Page 42

TWENTY-SIX

COURTNEY

What. The fuck. Just happened?

I look around the kitchen, taking in the oddly contained mess, my pulse is rocketing in my chest when I gather everything into the large bowl and put it in the sink. There’s no way I can stand here and rinse everything and load it all into the dishwasher.

I’m strung out. My thighs are pulsing from Auguste’s spanks and bites. From the way he worked me up and has left me wanting so desperately that I can’t even see straight.

My thighs are trembling. My pulse won’t calm down. I can still feel the spatula. His tongue. His goddamn teeth. I want to chase after him and make him finish what he started. To obliterate me from this world.

Instead, I stand here in a puddle of my own need, trying to remember who I was before Auguste—damn—Broussard turned me into his personal chew toy.

Well, jokes on him, right? Because I’m not that girl; who unravels just because a man tells her not to come.

Except… maybe I am.

God help me, I totally am. For him.

Shaking off my dress, I storm into my bedroom ready to reclaim my pride. Tossing myself onto the bed, I slide a hand between my thighs.

I’m sticky and wetter than I have ever been in my life. The slight brush of my fingers on my clit pulls a loud moan from deep in my core.

“Fuck… yes…” I bite my lip hard, sucking at it with the need to feel the same throng of electricity root through me the same way it did when Auguste was biting and sucking at my thighs .

“Come on. Please…” I beg my body to work with me as I stroke my fingers down to my entrance and curl them inside. Stroking and thrusting. “Fuck.”

I’m trying. God, I’m trying.

But every pump of my fingers only reminds me of Auguste’s thicker, longer ones that hit so fucking perfect… so damn good. His voice in my ear. Thick bulge pressed against me—teasing, taunting… promising.

“Aargh…” My hand falls away in frustration. I can’t get myself off. Not without him. Not after the way his mouth claimed me.

Pathetic. I know.

Maybe I should be ashamed of it. Of the way he gets under my skin and in my head. It’s everything I’ve protected myself from. And yet, there’s a thrill in my blood. A warmth of… I don’t know… maybe not being isolated and alone?

I shower, faster than ever. Diffuse my hair with some frizz control product so that my curls are polished rather than wiry.

My makeup takes me longer than normal. In between emphasizing my best features—eyes and lips—and keeping the look natural, I run out of time to dive through the few dresses I brought with me and opt for the same black corset number with the puff sleeves I wore to the karaoke night with the same heels and a mini Dior lady purse—a gift from Delilah’s parents for my twenty-first birthday.

I’m touching up my lip liner after I set it for a second time—my nerves have me breaking out in an upper lip sweat—when there’s a knock on my door, followed by the trill of the doorbell when I add a slick of lip oil.

Samson comes bounding in from the patio where he’s been making the most of the last rays of sun after wearing himself out with his antler chew treat. Rushing to the door, he leaps at the knob before running back to me in a circle and then right back to the door.

The instant I open it, he jumps at his daddy. Barking up at him when he doesn’t pick him up.

My word. I’m speechless. Frozen to the spot as I take Auguste in.

At this point, it shouldn’t surprise me how incredible he looks in his expertly tailored black suit and white shirt.

His collar is unbuttoned just enough to show a peek of his strong chest and—my, my—the heart tag I gave him sits in pride of place, hanging from the thicker of his two gold chains.

“You look…” A pitched hiss trails his unfinished statement as he comes closer, giving Samson a small dog biscuit to distract him .

Auguste leans in, lips brushing my temple while his hands circle my waist. “I love your hair like this.”

“Didn’t have time to straighten it,” I croak when he trails his nose along my jaw and breathes me in.

Every time he does it, my insides come to life. The flutters in my belly make it impossible to stand still. Meanwhile, that heavyset need he left me with tightens in my core. A throbbing reminder that he’s got me tied in knots.

Auguste pulls back, a grin tugging at one side of his face. “Good.”

“Good?” What’s good? The way I’m so horny for him, I’m chafing my own thighs trying to contain it?

“Yeah, good, Snow. I like it wild,” he says with a sharp tug that fizzes all the way down to the apex of my thighs.

The tug is hard enough to tilt my head back. Gentle enough to make me wish he’d pull harder. Then he kisses me with a languid roll of his lips over mine and everything fuzzes around the edges except for the hot, wet twist of his tongue around mine.

Jesus Christ , I’m unraveling again and the night hasn’t even started.

