CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
MY HATRED
I hated him. Hated. He wanted what I had, what I needed.
I could see it on him, smell it coming out of his pores, that want.
He couldn't hide it from me. He was taken with her. Smitten. Enamored.
Who but me could better recognize the signs of that?
Joseph. Fucking Joseph, the amiable security guy. Such a carefree smile, such soft eyes for my wife.
He'd been around too long by the time I realized it, and now I couldn't fire him for no reason without looking like a jealous maniac to Bianca.
Because she liked him. I knew she did. She was attached to him. He was her favorite bodyguard. She enjoyed his company, thought he was funny and 'a nice guy.'
He and Blake were always the ones she chose to take when she needed security to accompany her somewhere. Always.
But I hated him, and that hate went back a ways.
Two years, to be exact. I remembered the very moment. I could watch it in slow motion in my memories:
That night I'd carried her, scantily clad, from Stephan's house back to mine.
"Is she okay, sir?" he'd asked, something soft in his voice telling me even back then, when he'd barely met her.
And I knew he'd seen her like that, her beautiful, lush body barely covered, though he'd averted his eyes when I'd looked directly at him.
He'd fallen for my wounded angel from the first.
Why the fuck didn't I fire him right then and there?
If only I had, it would have spared me all of this impotent rage, this daily struggle to have to tolerate his presence.
Hate.
Raw, oozing hate when I caught him looking at her.
Acute, teeth-clenching hate when I knew he was home with her and I had to leave, or when he was out with her, when I couldn't go.
Bianca, who was normally too perceptive for comfort, seemed utterly oblivious to it.
And then, outrage of all outrages, I caught her painting him.
It was at the Vegas property. I'd come home to find her not in the house, searched and asked until I was directed to the large back patio, a spot where she often went to work.
I froze when I saw them, not quite believing my eyes.
It had been building up for a while, my hate, building up in every tender look he sent her way, every laugh I heard him draw out of her.
Years' worth of the build. Of wondering if I was crazy, debating whether it was my imagination, looking for signs, for evidence of it every time I saw him.
All of that hate came right to the surface, nearly spilling out of me as I observed what I was seeing then.
At least I wasn't crazy. There was some relief in that, though not much.
Here he was, not seeing me, and looking right at her, his heart in his eyes, so much longing there that I had to restrain myself from physically attacking him where he stood.
She, for her part, wasn't looking at him. Her head was down, her full concentration on the canvas.
My chest was moving with my heavy breaths. I loosened my tie, trying to drag more air into my lungs, feeling like I had heavily exerted myself, because in a way I had.
It was quite an effort, this restraint I was holding onto by the thinnest margin.
He just kept doing it, his eyes devouring her downcast head, moving lovingly over each strand of her loose hair, hair that he wasn't allowed to so much as touch.
But those looks were worse than a touch.
She worked standing up, as she usually did, palette in one hand, brush in the other, absolutely absorbed in what she was doing.
She was at her most beautiful like this, with those dreams in her soulful eyes, and I knew I looked just as lovesick as Joseph did every time I glanced at her.
She was barefoot, wearing a thin little white tank top with paint splattered on it and loose beige shorts. Nothing too indecent, but it showed off her legs, and hugged her curves. Her soft round tits looked positively fuckable under that thin material.
I approached behind her, and so he saw me first. Instantly and damningly, his expression became closed off, blank, neutral even, as he tried to hide it from me.
But I couldn't un-see what I'd just seen from him.
I fought not to curl my lip at him and moved my attention to her.
I studied her work in progress over her shoulder for a while before she noticed me.
It was a portrait of him from the shoulders up. He was smiling in it, a glint in his eye, but not the one I'd witnessed, which was something, at least.
The painting was good, of course, but very far along, almost finished.
This hadn't been their first session.
I caught his eye, jaw clenched, nostrils flared, just staring him down for a long time, not bothering to hide what was in my eyes, like he was.
Finally, she noticed me. She jumped a little, turning, the hand holding her paintbrush flying to her chest.
"I swear I really am going to get you that bell one of these days," she said, smiling at me, looking so happy to see me, no guilt or artifice in her eyes.
It loosened the awful grip around my heart a bit.
I didn't say a word, just moved close, pressing my body to hers, I gripped her head in both hands and started kissing.
I ran my tongue over her lips, then slid it deep into her mouth, moaning loudly at the taste of her.
She still held her palette and brush, arms out wide to try to keep from getting paint on my suit, body rigid against mine.
That was fine. I took it as a personal challenge.
I drew her tongue into my mouth, stroking it with mine.
