Graham's Fiance (7 page)

Her long red nails looked dangerous so close to his intimate flesh.

Graham made
a small noise of appreciation that did not stop her from touching him. Savannah turned to him, surprised. Jealousy and disappointment warring inside her. Why was he letting this woman do this to him?

“Graham?”

“Stay.”

He didn’t even look at her as he said the word.

Monique was the one who looked at Savannah. And whatever she saw in Savannah made her laugh with delight. “Don’t tell me you married another one,” she said.

Another one?
Savannah thought.

“I like marriage,” Graham said. “What can I say?”

The surprise dropped
Savannah’s jaw. Graham had been married before? She stared at him in astonishment as he continued to disregard her.

“Another lamb led to slaughter,” Monique said. “Too bad. She’s the prettiest one you’ve ever had.” While Monique spoke, she continued to squeeze Graham’s balls in a pulsating rhythm.

Graham swallowed heavily, his head tilted back, his hips held at an angle for Monique’s convenience. His cock was harder than ever. Pre-come dribbled down the purple head.

Unable to stand it for another moment, Savannah stumbled away from them and toward the door.

“Don’t let me tell you again.” Graham’s voice was ice cold.

Monique chuckled. “You are truly wicked. Why can’t the girl have a little fun?” She took her hand away from Graham, unzipped her catsuit all the way down to the crotch. Her bush was big, thick and black. The smell of aroused pussy lifted high into the room.

Savannah’s husband gripped the rubber suit, yanked it until it came off her arms, back, and down her thighs. Until her pussy was completely bare. Until she was completely bare. Her body tall, luscious, and brown. Gold hoops glittered from both nipples.

The man on the bed made an agonized sound. He watched them, his look of happiness and contentment gone. Monique ignored him just like Graham ignored Savannah. He and Monique kissed each other fiercely, grappled together, hands all over each other’s bodies, animal noises falling from them both. They fell into the bed next to the sub who could only stare at them with pain in his face. Savannah stood stock still, her limbs frozen, and her voice dead in her throat. Graham and Monique wrestled on the bed, equals, both fighting for dominance. Then Graham was on his back and Monique made a sound of triumph, mounted his hard cock.

They groaned and started to fuck. Each thrust he made inside Monique was like a stab into Savannah’s heart. She groaned as they groaned. Cried out. Feeling defiled and dirty. Desperate to renew the connection with Graham she knew was being lost as he fucked Monique.

In the bed, she rode him like a mad jockey, her dripping pussy slamming down on his cock again and again, her breasts jerking in the air, a cruel smile twisting her mouth even in the midst of her passion. Sweat coated their bodies. Graham could only hold on as Monique rode him, her lips skinned back from her teeth, nipples fat and hard. Her perfect body limned in sweat as she twisted and moaned on top of him, worked her hips like a cyclone, and cruelly twisted his nipples with those red-tipped fingers. She cried out. Her body convulsing on top of Graham’s. Her weakest moment. Graham seized her in the midst of that weakness and flipped her over onto her back, quickly following her, his cock once again impaling her. His buttocks pumping, the both of them calling out. Crying out. Crying.

No. Savannah realized that she was the one crying while Graham and Monique reconfigured into another position to start fucking all over again.

No. No. No.
Savannah shook her head. This was supposed to be her honeymoon. She was supposed to be the one making love with her husband. The wetness on her face grew even more. Graham and Monique didn’t stop. Their wrestling and fucking seemed never ending until finally, they collapsed next to Monique’s sub who hadn’t taken his eyes from them the entire time. Savannah felt cold. Transported from her warm and human body. Why did he do this to her?

“Oh, poor baby.” Monique murmured, her voice low and breathless. “Perhaps I could play with her and alleviate some of her suffering.”

“No. She has a lesson to learn. She’s not coming tonight.”

“I can arrange for that too.”

Graham seemed to think about it for a moment, then he shook his head. “No. She needs to learn her place. I’ve been easy on her for far too long.”

“As you wish,” Monique said with a smirk on her lips. The lipstick was all gone, but a trace of color remained. The cruelty remained. She stood up from the bed, reached over to pat her sub’s flank. The man looked puppyish and eager, glad that she was paying attention to him again. Savannah hoped she wasn’t like that. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she looked at her husband, wishing, hoping that he had a similar touch for her.

He did not.

He got up from the bed, stretched, briefly touched his flaccid penis.

“I must go, Monique. You gave me a hard night.” The look he gave her was fond, warm. Nothing like how he’d ever regarded Savannah. “But I want to see you again.”

“Are you at the usual hotel?” Monique asked.

“Yes. Come by any time.”

“I look forward to it.” She reached up and unpinned her now untidy bun, spilling ink black curls down to her shoulders. A deep breath shook her tall frame then she turned to her sub, flogger in hand. “Now, where were we, my pet?”

Graham gripped Savannah’s elbow and led her from the room. Once outside the door and away from the prying ears of Monique and her sub, she stopped walking, unable to let the insult stand without saying something. Everyone outside the room was occupied with a body or two, so none were paying attention to what Savannah had to say.

“Graham. You never said you would sleep with other people. Never.”

