Chapter 41
Peighton
The room around me blurs when Gustav’s eyes lock onto mine from across the ballroom.
It feels like he is speaking a private language only we understand, a silent plea threaded with fear and forgiveness all at once.
I move before I think.
My dress swishes around my legs as I weave through clusters of men shouting over drinks and women laughing.
Gustav stands so still that he almost looks carved from stone. The blonde is still beside him, still smiling, still brushing too close. But our gaze’s never leave each other.
I reach him. His large hand twitches at his side, painfully restrained. I slide my fingers into his palm and close gently around him. He doesn’t resist. He holds onto me as if his life depends on it.
I give the girl a deadly glare and she steps back fast.
Smart, because I’d claw her eyes out if she didn’t.
I lean close to Gustav, pretending we are whispering something flirtatious like any newlyweds, murmuring, “Come with me, baby.”
He lets me pull him from the room, uncharacteristic, but necessary.
We descend a staircase. Down one level. Then another. Each floor grows quieter, lights dimmer, marble giving way to polished concrete. I open a double door at random, needing privacy more than direction.
The room swallows us.
An enormous indoor pool stretches across the space. Gold tiles line the walls and glimmer under low lights. The air smells faintly of chlorine and wealth. For a moment, I am stunned.
“Gustav, this is… beautiful, isn’t it?”
Silence.
I turn back.
And my breath catches painfully.
He is hunched forward. One hand braced against the wall. The other in his hair. Fist clenched. Pulling.
Hard.
“No,” I breathe, hurrying to him. “Babe, no.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me. He whispers to himself, low and frantic, cursing and arguing. His shoulders shake. A handful of hair comes free between his fingers. Panic claws up my throat. I reach for him and pry his hand away with all the strength I have, barely managing it.
His chest heaves like he can’t inhale enough air into his lungs. I cup his face. I kiss him again and again, frantic pecks along his cheekbones, jaw, temple.
“Gustav, look at me. Look at me, baby. Come back.”
His eyes lift, wild and stormy.
Finally, they focus.
Our mouths crash together with a desperate, starving force. His grip on me is almost painful, but I cling back. My fingers slide into his black hair. His breath mixes with mine. His growl vibrates through my ribs.
When he pulls away, his voice cracks.
“I am sorry, moyá devushka.”
“Why?” My thumb strokes the edge of his jaw.
He sucks in a breath, still shaking. “That woman touched me. Whispered filth in my ear. My mind snapped. I saw everything disappear. You. Us. I felt our marriage unravel. I could not breathe.”
His pulse hammers beneath my fingertips. His chest rises and falls too fast and sharp. Then he grabs a chair, lifts it effortlessly, and smashes it against the tiled wall. Wood splinters and scatters across the gold.
I jump but close the distance immediately, palms on his chest.
“You are okay. We are okay. I love you. Nobody can tear us apart except us.”
He drags his hands down his face, eyes squeezed shut. “You do not understand. My parents… they had a fall out. Infidelity. Betrayal. Fire. Screaming. It destroyed everything.”
I swallow hard.
The urge to confess about my mother claws up my throat, but Keira’s warning pulses like a bruise. There is something about her that bleeds through my anger about Brutus. So I bury it.
“We will never be your parents. Whatever fire they created, we smother it.”
He opens his eyes.
The storm softens.
“Is that why you spiral? Your parents’ sins?” I ask.
“Da. I still hear their screaming.”
He still hears his mom and dad. They must be the voices. It’s heartbreaking.
“Thank you for telling me,” I whisper.
He gazes into my eyes, stoic, but the calmness is grounding. He trusts me.
Without thinking, I slip my dress straps down my shoulders. My dress slides over my hips and puddles at my ankles. For a heartbeat, he is motionless.
Then his pupils dilate.
I back toward the pool. When I reach the edge, I dive in, the thrill rushing through me. I surface, flicking my wet hair back, smiling at him in the soft glow. “Come get me, baby.”
He watches me like a wolf sighting prey in moonlight.
Slowly, he undresses. Jacket. Shirt. Belt. Slacks. Each movement precise. Controlled. Sexy. The muscles of his torso ripple under the cool lights. Broad shoulders taper into a tight waist. Scars twist across his back and ribs like pale lightning bolts. He is terrifying and beautiful.
And mine.
He descends the steps into the pool, water sliding up his muscled thighs. His gaze never leaves mine. When he reaches me, he lifts my body easily, positioning me back-flat on the warm pool deck, my legs dangle softly in the water.
His breath brushes my thigh. He spreads me with a sinful patience that makes my toes curl. He palms my ample cheeks.
“Gustav…”
“Shh.”
His mouth descends between my thighs.
The first stroke of his tongue makes my spine bow.
The second makes me gasp his name. He drags it slowly, languidly, tasting me like he wants to memorize every part of me.
His hands grip my hips, holding me steady as he devours me.
My forehead presses to my forearm. My stomach quivers uncontrollably.
“You taste like heaven,” he murmurs, voice low against my skin. “My perfect little wife.”
He flicks my clit.
I cry out, thighs shaking.
Again.
He does it again.
And again.
Until my breath stutters. Until my legs shake helplessly in the water. Until my voice breaks. “Gustav, please… please… oh God. Make me cum—”
“You can. You will.”
He feeds his finger inside my pussy and strokes, working me, hitting that special spot.
My climax hits like lightning. I choke on a moan and collapse against the slick tiles.
He doesn’t stop.
He licks me through it, hums and sucks my clit. He drags another orgasm out of me until my vision blurs. I plead, shaking so hard I can’t tell where my body ends and the tiles begin.
“Gustav! I can’t! No! Oh God!”
My sensitive bundle of nerves scream, but he doesn’t relent, his fingertips swirling and rubbing me to a state of delirium. His tongue pulses in my heat.
Just then, he has me roll over, belly down and legs hanging in the water. His hands smooth over my bare, wet bottom. He bites my ass cheek and sucks, hard enough to make me gasp. Heat surges down my spine. I shiver as pleasure floods through me, unbearable and addictive.
“Oh, baby,” I moan, agonized.
He chuckles, and then—
His thumb slips to the tight back muscle, kneading and teasing.
I gasp, squeezing my ass cheeks together. He smacks my hip just as his thumb breaks through. I don’t gasp. I moan, his tongue and thumb creating a dual sensation overload that triggers new euphoria.
I crash down into a trembling mess of bliss that I nearly seize.
When he finally stands, he thrusts his thick length into me with a force that knocks the air from my lungs.
“Ohh, Gustav,” I whisper, ragged.
The water on my legs makes everything slick, frantic, breathless. My palms press against pool deck as he pounds into me, every thick push sending sparks through my spasming hips. He keeps his thumb tucked inside my ass, massaging and teasing.
“So beautiful,” he groans. Then darker. “If you cheat on me… if you lie… you will break me to the point I cannot recover.”
His final thrust shatters me. I fall apart around him, my walls squeezing his cock, trembling violently as pleasure rips through me again. He releases with a strained grunt, body flexing.
He pants and mumbles, “Love my wife too much.”
Then he yanks me upright, spins me, chest to chest, panting into my mouth.
“Do you understand,” he whispers, voice raw and gutted, “what you have done to me? How much I fucking need you?”
I nod slowly, guilt slicing through me like a steel blade.
Because I do understand.
And I am terrified that my lies will be the very thing that destroys him, this man I love more than any childhood fantasy I built in my mind.
I’m screwed. Literally and figuratively.