My arousal hung heavy and conspicuous between us, even through clothes, and I pushed it against her hip persistently.
I deepened the kiss, thrusting my tongue against hers, coaxing her to suck it.
She shifted and acquiesced tentatively. She hadn't forgotten that we weren't alone. She was still aware of him.
I bit her lip, one hand sliding down her body to cup her ass, gripping a fleshy handful to hold her in place while I ground my hardness into her softness, probing, moving it from her hip to her groin, bending my knees until I was making direct contact with her most sensitive nerves, grinding hard enough that I could feel the little bud of her piercing against my seeking cock.
I pulled her hair, grabbed her ass, sucked her tongue, and circled my hips.
Both palette and brush dropped to the floor, her hands reaching to grip the lapels of my jacket like she was holding on for dear life.
I smiled and pulled back, eyes unerringly seeking out Joseph.
He hadn't left, or turned his back, as he should have.
Instead he was staring right at us with his untarnished eyes.
I took a deep breath and set her away from me.
She was dazed, eyes unfocused, lips parted.
And best of all, she'd forgotten all about him.
"Go up to bed," I told her, voice low and rough, but loud enough to carry. "Get yourself ready for me."
She nodded, breathing heavy, and obeyed.
I didn't follow her right away.
I tugged impatiently at my tie, loosening it, and then unfastening the first two buttons at my throat.
I shoved my hands in my pockets, shooting a malevolent glare in his direction.
He met my gaze squarely, still just standing there. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he held his tongue.
I stared him down for a solid five minutes, daring him to say anything at all, neither of us uttering a word for that long, awkward stretch.
Finally, I smirked, running a hand through my hair, still not looking away from him.
I shrugged off my suit jacket, finished taking off my tie. I started to unbutton my shirt, illustrating clearly what I was up to next.
"Don't wait up," I told him, my voice mocking, and turned away.
I stopped in the kitchen briefly with instructions for dinner, then moved upstairs, desire beating heavy through me.
I found her waiting on the bed for me.
She'd obeyed perfectly and wore nothing but her piercings and her collar.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on her knees, legs parted slightly, back arched, nipples pebbled to hardened peaks.
Even with her legs open, exposing her sex, I couldn't see if she was wet, but I would have bet that she was.
We'd had some work done on the house, as we'd taken to staying here more often than not. The room next to this one had been renovated, and I'd had an adjoining door built in.
I went and opened it. I looked at her and lifted my brows. "The other bed," I told her with a wicked grin.
The adjoining room had been outfitted into an extensive playground of fourth floor proportions, and the space was dominated by a huge, caged bed.
She stood, and I watched her lush body as she made her way across the room.
I grabbed her wrist as she passed me, stopping her.
I turned her to me, fingers going to her nipples, pinching hard.
She arched her back and pushed into my rough touch.
I pulled her into the playroom, snagging her favorite nipple clamps. They were coral pink, a near perfect match for her nipples.
I latched them in two smooth motions, fishing in the same drawer for a very thin silver chain that had four ends, each with a tiny jewelry fastening on it.
She moaned when she saw it.
I attached it first to her collar, an end to each nipple. The other went to her piercing below. It was the perfect length to pull at each zone just enough to tease.
I stepped back, admiring my handy work.
"Go kneel on the bed, facing me," I told her, and shrugged out of my shirt.
I approached the bed, watching her, balls drawn tight.
As she stared, I pulled my cock out of my slacks, pushing my full length out, tucking the material under my scrotum. I gripped myself, one hand firmly stroking my shaft, the other my sac.
I watched her, debating what I wanted to do, what depraved pleasure would best calm the fiendish need that had its hooks in me.
I kept working my cock, jerking it hard.
Her eyes were glued to it.
"You like watching me jerk myself off," I observed.
She licked her lips and nodded, eyes still glued.
I went to another drawer, grabbing a finger vibrator, shaped specifically to stimulate the clit. I moved close enough to toss it on the bed next to her.
"Use it," I told her succinctly, immediately moving away. "Not to tease. I want you to apply it direct."
I was at the wall where all of the restraints hung, picking out a hogtie harness, when I paused as I heard her breath grow ragged.
She was close.
"Don't come," I told her. "And don't take the pressure off.
She couldn't hold back one delicious little sob, but I knew she obeyed.
I moved back to the bed and dropped the restraints beside her.
Without another word I grabbed the toy out of her hand, tossing it off the bed.
I cupped her shoulders in my hands, breathing her in, throbbing in time to her every breath.
"Struggle," I said the one word with relish, and let her go.