His eyes narrowed into gray slits as he looked at her. “I never said I was man either, but it’s something that we both know to be true.” His grip on her elbow tightened. “When you came to me, you knew I was master of this relationship. Soon, you came to realize that you were mine. Completely.” He shook her once. “You don’t dare to think that I belong to you, do you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It’s the other way around. I can do anything I want to you. I can leave you in this fuck house. I can fly away to the States and abandon you on the streets.” He lowered his head to hers. “I can kill you if I want to.”

Savannah drew in a surprised breath.
Why? Why would he say these things to me?

Abruptly, Savannah remembered when he had had her on the couch at his house, his firm hand shoving her face into the sofa cushions, heavy with the promise that he could kill her if he chose. A tremor of real fear moved through her.

She felt like she was back on that couch again. In the midst of that terror that was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Savannah trembled with fright.

“You are with me tonight.” His eyes were a frozen wasteland. “I am going to keep on enjoying myself. I will fuck whoever I chose and you will watch and you will be quiet. Understand?”

She nodded with a difficult swallow.

“Very good.” He straightened to his full height, a smile curved his lips. “Now, follow me.”

For the rest of the night, he made good on his promise. He fucked nearly half a dozen women, using his tongue, fingers, fists, and dildos when his cock grew tired. And through it all, Savannah watched, dying inside but unable to say anything. Finally, he was exhausted. His body was damp with the fluids of so many others, with their sweat, their cum, their spit. He took a shower, forcing Savannah to wash his body with a soapy washcloth, then dried himself, got dressed. And they left.

When they stepped out of the red door and into the streets of normalcy, the sun was a golden light in the sky. Early morning. Parisians were on their way to work, some from work. The exhaust of cars was thick in the air. The coolness of a new day brushed over her skin. She and Graham took a cab back to the hotel—the hotel where Monique already knew where to find them—and Graham promptly collapsed in the bed, barely looking at Savannah.

While he slept, Savannah took her own shower, scrubbing her body from the filth she felt still lingered there. Once she was showered with lotion and her robe on, she went to the balcony of their room.

Paris was spread out before her, a jewel under the morning sun. The Eiffel Tower to the west, rooftops with love birds cooing to each other, the chaos of the city traffic below. Savannah bit her lip that suddenly began trembling. Her hands clenched into the steel railing of the balcony. She made a noise of disgust when that motion instantly reminded her of Monique handling Graham’s balls, squeezing them until her husband almost came all over her hands. She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

A noise from the bed in the room behind her, Graham moving in his sleep, made her stomach cramp with anxiety. She couldn’t stay in the hotel room another moment longer. She quickly got dressed in another of the clinging sheaths that Graham had bought for her, grabbed her purse, phone, and quietly left the hotel room.

She walked out into the streets of Paris with a soft breath of relief leaving her lips. But there was no escape. Her husband was upstairs in their room. He had threatened to leave her in Europe. To kill her. Although she wasn’t paying for any of the honeymoon, Savannah had enough money in her bank account to get her back to America. She had enough money to stay in a cheaper hotel.

Savannah slung her purse over her shoulder and started walking. She didn’t know where she was going but she had a map from the hotel front desk in her purse, her cell phone and enough French to ask for and understand directions. As she walked, the cool morning breeze brushed against her legs, making her wish she had on a pair of jeans, damn what Graham wanted. Moments later, she passed a boutique with some slacks in the window, a few low-waisted tight jeans. Despite her brave thoughts of seconds before, she wasn’t quite ready yet to disobey Graham on this. If he was ready to threaten her life over her jealousy at the sex club then God knew what he would do if he saw her wearing a pair of jeans when he’d explicitly told her not to.

“Fuck him!” she said out loud.

She walked away from the shop hating herself for her cowardice, wondering how she’d gotten to this place.

Savannah walked the city. She walked until her legs were tired. She walked until she couldn’t move another step. She stopped at a cafe and, in her severely broken French, ordered a chocolate croissant and American coffee. With her purchases in hand, she chose a seat on the sidewalk and sat to watch the city walk past her.

With the sun warm on her demurely crossed legs, she tore her croissant into small bites and ate the bites one by one until the entire pastry was gone. As she ate, a pretty couple amidst all the others that seemed to litter Paris like so much confetti caught her eye.

The woman was pretty. Fashionably dressed in high heels, tight jeans, a sheer t-shirt under a black leather jacket and a bright orange scarf at her throat. Her hair bounced like a dandelion cloud around her smiling face. Her boyfriend seemed like he should have been walking with someone else. He was big. Muscular and hard-looking in a way that she hadn’t seen in many French men. It made her think that perhaps he was American, or maybe Italian. Savannah would have thought he was her bodyguard except for the way he looked down at her and, of course, their entwined hands.

The man reminded her of Michael McGregor.

Savannah found herself watching the couple closely, especially the man, until they disappeared around the corner and out of sight. Suddenly, she wondered what Michael was up to. She looked down at her purse, taken by the sudden wild notion of calling him.

As quickly as the urge came, she dismissed it. Not only did she not have an international plan on her phone, but she had no business calling another man on her honeymoon, even if their relationship was purely platonic.

But she reached into her purse anyway, took out her phone. Despite what Elise had said about Michael’s motives, she’d never gotten rid of the piece of paper he’d given her with his phone number on it. She actually carried it in her wallet, not knowing why she did it, but keeping it close to her always. She took it out, rubbed her thumb over the black writing on the white paper. Considered what she was about to do. Then she dialed the number.