Page 127 of House of Cards
If the carpet hadn’t been so thick, I might have heard her heels clicking after me. But I’ve forgotten her already as I tap out a quick reply to Troy.
Smith
Where?
A slim hand slides into the crook of my arm, tugging so hard that my phone jostles out of my hand and bounces on the floor.
Surprise darts over Nathalie’s face, briefly bringing her features to life—as much as possible—with all the Botox.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” She drops to her knees, grabbing my phone and holding it up for me to take.
I stare down at her, barely holding back a growl. “Get up.”
She obeys, but slowly. Coyly. Like she expects me to tilt her chin up and reward her submission with a kiss.
My mind flickers to Zoey, how different she’d look in this position.
On her knees, lips swollen and bruised, thighs marked by my teeth, eyes vacant with fear as my hand fists in her hair. Throat raw from screaming.
No longer submitting, but truly broken.
The image is so clear I can almost feel the weight of a belt in my hand, hear the desperate whimpers she’ll make when I tell her we’re only getting started.
The vision dissolves, and it’s just Nathalie again, murmuring a shy little, “Yes, Sir.”
Christ.
I snatch my phone from her hand, and she somehow slips her hand under my jacket and grabs hold of my suspender before I can turn away.
I’m definitely off my game tonight.
“You forgot these,” she says, opening her hand to show me some chips I left behind.
I keep still as she lets them drop into my inner pocket, because I’m concerned if I move, it might be to shove her away from me.
She stares up at me with darkly ringed eyes and a perfectly contoured face, her pitch black hair shimmering under the bright casino lights. “And this,” she whispers. Something larger clinks into my pocket. “Same room as last time.”
When she releases my suspender to pat my pocket, I take a hurried step before she can latch onto me again and adjust my glasses as I glare down at her.
Any other night, I’d have accepted her offer.
Bound her.
Spread her.
Belted her until her screams became whimpers.
But tonight, I want none of it.
The only screams I care about are the ones I can’t allow myself to have.
Yet.
I shove a hand in my pocket to take out the room card and toss it back at her, but my phone goes off in my other hand. My pulse ticks faster, a prickle chasing up my spine. Troy’s ‘issue’ could be anything…but I know it’s not.
Since I met Zoey, it’salwaysbeen her. What the fuck has my little kitten done now?
“Good evening, Nathalie.”
