Butterfly by Nelle L’Amour

CHAPTER 32

Roman

Today goes by as if yesterday never happened. Sofi makes no mention of last night’s episode nor do I. She spends her day in the atelier painting butterflies while I spend most of mine recovering in my study upstairs, keeping my distance from her. Only one other person has ever seen me flagellate. Madame DuBois. Even my shrink doesn’t know my deepest, darkest secret. What happened last night between Sofi and me was a game changer. She saw me at my lowest and she saved me. We now share an intimacy that is every bit as, if not more, powerful than the most intimate of sexual acts. An orgasm is fleeting. What Sofi did for me last night will stay with me forever. She knows who I am and has met the demon inside my soul. Any other woman in her right mind would have fled, but she stayed by my side. Did I thank her? I can’t remember. She’ll be here shortly with the coffee I asked her to buy. Maybe then I’ll tell her how much she meant to me. Then again, maybe I won’t. And just let things be.

My back still raw, I’m dressed in my pajamas, the cool silk the only fabric my flesh will tolerate. Seated at my desk with Sofi’s Luna paperweight beside me, I should be focusing on my new collection, but instead I doodle in my sketchbook, unable to concentrate. I try to copy the moth and then I draw a lit candle. I stare at my creation. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that this phallic sketch is symbolic. A moth drawn by a candle in the darkness of the night . . . what would it be like to spread her wings and warm her until she was dripping with delight?

I am lost in thought when I’m catapulted out of my erotic fantasy by the clickety-clack of high heels on the wood floor and a cloying floral scent that grows nauseating as it gets closer. Recognition is instant.

“Roman, darling,” she drawls.

I look up. It’s Kendra. Her voice is slurred, her pupils dilated, and she can’t walk in a straight line. Swaying on her feet, she makes it to my desk.

“What do you want?” My words taste like acid on my tongue.

“What you want,” she slurs back.

With a smirk on her plumper than ever lips, she rounds my desk, and to my horror and disgust, plops down on my lap, straddling me with her long legs. The smell of alcohol is thick on her breath, making me feel more nauseated than I already am.

“Kendra, you’re drunk!”

She flings her arms around my shoulders and I wince as she cackles.

“Oh, Roman, you’re so judgmental.”

“Get the fuck off me!” I grind out.

My words fall on deaf ears. Ignoring them, she rips open her cream silk blouse, popping all the pearl buttons, which ping one after another onto the floor, and undoes her front-hooking lace bra, freeing her breasts. Unlike Sofi’s which are small and supple, hers are monstrous and plastic. For sure implants. Plumping them up in her palms, she begins to squeeze and massage them.

“Roman, darling, these can be yours. All yours. To nip. To coddle. To suck. To fuck.”

Don’t. Fucking. Want. Them.Not now, not ever. This is not the first time she’s tried to seduce me while she’s inebriated. I’ve made it loud and clear to her that I want to keep our relationship strictly professional, but she has other ideas. And when she drinks too much, she loses all control. Becomes impulsive and repulsive.

I breathe in and out of my nose, trying to stay calm as possible though rage is racing through me at supersonic speed. “Kendra, you should leave and we should forget this ever happened.”

Her eyes blazing with drunken lust, she gives me a vapid stare. “Darling, nothing’s happened . . . yet.”

What the hell is she talking about? On my next harsh breath, a soft whoosh sounds in my ears. I glance down. Kendra’s undone the drawstring of my pajama bottoms. Her right hand grips my dick that’s lying dormant beneath the fabric; she begins to rub it.

“Come to mama.”

My cock ain’t going or coming anywhere near her. She’s never taken things this far. “Get your goddamn hands off me, Kendra.”

Instead, with her other hand, she shimmies her pencil skirt up to her hips and steeples her knees. Jesus. She’s not wearing panties. I glimpse her wet cunt and pull my gaze away as she says, her voice garbled, “Roman, I’ve always been the one for you. That shrew Ava was never good enough for you.”

How dare she insult Ava? She’s never held a candle to her. With a sharp yank, I pull her hand away. She doesn’t react.

“And probably the only thing that new little muse of yours knows how to do is suck her thumb. Such a child! Let me show you what a real woman can do.” Regripping the base of my cock, she lowers her head and wraps her mouth around the crown. And starts to suck it.

That’s it. I’ve had it. The crazy bitch is sexually assaulting me! My mind races, contemplating my options. I want her off me in the worst possible way, but if I harm her in any way, she’ll manipulate who assaulted who. Who are they going to believe in this #MeToo world? Take a guess. The gorgeous whippet-thin woman with the D-cup breasts or her big, hulking partner with the ten-inch dick?

Fuck it. I’ve got to take my chances. Plus, Sofi will be here any minute with my coffee. I can’t let my butterfly see me this way with Kendra. With one powerful thrust, I bounce her off my lap. With one powerful thump, she lands on her ass.

“What the fuck, Roman?”

I spring to my feet. “Get the fuck out of here, Kendra!” A beat. “Now!”

Her disheveled hair dragging along the floor like a mop, she crawls to the doorway where she staggers to her feet and glares at me.

Her mouth screws up into an angry sneer. “Don’t worry, Roman, what goes around comes around. You’ll pay for this.”

With that she storms off and disappears.

The next thing I hear is a scream.