rush, there’s no time to waste.

“We have five minutes before the vendors get here with today’s produce,” I tell her as I pump into her hard and fast. “Either you come before then, or I’ll stuff your ass full of cum and leave you aching for the rest of the day.” I slip my hand between her legs and find her swollen clit. “What do you say, golden girl? Want to give me one more?”

“Grey,” she sobs, the single word sad and desperate at the same time.

“This is the last time I want to hear my name on those pretty, lying lips, chérie. So make it fucking count.” I touch her clit the way she likes, soft and precise, while I pound into her ass like an animal, giving her all the pain she likes too. I feel her clench even tighter around me as her whole body starts to tense with the first ripples of an orgasm. “Come, Aurélie,” I command.

“Grey,” she cries out as her climax tears into her, ripping screams from her fragile body.

I thrust into her violently until I reach my own peak alongside her. Bending down, I sink my teeth into her neck as I ride out the pleasure pulsing through me and stuff her full for the last time. When I finally pull out, there’s cum dripping out of her asshole and down her thighs. Unable to resist, I kneel between her legs and lick her clean. The truffle in the oil compliments the earthy taste of her ass and the saltiness of my own cum. It’s a surprisingly balanced composition of flavors.

“You’ve got two minutes to freshen up before the vendors get here,” I tell her as I rise to my feet and readjust myself in my pants. “Unless you want to play the whore as well as look the part?”

Aurélie stands up on shaky legs, her cheek red from being pressed into the counter. Her ass is covered in red welts and cuts that will show right through the white material of her dress, which I’ve also ripped. “Your chef’s whites will cover it,” I tell her when I see her look down at her body in dismay.

“We still need to talk,” she says, pulling down her dress until it almost covers her bare cunt. She’ll be going home without panties tonight. “We can figure out a way to see each other without him knowing.”

“We don’t need to talk,” I scoff. “We’re done.”

“We can still?—”

“No,” I cut her off. “I’m not going to wait around for whatever scraps you choose to give me while you go home every night to the man who hits you just so that you can keep your expensive shoe collection. I need more than waking up in an empty bed every morning wishing you were there. And I’m over being played for a goddamn fool.”

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers, her eyes shining with tears.

I don’t believe the tears any more than I believe her. “You can shove that apology up the ass I just fucked, chérie.”