Heartless Lover by Faith Summers

13

Summer

Eric wants me to join him for dinner.

As if I’m an actual guest at his house.

It would be laughable if I weren’t such a nervous wreck and if my ass didn’t hurt so much. I can barely sit.

My plan was to avoid him at all costs, not join him for dinner.

I was doing a good job with my plan until Lyssa informed me an hour ago Eric was on his way home and wanted to eat with me.

I’m already anxious enough as it is about seeing my father on Sunday and going to the funeral next week, I don’t need him adding to my debacle.

I stayed in my borrowed room near enough the whole day, still feeling cum on me even though I showered twice last night—not because I thought it was disgusting—which is actually disturbing. I tried to cleanse myself because his stuff on me felt like a mark of ownership. And the scent of sex along with the fucking taste of him was screwing with me.

After last night, I know I can lie to myself all I want and believe he is just like every other man who’s used me and toyed with me, but… The truth is even though he is using me and toying with me, there’s something about him that appeals to me. It more than attracts me to him and that’s not good. It’s not even that it’s the wrong time, it’s just not good. Period.

And he isn’t good either.

Not a good man and I hate the assholish manner in which he speaks to me.

I won’t lie either and say I wasn’t hurt after the way he threw me out of his room. He treated me like some two-bit whore, or rather the way you treat someone who works at Club Montage.

The girls may get paid a fuck ton of money per night, but what I call fuck ton is less than pocket change to men with deep pockets who earn millions and billions.

I also couldn’t help feeling even more like shit when I saw another woman here last night. Again very beautiful just like the last one. And blonde like the last one too. Must be his type.

I saw her when I went into the kitchen to get some coffee. I’d planned to stay in my room, but I needed something hot.

There’s a light knock on the door. I know it’s Lyssa before she pushes the door and comes in. Eric wouldn’t knock.

“He’s home and dinner is all ready,” she announces with that bright smile she’s greeted me with all day.

She also looks proud of herself, probably because of what she said she was making for dinner. It’s a roast. Earlier she was telling me about what she was making and it sounded delicious.

“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Sure, how are you feeling?”

I’ve been grateful that she asks me how I’m feeling as opposed to if I’m okay. Anyone who looks at me can see I‘m not okay.

“I’m not too bad.” That’s a half truth.

As I take note of her concern an idea comes to me because she speaks Russian. I want to be armed when I see Eric and since I don’t know what the hell he said to me last night it would be good to have some idea in case he tries it again. Especially since it sounded threatening.

“Lyssa, can I ask you a few questions? It’s about some Russian words I heard.”

“Sure?”

“Thank you, what does moya Kukla mean?” That’s one of the phrases I remember. Eric said it so fast though I could be wrong.

She smiles which is a good sign. “That’s like my doll, my baby doll.”

Christ.That fits. He’s been calling me that since I got here. But maybe it was what he said before that I didn’t catch that is more important.

“What about tvoyu kisku?” I think that’s what it sounded like and now that I’ve said it I wish I hadn’t.

Instead of smiling, Lyssa’s face goes crimson and I know this is just like one of those instances in grade school where someone learns a swear word in another language and tries to make you say it.

She swallows and presses her lips together.

“Who said that to you? It wasn’t one of the guards was it?”

“No, it was Eric.”

“Ah,” she breathes with understanding. “I think maybe it’s best if you ask him the meaning, dear.”

“Okay.”

“See you in a minute.”

She couldn’t get away fast enough and now I feel like an idiot. I should have known anything that man says to me would be either something lewd or totally fucking rude. What an asshole.

I get up and run my hand over my t-shirt and shorts. These are my clothes from Monaco. I didn’t feel like wearing anything he got me. That’s something else I want to discuss with him. I don’t want him buying things for me. When people do that, they think they own you, or have rights to you.

I leave the room deciding I’m going to take the opportunity to ask the important questions. Things that will keep me going.

I make my way into the dining room and find him standing at the head of the long mahogany table. He’s talking to Lyssa in Russian, so I don’t know what they’re saying.

Of course while I look like a farm hand, he’s dressed like he’s ready to dine in a Michelin starred restaurant.

