He hands over the key and comes out from behind the desk. “Will you allow me to escort you to your apartment, Miss Flynn?”
“That’s not necessary. The number is all I need.”
I enter the elevator and tap the key against the sensor. A few moments later, the door is dinging open to an empty hall. I don’t need a sign to tell me where I’m going. I already know. I turn left, slide my key in the lock belonging to the first door, and push inside the entryway to my father’s apartment. My apartment. The one I share with Parker.
The cries of ecstasy are so loud that I’m certain they haven’t heard me, and for a beat, I close my eyes and listen. The sweet scent of sex and arousal wafts through the room, and my heart trips all over itself remembering the way I used to cry and relish that scent, along with every thrust, every touch, and every lash of my Sir’s flogger.
This woman’s cries are my own as Ares pushes into me with brutal force. His hand grips my hair, hard enough to make my scalp tingle and burn. A quiet sob escapes me, as I lean against the wall and squeeze my thighs together.
I open my eyes and watch my fiancé driving his cock into another woman. They’re both completely naked, and he enters her from behind. She’s bent at the waist, her hands placed flat against the glass window and her short black bob so perfect and shiny it swings back and forth in time with Parker’s thrusts.
I feel nothing as I watch him. I’m not upset he’s fucking another woman. I have no love for this man, but their intimacy causes jealousy to writhe in my veins like poison. Not for Parker, this sniveling, money-grubbing poor excuse for a manwhore, but because they have something I want: sex, desire, carnal need, and pleasure.
I step closer. Neither of them notice me, so I grab the half-consumed martini from the bar, pick up the knife, and walk right up to them.
“Jesus Christ!” Parker shouts.
The woman gasps and straightens as my fiancé pulls free of her body. She covers herself, her wide eyes lowering to the ground, as if she could hide her shame.
Eyes to the ground. You will not look at me unless I tell you to, Pet.
“Camille.” Parker’s eyes are round as saucers and his hands cover his dick. Perhaps he’s afraid I’ll slice it off. His gaze darts from the sharp silver blade to mine and back again.He’s definitely afraid I’ll slice it off. “This isn’t—”
“What it looks like?” I shake my head.
“Listen, you knew about this before. You were okay with it.”
I glance at the doe-eyed woman beside him, who shoots him a look of incredulity.
Liar, liar.
I widen my gaze and play the confused, lost little girl with amnesia. I never agreed to this. I wouldneveragree to this. “Really?”
“Yeah, every Thursday. It’s kind of a thing.” He ventures forward, gently grabbing my wrist with the knife. I let him take it from me, and then I backhand him across the face. He reels, drops the knife, and presses his palm to his cheek, staring at me in wide-eyed horror as I shake out my fist.
I sneer. “Get out!”
“Baby—”
“Don’t you dare fucking ‘baby’ me. Get out of my apartment, and take your fucking whore with you.”
“Camille please, this is my apartment too. We’ve lived here for three years. This is my home.”
“No, it’s my home, and you’re no longer a part of my life.”
“Baby, please.”
“GET OUT!” I gather his jeans from the couch and throw them at him. His whore is already gone.
“Camille.”
“Just go. I don’t know you. I don’t love you. I don’t even fucking care that you’re cheating on me.” I shake my head, wrap my arms around myself, and whisper, “I belong to him.”
He laughs. “God, do you hear how fucked up you are? You belong to whom? Your rapist? He’s a sex trafficker, and you want to, what, go back to him? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I scramble across the floor and grab the knife, wielding it before him like a maniac. “Don’t you dare say a word about him.”
“You’re fucked in the head, Camille. You deserve him.”