Page 120 of House of Cards

Smith

Zoey opens her mouth, but by the grace of God, my phone vibrates in my pocket before she can speak. She pauses, lips reluctantly sealing as frustration flickers across her face. I glance at the screen out of habit and nearly growl when I see the notification.

Myles

Nathalie’s waiting for you.

For fuck’s sake.

I shove the phone back in my pocket.

“Does Daddy need you again?” she says lightly, her voice laced with that mocking edge I can’t seem to beat out of her.

I grab Zoey by the elbow and slam my fist into the elevator’s button to open the door. The noise echoes through the hallway and pulls a sharp flinch out of her.

“You’re working on my last nerve, kitten.”

Wisely, she shuts the hell up. But instead of fighting, she just drags her feet like a petulant child, losing both shoes. I haul her down the hall to my suite, the sound of her bare feet against the carpet grating in my ears.

By the time I open the door and shove her inside, my patience is hanging by a thread.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” she mutters, looking anything but as she crosses her arms and glares at me. “But we’ve got to talk about this—“ she waves a hand “—situationship of ours.”

I pause in the doorway, forcing out a slow breath. My eyes rake down her body, lingering where her dress clings to her waist, riding high on her thighs. I reach in, tugging my jacket off her shoulders.

“Talk?” I scoff. “No one’s gonna recognize you when I’m done.”

My voice comes out low and frayed—as close to breaking as I am. “I’m going to tie you down and fuck every hole you have until you’re raw and bleeding, then find new ways to make you scream.”

Her eyebrows climb with every word, deep creases cutting into her forehead. There’s a feverish gleam in her eyes, budding tears ready to spill if she so much as blinks. But those frightened, hazel eyes remain trained on me, eyelids barely fluttering.

“Pray I get bored quickly.”

I slam the door hard enough to rattle the frame and stalk away before I change my mind, running a trembling hand through my hair.

My reflection in the elevator doors belongs to a stranger. Pupils blown, jaw tight, skin flushed with barely contained rage.

Or is it need?

Christ, who am I kidding?

This isn’t about sex anymore. It’s about destruction.

She’s awakened something primal in me. Something I’ve kept chained and muzzled since Michelle.

There’s a monster inside me that wants to devour her whole. It’s been clawing at my insides since the moment she walked into my casino, and it’s getting harder to contain.

It wants to break her.

To use her body until there’s nothing recognizable left. Until there’s nothing it wants, left.

I need to fuck the defiance out of her eyes, the sass from her mouth, the life from her limbs. I need to taste her fear as much as her pleasure.

Only then will I be able to dispose of her properly.

Only then will I be free.

Because right now? Right now, I’m fighting the urge to go back in there and unleash years of carefully contained depravity. To take her in ways that will leave her broken, begging, bleeding. To push past the point where pleasure becomes pain…to where desire becomes desperation.