When I enter the room, he gives me a once over and my anxiety spikes under the weight of his lascivious stare.

Instantly, my stomach twists at the memory of him eating me out and me telling him I wanted him to. My damn mind was so far gone by then I couldn’t have been thinking straight. Then I practically sucked his cock.

God, if I could will the walls to swallow me whole I would. I would not be here in front of him feeling like a bird who just flew into the lion’s den.

I steel my spine, school my thoughts, and keep going forward. I will not allow him to get to me today. I will not have any form of a repeat of yesterday, and I will get through this.

Lyssa glances at me and while her face is still flushed she has that look of pride I saw previously.

She should because the meal she prepared looks truly fantastic.

There’s a roast chicken garnished with vegetables and a chunk of roast beef.

More vegetables and little side dishes cover the table. It reminds me of Christmas’ long ago when Grandmama was alive.

“This looks great,” I say first, nodding toward Lyssa.

“I’m glad you think so. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I hope she eats it,” Eric states raising his brows at me.

From his comment, I know now he’s aware I haven’t been eating much.

He turns back to Lyssa and says something to her in Russian. She then heads back into the kitchen.

“Sit,” he tells me, “Here.” He points to the seat next to him.

I was hoping to sit at the other end of the table. It’s fine though. I just have to keep my head above water. He’s just trying to exude his dominance over me.

I sit and try not to look like my ass hurts like a bitch.

He sits too, and he stares at me. “How’s that pretty little ass of yours?”

I cut him a hard glance. I don’t know how he can ask me that and in such an nonchalant way. As if spanking me was normal or what we did after.

“I’m fine, thank you,” I reply as cordially as I can.

“Good girl. What a shame though, looks like you learned your lesson.”

“Clearly you get off on causing pain to others.”

“Yes, I do.” He nods with a smile. “Now eat, I’m not going to have you here perishing on me.”

“I’m not perishing. I’m here aren’t I?”

“You are here.”

To my surprise he takes the plate in front of me and serves me first, giving me a good helping of nearly everything on the table. I should tell him I’m fully capable of serving myself, but I think better of it and hold my tongue.

When he sets it before me he nods and serves himself next.

“Thank you.” I take a bite of the food and my God is it amazing. I take a few more bites and notice him watching me in between bites, too.

Lyssa returns with an expensive bottle of wine and a pair of wine glasses.

“Enjoy dinner,” she says.

“Thank you Lyssa, you may go now,” Eric replies. “I’ll manage from here on.”

“All right. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

“Goodnight.”

“Bye,” I tell her, wishing she would stay a little longer to cushion the tension but she dips her head and leaves. Moments later the click of the front door signals her departure and heralds the fact I’m all alone with Eric.

I glance at him and gear myself up to ask the questions I have for him.

“You don’t usually have dinner with me,” I state.

“Tonight’s different.”

“Did you want to make sure I ate?”

He allows his fork to dangle between his thumb and forefinger while he watches me.

When he leans in closer, I already know he’s going to give me some crass answer so I gear myself up for it.

“You’ve lost weight since you’ve been here. Do not lose anymore. I want to make sure I have something to hold on to when I fuck you.”

All I do is stare back at him, my face blank of emotion. The same as his.

I almost feel like not eating now just to spite him but tasting the delicious food has made me realize just how hungry I am.

“I’m sure your girlfriend wouldn’t appreciate you speaking to me like that, nor what you did yesterday. Then again cheating probably comes second nature to you.”

He chuckles and gives me a wide grin. “Which girlfriend are we talking about?”

“You pick. There was the woman last night and the other one who brought the clothes for me, which by the way I owe you for.”

He stabs into the slice of chicken on his plate, eats it, and lingers well after he’s swallowed before he gears up to answer me.

“First of all, you and I don’t talk about money. Ever. If I buy something for you, you wear it or eat it, and you don’t fucking talk to me about owing. Second, the woman who brought the clothes for you is one of my assistants. I got her to shop for you because you’re roughly the same size. Last of all but not least, the woman last night is my kid sister.”

I groan inwardly. I should apologize for my embarrassing mistake but I don’t want to give him the pleasure of seeing me accept I’m wrong.

