Page 16 of Heartfelt Pain (Ruling Love #3)

Ren

I ’m stepping out of the shower when I hear a vacuum start. I can’t remember the last time I ran the vacuum.

“What the—” I stop in the middle of the kitchen and realize it’s not the vacuum. Trevino is making a smoothie with a blender I didn’t even know I had. I’d like to say it makes more sense than the vacuum, but at this point, I don’t know what’s real or not.

He hands me a glass of green bits. “Kale, with blueberries and protein powder.”

“But I just got some frozen waffles.” And then I’ll eat whatever Abe makes me for my second breakfast.

Trevino is wearing all black, his shirt stretching against his muscles. He must’ve put up the dishes in the sink because they’re all gone.

“Thanks.” I lift my drink in a silent cheer. “I’m just going to finish getting ready.”

My plan is to flush the smoothie down the toilet before I come back out. I mean it’s a nice gesture, but it’s a lot of kale for so early in the morning.

I pause, though. “Um. . . about last night. ”

He doesn’t face me, but he shrugs. “My job is to protect not judge.”

“Did you. . . did you hear?”

He shakes his head before I even finish.

Oh, thank God.

“But I didn’t get to where I am because I’m stupid. It’s pretty clear what you were up to. It’s not my place to say a word, but if you’re worried about people finding out you went back to the Zimin, you. . .” He turns from the sink. “My job is to protect you. And your secrets.”

I think it’s meant to make me feel better. “Isolde is technically the paying customer.”

He dismisses the idea. “Good thing I’d rather go out of my way not to talk to her.”

“Don’t be rude to my friend!” She’s the nicest person on the planet. “She’s never said a bad word about you. And all you are is grumpy.”

I sniff the smoothie and try not to gag at the amount of kale in it. “How did you two meet anyway? She never said.”

And I’m curious as fuck.

But Trevino decides he’s put up with me enough. “The car will be here in thirty minutes.”

That barely gives me time to finish getting ready and I huff to let him know I’m displeased.

“The apartment next to yours is empty,” he tells me later when we’re in the car. I’m no longer using the same car service. Trevino prefers to use his own employees because it turns out he has a few guys already working for him. Every doorman working at my building is now one of his guys.

“Really?” I never noticed anyone moving in or out.

“It’s ours for right now,” he says. “So I’ll be next door, but you’ll have your space.”

“Is this because of last night?” I mutter, my cheeks hot .

“The point is, you’ll have your space,” he repeats, emphasizing that last point.

“Right. Will I still be safe?” I know I fought Isolde on this, but having a bodyguard has made me rethink a few things.

“Yes.” He’s confident.

“Do you think you’ll be able to figure out who’s doing this?” It’s technically not his job to investigate, but I like Trevino. He’s smart and nice and seems to know what he’s doing.

“I think your friend is nosy,” he replies, looking out the window. “And knowing her, she won’t stop until she figures it out.”

He never says Isolde’s name. But his tone is lighter as he mentions her, probably still thinking about how I warned him off this morning.

“What was Canada like?” I ask after a minute of quiet contemplation.

It takes him by surprise. “Truthfully, I wasn’t there that long, so I have no complaints. But nothing beats this city.”

“Oh.” We’re creeping in traffic. “I always wanted to go on an Alaskan cruise. A lot of them leave out of Vancouver. All the photos I see are pretty. Of both, Alaska and Vancouver. Have you ever been?”

He shakes his head. “Why don’t you take a vacation?”

“I don’t have time.” Since we’re going to be stuck for a while, I open up my emails and start sifting.

“You should go,” he says after a minute.

I bite back a smile at his friendliness, but I’m silent the rest of the way to Fujimori’s.

Twelve hours later, my back is sore and I’m annoyed at two bickering Japanese businessmen and I’ve had to listen to triggerman after triggerman bitch about shit.

“Has everyone lost their fucking minds?” I ask Ben at one point. Tensions flare all the time, but not like this. It’s not one certain thing or person causing issues. Little things are starting to grate, kinks not getting worked out.

“Something’s got to give.” Ben shrugs, but he looks beat too.

“Are you waiting for Abe?” I ask. Isolde didn’t come by today and for once I don’t think anyone is feeling like sticking around and having a drink.

He nods. “Yeah. Go ahead and head home, but text me when you’re in.”

“Why not just text my bodyguard?” I tease. Trevino’s patiently sat around. Being a bodyguard is a lot more boring than people think.

“That good looking man?” Ben laughs.

