Page 12

Matthias

After what feels like hours but is actually only thirty-seven minutes, my computer chimes, notifying me of an email from Bash.

I open it instantly, holding my breath. If she’s a spy for the Bratva, I’m going to be pissed. And disappointed .

Full Name: Margot Anne Peterson

Age: 26

Employment: Financial Analyst

Company: Northern Hemisphere Cargo

Education: Boston University

Major: Finance

The document goes on. It includes background on her family and friends, even Benny’s medical record.

She lives alone, works hybrid, and doesn’t go out much except for coffee and the occasional meeting.

I already knew that from her phone. Perfect for kidnapping. No one will notice she’s gone .

I don’t see any evidence of a man in her life. How convenient. It would have been a pain in the ass to have to go kill someone for touching what’s mine.

Stop it Matthias, she’s not yours… yet.

I keep scrolling until something catches my eye. A pen name.

Why the fuck does she have an alias? My chest tightens. Is she hiding something? Is she a spy?

Bash is one step ahead of me.

Not a spy.

Something far more surprising: an audiobook narrator.

My mind flashes to her voice. That smooth, sultry sound. I’d pay to listen to her read to me.

I download the audiobook app that publishes her work. She’s recorded four books. It looks like her career started a year ago. How prolific of her.

I click on her most recent release. Many of the comments are about Chapter Thirty. Curiosity gets the best of me. I buy the book, and I skip straight to Chapter Thirty.

Her voice comes through the speaker. Low. Sensual. Tempting.

“He looks at me, his eyes full of hunger. ‘Get on your knees, baby.’

Too overcome with need, I obey immediately.”

I freeze.

My body goes rigid.

What the fuck?

Her voice is breathy. Needy.

“He pulls his long, hard cock out of his pants. I can see the beads of precum collecting at the tip.”

I shift in my seat.

“ I subconsciously lick my lips. His arousal doesn’t compare to my own. I can feel it dripping down my thighs. I want to take his cock in my mouth and worship it.”

Oh my fuck.

My jaw clenches.

I adjust myself, already painfully hard.

“I open wide, and he shoves his cock in until it hits the back of my throat. I sputter and feel spit dribble down my chin.”

Fucking hell.

This is what sweet Margot narrates? This explicit, filthy fantasy? I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.

“‘Relax your throat. I’m going to fuck this dirty mouth.’

I do as he says and let him go deep. I can’t help moaning around his length. I feel myself flood. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a puddle on the floor beneath me.”

I’m so hard it hurts. Before I can stop myself, I’m undoing my belt and pulling out my cock. I stroke myself, matching the rhythm of her raspy, sinful voice.

“He abruptly pulls out. ‘On your hands and knees. I’m giving my girl what she wants. You’ve been bad and don’t deserve my cock, but I want to cum in that tight pussy.’”

She moans.

I bite back a groan, pumping faster. This is her. This is Margot.

“He slams into me in one thrust. He doesn’t start slow. No, his thrusts are fast and hard. He slaps my ass, and I clench around him. The spanking only adds to the pleasure.

‘Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.’ I chant with each thrust.”

I hold back, gripping the base of my cock. I won’t let myself come until she does. In my mind, it’s not some fictional scene anymore. It’s her.

On all fours. Jiggling. Begging me. Begging for me.

“‘Please, sir. I can’t hold it. Please let me come’"

Her voice quivers. I can hear the desperation in it. I swallow hard, my hand tightening around my length. I picture her lips parted, eyes wide with need.

“‘Come. Now!’ He commands and pinches my clit.”

She screams.

“MARGOT!”

I yell her name as I come, my release spilling hot and fast over my fist. I can’t hear anything. I’m seeing stars.

I’ve never come this hard in my life.

I unload into my fist, but there’s so much, some spills on my pants. It doesn’t matter; Benny already slobbered on them. Thankfully we put him in his room earlier. But I don’t think even his presence could have stopped me from jerking off to her voice.

The audiobook keeps playing, rolling into the next chapter. I barely register it, until I hear another voice.

A man’s voice.

My blood boils. Who the fuck is he? Who the fuck is reading these filthy scenes with her? My hands clench into fists. He’s a dead man. There’s no way you can sit next to her, hearing her moan like that, and not be thinking about her.

And the listeners! Any pervert can download these books and jerk off to her voice.

Like I just did.

But it’s different for me. Because Margot is mine. She may not know it yet, but she is.

She’s done with these audiobooks. She doesn’t need the money anymore. I have more than enough to support us and our kids. I’ll get Bash to take them all down.

But first, I need to buy every single one. Looks like I have a new soundtrack while I work.

** *

Later that night, I creep into my bedroom. The sconces cast a soft glow over the mop of light brown curls that spread across my pillow. She’s sleeping on her stomach, her curvy body swallowed by my bed.

My chest tightens. I never noticed how empty this room was until now. The room feels warmer and cozier with her in it.

I showered in one of the guest rooms, not wanting to wake her.

While brushing me teeth in our bathroom, I freeze mid-scrub, toothbrush in my mouth. There, hanging neatly on the towel rack, are her clothes from today.

If her clothes are out here, then… is she naked in my bed?

The thought slams into me like a freight train. Margot. Naked. Between my sheets. Waiting for me.

I go rock hard in an instant, my body ignoring the fact that I got off less than an hour ago to the sound of her voice.

I don’t even put the toothbrush down, just bite down on it as I slip into our bedroom quiet as a predator.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I reach the bed. Slowly, carefully, I pull the comforter down…

Black fabric.

For a split second, disappointment flares. Then my brain catches up.

I know this shirt. It’s mine.

Heat floods my veins, overtaking any hint of frustration. She’s wearing my clothes.

And just like that, I decide she will never sleep in anything else again. Not unless she’s naked. She can always sleep naked.

That thought alone has me holding back a groan.

I turn back to the bathroom and force myself to finish brushing my teeth. But my gaze catches on the pile of clothes. On one article of clothing in particular .

Black lace.

Before I even register the movement, I’ve crossed the room and they’re in my hand.

She’s in my bed. After using my shower. Smelling like my soaps. Wearing my clothes. With no panties .

I swear under my breath, my body tightening to the point of pain.

I know how much of a fucking freak this makes me, but I don’t care

I bring the lace up to my nose and inhale. Clean, fresh soap, and her.

Margot.

My gut clenches.

It takes every ounce of restraint I didn’t even know I possessed, to put the panties back. To walk away.

I climb into bed, my skin burning, my body screaming. I drag her against me and lock her in my arms. She sighs in her sleep and molds into me. I match my breathing to hers.

It’s the only thing that calms me.

The last thought in my head before sleep finally takes me is:

Margot Peterson isn’t going anywhere.