BUTTERFLY: A Standalone Romantic Suspense by Nelle L'Amour

Author:Nelle L'Amour [L'Amour, Nelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance
Publisher: Nichols Canyon Press
Published: 2021-07-13T23:00:00+00:00

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.

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