“Are you ready?” Auguste hums across my lips with a slow lick.

“Mhmm.” I nod holding on to his waist while he pulls back, producing a colorful printed scarf from inside his suit jacket.

“You’re going to need this,” he tells me, moving behind me before he arranges the scarf over my hair, carefully tying it underneath my curls, leaving just the baby tendrils at the front free. “For the wind.”

With that he picks Samson up and takes him to his door. Giving him the affection he’s desperate for before he puts him down and gives him another biscuit.

“You have food and water, and I left the patio open for you to explore. Do not shit inside or piss on the rug. If you have to go, go on the grass pad. Okay?”

Samson tilts his head, giving him a curious stare.

“Behave.”

With that he shuts his door and then shuts mine because my brain is mush at this point. He has made me mush.

“Let’s go, Snow.” Auguste laces my hand with his, guiding me to the elevator and he doesn’t let go until he’s helping me into his car.

The roof is still down and the late afternoon is balmy as we head out, following the coastal road north.

A slow bass-heavy beat cuts through the bluster of the wind, matching the drawl of the darkening sunset. A shiver racks through me when Auguste’s hand finds mine in my lap. Thumb tracing slow circles over one of the exposed marks he left on my thighs.

The action is tender, and somehow so loaded with promise I can’t reply when he asks, “Want me to put the roof up?”

Thick and heavy, the air clogs in my throat when I try to breathe. Instead, I shake my head.

I’m burning up and the cool bluster is what’s saving me right now. If we were enclosed, I would have combusted by now.

Silence has never been so loud in all my life.

And it’s not only me that feels it. Auguste’s hand clutches mine tighter.

When I chance a glance at him, his jaw is tight.

A pronounced flush washes his face with the same need that is throbbing through my veins.

I can feel the same tension coiled around my bones, rolling off him in waves. But he doesn’t speak.

Neither do I.

And it’s only when we pass the training facility that I croak, “Where are we going?”

“étienne booked a private dining space at Chateau Marmont.” My jaw drops and he chuckles, “He’s ostentatious like that.”

Must be a family trait , I think.

Except he levels me with a cocked brow. “You think I’m ostentatious?”

“Well… maybe ostentatious isn’t quite the right word. But you are showy with your gestures.”

“Showy to who?”

I swallow because I’ve set a trap for myself. “Me. You’re constantly doing these super nice things for me.”

“So kindness is showy?”

“No,” I say too quickly, using my other hand to hold his around mine in case he pulls away. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Kind of sounds like it.”

“Well, I said it wrong. I just mean that you are bold with your gestures. Like go big or go home.”

Another chuckle and his hand releases mine. It’s large and strong enough that I don’t stand a chance at keeping it prisoner. But then he clutches my thigh with a bruising grip that stutters my pulse.

“I believe that the way you treat people should mirror how you feel about them. And, in case I haven’t made it abundantly clear, I like you a lot, Courtney Nilsson.”

“Okay,” is all I can say .

“Okay,” he nods before adding, “because it’s the reason why you’re with me right now. Why my mom invited you tonight.”

“Sounded like she didn’t want you to be lonely.” I try to lighten the conversation for both of us. Because Auguste saying he likes me sounds a lot heavier than a crush or just a passing whim.

His eyes narrow on me when we come to a stop at a red light. “Our family… we’re protective of our inner circle. Nobodies don’t get to?—”

“Auguste…”

“You’re somebody to me, Court.”

Discombobulated by the earnestness in his voice, I simply nod.

Then the light turns green and we’re back to silence. His thick fingers digging into the fleshy part of my thighs the entire rest of the way.

The silence is comfortable even with the unresolved tension between us. It’s odd because unless I’m alone, I despise empty silence. There’s been too much of it in my life already.

“Ready?” Auguste asks when we turn into the discreet driveway.

Lush greenery welcomes us through the tree-lined driveway to the gothic entrance of the French castle-like building.

I’m completely starstruck with my surroundings.

The atmosphere is nothing like the photos I’ve seen before.

It’s quiet and laid-back. So low key that some of the apprehension I was feeling about coming here, ebbs away.

There’s no one staring when Auguste pauses in front of the valet and leans in. His fingers delicately untie the scarf from my hair before he twists the frizzy baby curls at the front of my face into a semblance of tidy.

“Mmm… goddamn beautiful,” he muses to himself aloud.

Again, all I can say is, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he snickers back, wrapping the scarf around his hand and then inhaling it.