“He’s not texting nobody!” Abe yells from the kitchen.

“Good night, love you both!” I chirp in response. My bag is stuffed full of all kinds of things and I throw in my planner and a box of cigarettes. I have a feeling that by the time this is all said and done, Jane and Trevino will be working together to get me to stop my little habit.

But after a long day, as I exit onto the sidewalk, I can’t help but light one last cigarette. My phone lights up and I’d like to ignore it, but the name snares me in.

Roma: I didn’t get killed by any serial killers today. Just thought you might want to know.

Ren: The serial killer probably broke into your house, saw you laughing at stupid memes, and decided you were too innocent to kill .

I ignore a tiny stab. Both of us know we’re not innocent people.

Roma: Can I come over?

Roma: Please

I stamp out the used cigarette and climb into a black SUV. My head rolls against the glass window as we drive home in the dark.

Trevino literally moved out just so I could have my own little liaisons. He promised he wouldn’t tell anyone.

Part of me worries, though, not about Roma coming over, but how tired I am. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I can get there, but at this moment I’d rather lay my head down on someone’s chest and fall asleep.

That’s not territory I’m interested in going with Roma. He can make me orgasm. He can make me feel wicked, painful things.

But that’s all he gets. No nicknames, no flirting.

Sex only.

As soon as the terms come to mind, I type them out in a message.

His response comes back within seconds.

Roma: Okay.

There’s no obnoxious blender going at six in the morning. There is however a sleepy Roma in my bed.

I guess we should’ve also agreed on stipulations for how the nights end because I did not expect him to still be here when my alarm went off.

He didn’t even move when I sat up, confused and disoriented. It’s a random Wednesday morning. I’m too old for this lover shit where men lounge in my bed during weekday mornings.

I tore off the blankets, hoping that’d wake him up. He tossed over, gloriously naked, smothering his face into my pillows.

Fucking asshole.

Kicking him out in his zombie state seemed too tedious so I went back to my daily routine. Skincare, makeup, and hair.

I put on my trousers and grab a black button-down. I stomp all the way to the front hall, looking for my tallest heels. I stomp all the way back.

And still, Roma Zimin sleeps.

It’s the red lipstick that catches my eye. I don’t normally fuss with such a bold color because I start eating as soon as I make it to Fujimori’s.

But. . . maybe my mornings need some fun.

“Get up.” I smack Roma with a pillow. All I get is a sleepy groan so I slap his ass.

He jerks up. “Ren!”

“Does it look like I have all day?”

Rubbing one eye, he scans down my dress clothes. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get the fuck up.” I grab his hand and force him up. “Go over there.”

Confused, he turns. I can’t resist slapping his ass again, enjoying his sharp inhale.

“Seriously, I?—”

“Over there.” I point to a chair and practically shove him into it. “Now be a good boy.”

“What?” he starts to ask again.

I shove a pair of lacy panties in his mouth. I never really understood the whole gagging thing, but I’m starting to love it .

Noise catches in the back of his throat and his eyes follow me when I grab another pair from the dresser next to the chair. I tie his hands together with them, pleased with my knotting skills, and lift them.

Aunt Macy must’ve been into kink because this place is full of convenient things like a hook along the wall that I use to hold Roma’s hands above him.

Stepping back, I admire Roma naked and gagged, his arms pinned above him.

“You’ve never looked better.” I grin, tossing my hair back. I sink to my knees. “I wore red lipstick for you, do you like it?”

He nods. His cock strains upward, the tip already leaking.

“Awe, Roma,” I tease. “You want me to suck your cock?”

He nods, his hips jerking.

“Don’t move,” I warn. I grip him in my hand, pumping up and down.

I don’t have time for slow, tentative movements. He groans, his head falling back when I squeeze him. I smear precum along his thick cock and brush my tongue down him. Flattening my tongue I lick him from his crown to his base.

He tries to roll his hips, but I tut under my breath.

“Stop moving or I won’t play with you.”

He stills, but glazed eyes stare down at me.

I ignore him, focusing only on his cock. Wrapping my lips around him, I suck. Hard.

His muscles tighten and the fingernails on my left hand dig into his waist, reminding him to stop moving. His muffled groans have my panties growing wet.

Releasing his dick with a pop, I lick the crown again before sucking him back in.

His hips jerk and I’m a little mad because there’s not enough time to sit on his cock and ride him. I should’ve done this earlier instead of pretending like I would kick him out .

From now on if he wants to stick around in my apartment, I’m going to use him however I like.