“She didn’t look like you.” Is all I say and he chuckles.

“Babydoll, the next time you want to know if I have a girlfriend, just ask. Also, I don’t cheat because men like me don’t have girlfriends. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I don’t care, so I’m not disappointed.”

That’s why I ignore the flicker of mischief in his eyes and jump to the more important questions on my mind.

“Any news on Robert?” I ask changing the subject.

“Not the kind I was hoping for.”

“What did you find?”

There’s something in his eyes I can’t read and I can’t begin to guess what it could be.

“Nothing for you to worry about anymore,” he eventually answers.

Anymore?

What the hell does that mean?

“I’m curious to know what it is now. That man killed my sister.”

“It has nothing to do with that. What I found happened long before your sister’s death and like I said, it’s nothing to worry about.”

He sets his fork down while I continue to eat. I had more questions lined up but all were reliant on him getting news of Robert. Since he didn’t, I’m not sure what to ask. I can’t talk about the funeral with him. Not yet. And now that I think about it, I’m not sure if I want to go down that road at all tonight.

When he sets his elbows on the table and continues to stare at me I look at him.

“What is it?” I ask, feeling conscious of him again.

“What sent you to Club Montage?” he asks riveting his gaze to mine.

The question throws me off guard. Honestly, though, it’s the kind of question I should have expected. The only way I wouldn’t need to is if he didn’t know what the club is.

“Why?”

“Curiosity.”

“A jobs a job.”

“That isn’t just a job, though, is it?”

“My reasons for working there are none of your business.” I don’t want to talk about it. Everything I say will make me sound worse than the loser I am. My path to Club Montage is what killed Scarlett.

“Were you Robert’s girl?”

All traces of that jovial lightheartedness he previously displayed is gone as he keeps his gaze trained on me. Deep within his eyes the emotion I couldn’t name before becomes crystal clear and looks like a deadly combination of jealousy and displeasure.

The shock of what I’m witnessing leaves me speechless. But even if I wasn’t shocked, I don’t know how I’d begin to answer that question since technically I was Robert’s whenever he wanted me to be.

“Why is that relevant to anything?” I ask in a small voice.

“Did he own you?” He ignores my question and his tone sounds more demanding than it previously did.

I lose my appetite again as my stomach squeezes once more.

“Why are you asking me that?” This is a guy who doesn’t ask any questions he doesn’t already know the answers to. So he knows the answer is that I was. What I want to know is why he wants to hear me say it.

Knowing if I belonged to a monster doesn’t change anything. All it does is make it worse.

“The pictures in his stash kind of told me a fuck of a lot.”

Pictures? Fuck.“What pictures?”

Does he mean the ones on the website?From the way he’s looking at me, there’s little point praying he didn’t see those. It looks like he’s checked me out so he would have. Robert took those pictures.

Eric said stash of pictures. There isn’t supposed to be any stash.

“The ones of you and him. There were videos too.”

My eyes fly open. I wasn’t aware of anything like that, and I realize with horror of what that bastard did. There are no cameras at Club Montage but he must have found a way to take pictures and recordings of him and me together.

Eric’s looking at me like I’m a whore and I feel like I’m going to be sick.

I’m not.

Fuck knows what he must have seen. The fucking images on the stupid website were enough. There’s no telling what Robert recorded.

“I’m not a whore,” I mutter, as if it matters.

“Maybe not, you were certainly owned by the devil though. Didn’t look like you minded being owned either.”

Rage consumes me from the sting of his words. When I think of everything that sent me to Club Montage and why I literally had to have hit rock bottom to choose to sell my soul, I hardly have time to process I’m angry before I react. I raise my hand and land it across his cheek hitting him so hard I split the side of his lip.

The moment my fingers connect with the scruff of his beard the weight of the mistake I just made falls on me like a block of buildings.

I push to my feet quickly and study him.

When he calmly picks up a napkin, dabs at the side of my mouth and looks at the dark red blood on staining the napkin I know he’s furious.

This was the second thing he warned me about. When he stands and somehow seems taller and his face is void of even the anger I know he must feel, the only thing I can do is get away from him.