Page 37 of House of Cards (The Devil’s Den #2)

Smith

Watching Zoey eat chocolate cake is making me so fucking horny, I’d swear I wasn’t just balls deep down her throat.

“Ow.” She pauses, eyes closed, and rubs the front of her throat. “You weren’t kidding about the bruises.”

I’ve never apologized to a sub for bruises I intentionally caused…yet I’m fighting the urge to tell her I’m sorry.

The fuck is the matter with me?

I trail a finger over my plate, catching a few crumbs and popping in my mouth. While delicious, the cake was much too sweet for me. I’m already struggling with good quality sleep. Sugar will keep me up all night.

The bargain we struck did not include my hand on her throat, her ass in the air, and my cock so deep inside her that every desperate little sob of hers vibrates against my palm.

Again…not something I’d even have given a second thought with another woman.

“You’ll get used to it,” I say, and take another slow sip of coffee as I watch her over the rim of the cup.

Her fork pauses halfway to her open mouth, eyes darting up to mine. “No more deals. I’ll rather die of chocolate deficiency than put up with your throat abuse again, thank you very much. I mean, it’s good, but it’s not that good. “

I frown. “The cake?”

“Yeah, sure, the cake.” She chews thoughtfully for a moment and then points at me with her fork. “Actually, no. Fuck that. If you’re gonna go around shoving your dick in my mouth whenever you want, then there’s no way in hell I’ll stroke your ego by telling you it was the best I’ve ever had.”

“But it was.” Another sip of lukewarm coffee as I suppress a smile. Fuck, she’s so easy to rile up.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she mutters through a mouthful of cake.

She’s halfway through her second slice and already eying what’s left of the cake, as if she’s wondering if she can squeeze in a third helping.

The rim of my phone lights up with a call. I don’t bother turning it over to check who it is. Myles has been trying to reach me most of the day, but I’ve been ignoring him.

I know what he wants.

I know I can’t argue with him.

So I’m acting like a teenager and ignoring him, hoping he’ll go away.

It won’t end well. None of this is going to end well. Not until I take Zoey back to whatever she calls home, and vow never to see her again.

Ha. If only it were that easy.

She’s taken root in my mind, and after how beautifully she just deepthroated my cock, how the hell am I supposed to rip her out?

I still can’t decide which I liked more—the feel of her throat contracting as she gagged, or the way she glared at me with open hatred as I forced her to take every inch of me.

Possibly, it was the fact that it turned her on. I’ve been working with our Angels for many years now. I can tell when a woman’s body is responding to my attention, be that a gentle caress, a rough kiss, or a brutal caning.

Zoey’s body responds to me like a sunflower chasing the sun.

A woman’s mind, though? I’d have to earn a PhD in psychology to understand them.

“You gonna get that?” Zoey asks when my phone rings again.

I sigh, easing up the edge of the phone just enough to make out the caller ID.

It’s Troy.

I should get it, but I know it’ll just be more of the same. People asking me questions I don’t know the answer too. If I’d left Zoey in the Angel’s quarters, none of this would be happening. Having her at my side has just made my obsession with her grow even stronger.

This can’t last. I know it won’t last.

Troy has been following the Fire Marshall’s investigation of the Slice of Heaven’s fire. Their initial report ruled it as ‘suspicious’, but no updates since then. Without Zoey to fill in an insurance claim, it’s been moving slower than molasses.

I never should have chased her that night.

One impulsive decision to pursue a card counter has spiraled into this.

..whatever the hell this is. I acted purely out of selfish interest—the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of catching her.

Then I kept her because I could, and because something about her defiance lit a fire in me I couldn’t extinguish.

Now I’m in too deep, protecting her from Myles, from clients, from myself. Playing the savior when I’m the one who damned her. The irony isn’t lost on me.

The only logical conclusion is that I should let her go.

Fuck logic.

“No.” I let the phone drop face down again. “And no,” I tut her when I see her still sizing up the remaining cake. “You’ll get cavities.”

“Good thing this position comes with dental.” She drags her fork through her lips, fluttering her eyelashes at me. “Especially if you plan on knocking out my teeth with your giant dick.”

I roll my lips together, shaking my head. “It’s like you want me to punish you, kitten.” Just the thought has my dick hardening in my pants again.

“Oh, believe me, being around you twenty-four-seven is punishment enough. I mean, most married couples don’t even see this much of each other.”

This. Fucking. Woman.

There’s a knock at the door—three rapid, impatient bursts.

“Room service!” The voice is unmistakably Richmond’s.

I glance at Zoey, who’s frozen mid-bite, chocolate frosting on her upper lip. She raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it either.

“Stay here,” I mutter, moving toward the door.

When I open it just enough to block the view inside, Richmond is leaning against the jamb, eyes too bright, his fingers tapping an erratic pattern against his thigh.

“What do you want?”

“Good to see you, too.” He tries to peer around me into the room. “You gonna let me in?”

“No.” I step into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed behind me.

Richmond sniffs, running a hand through his hair. His movements are quick, precise, almost mechanical. “We’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, busy keeping our new Angel all to yourself.” He gestures to the door with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Is she really that good a fuck? If she is, you should be sharing. That’s how we do it around here. Did you forget?”

He fist bumps my shoulder, and my entire body tenses as I struggle not to punch him in the fucking face.

“Now come on. Be a good boy and share your toys. If you don’t, Myles might do something drastic.”

I cross my arms. “Define ‘drastic.’”

“Drastic, like sending your ass over the pond to handle his other brothels.” Rich winces. “We both know how that went last time.”

Before I can respond, he’s already talking again.

“Myles is getting impatient. Says she’s gotta start earning her keep, or he’s gonna boot her. So what’s it gonna be?” He taps his finger against my chest for emphasis.

I grab his finger, twisting sharply, barely stopping before I break it. “Don’t touch me. And don’t you fucking dare touch her.”

He tugs himself free, glaring at me as he shakes his hand. “Jesus. If you’re going to be so precious about who touches her, just use her as a fucking test dummy. That waiting list is longer than my arm.”

My jaw tightens. “I’ll think about it.”

He steps back, pupils dilated despite the dim hallway lighting. “Think fast. Myles is already in a pissy mood. Wouldn’t want him getting angry.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

I watch him strut away at a brisk pace. Did he start a new bender, or is he still on the last one? Might be time to send him to rehab again.

When I return to the room, Zoey has abandoned her cake and is standing by the table, arms wrapped around herself.

I look at her, at the chocolate frosting still on her lip, at the fear she’s trying so hard to hide. Suddenly, all I want to do is scoop her up, tell her everything’s going to be okay, and clean that mouth of hers with mine.

Fucking dangerous thoughts to have when I know what’s coming next for my bratty little sub. If anything, I need to be even less protective of her.

More ruthless.

For her sake, and for mine.

“What’s a training dummy?” she asks, voice quiet.

I snort, shaking my head. “It’s better than the alternative.”