His groans grow more frantic, his back bending. The panties muffle his growl and I release his cock from my mouth.

Ropes of semen land on his bare chest, his hips jerking with the release. He looks like a caged animal as he jerks and twitches.

I stand up, running a finger along his chest, through his cum. He stares up at me as I lick my finger and then wipe the corners of my mouth to fix my lipstick. When he looks down he’ll notice it smeared all over his dick.

There’s a knock at the door.

“It’s time to go.” I untie his hands and take out the gag.

He rubs his wrists, still dazed and confused.

I throw his pants at him. “Come on.”

He eyes the cum on his chest. “Shower?”

The car is here and I’ve got a meeting at eight. “There’s no time. Put on your fucking clothes and go.”

He looks around and the vindictive little cumslut in me comes out.

“Put on your fucking clothes,” I tell him again. “And leave.”

It’s like the other night. There’s no cleanup before I send him packing.

He’s still breathing raggedly. “We need to work on your aftercare.”

“If you want aftercare,” I say bluntly, “then find another bitch.”

Have fun wrecking her like you did me.

Running a hand through his hair, he starts to sort through his clothes, when there’s another knock.

At my look of hurry up, he tugs on his pants and then pulls his shirt over his head. I touch him lightly, the shirt sticking to his chest. It makes the fucked up part of me smile .

“I could—” he starts to offer.

Trevino knocks again.

“Later,” I say. And I damn well mean it because he might be walking home with cum on his chest but I’ll be walking around wet all day.

“Has anyone seen Isolde?” I ask around lunchtime. It’s been nonstop meetings and I’ve stopped for a Coke and cigarette break.

I steadily ignore Trevino’s disappointed face each time I light up.

It’s been entertaining watching people see Trevino. The wider world, even the criminal elite, doesn’t know his masked persona. But it’s clear from the cut of his muscle he knows how to handle himself.

I’ve gotten curious looks about having a bodyguard positioned a few tables away from me the past few days.

I get it. I’ve done my best to make sure Fujimori’s remains neutral territory. Needing a bodyguard is kind of the opposite thing.

“Just saw her out back,” Abe says, placing a bowl of noodles in front of me. He turns to Trevino who shakes his head. “Eating lunch doesn’t make you less of a tough guy. And honestly I’m going to get offended if you keep refusing our food.”

Trevino sighs.

Abe grins cheekily. “Coming right up.”

“Is she coming in or not?” I twist my spine to speak to him through the cutout.

“I don’t know,” Abe shouts back. “She’s talking to someone.”

“Someone?” I ask. “Who? ”

“I don’t know.” Abe knows a lot of people due to close proximity. “Someone fancy and expensive.”

“Blue suit?” I ask. “Dark hair.”

“Uh. . . yeah.”

I inhale another lungful of tobacco.

Trevino smooths his tie, not saying anything. And when Isolde slides through the kitchen door into the dining area he barely acknowledges her.

I on the other hand waste no time. “Why was Hadrian Hallow here again?”

She nods at Abe when he hands her a plate. “Cheers.”

Trevino is handed a bowl of something with a lot of vegetables. There’s a bit more sincerity when he nods at Abe in thanks.

I lovingly tap her with my stiletto under the table. “Hallow?”

She shrugs, looking for a napkin.

“Sorry, if I’m being too nosy.”

She shrugs again. “You wouldn’t be you if you weren’t nosy.”

My shoulders relax.

“He’s all right,” Isolde says after a few bites. “Looks like an arrogant bastard most of the time.”

Um, I’ve heard plenty of stories. “That’s because he is an arrogant bastard.”

Her chest lifts, wearily. I’m not sure what she’s been up to the last few days, but she’s not getting enough sleep. She takes another bite and then pushes the food away from her. There’s still half a bowl left.

“He’s not as bad as people say. He was the first person to ever hire me,” she says.

“Hadrian Hallow?” I frown.

“Back at Oxford. He’s the guy who hired me to take out my sister’s killer. ”

A large group of tourists burst through the door. Jane greets them. Otherwise, it’d be completely quiet.

“That’s twice in a week he’s come to see you,” I note.

Abe drops off two slices of cake. He never lets me have dessert so he must notice Isolde’s downtrodden vibe.

At the last minute, Abe tries to take my cake back and I fight him for it. Someone clears their throat and I’m lucky I don’t end up flinging the plate in surprise.

Because Yelena Zimin is standing in the middle of Fujimori’s. And I think she’s here for me.