Chapter 371
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Chapter 371:
The moment the doors opened into the penthouse, Jocelyn did not head toward the master bathroom to remove her makeup. She walked straight to the massive marble wet bar in the center of the living room, reached for a crystal decanter of twenty-year-old Bourbon, and poured two generous measures into heavy rocks glasses.
She turned and walked toward Gaston.
He was standing by the sofa, slowly pulling his black silk bowtie loose from his collar. He watched her approach, his dark, predatory eyes tracking her every movement and instantly catching the dangerous, emotional fire burning in her gaze.
Jocelyn pressed one of the glasses into his large hand. Without breaking eye contact, she raised her own glass, clinked it against his, and threw the amber liquid back. The Bourbon burned a fiery trail down her throat, sending a flush of heat straight to her cheeks.
She stepped directly into his personal space.
𝖱e𝘢𝘥 𝗳𝗋o𝗺 у𝗈𝘂𝘳 𝗽𝗁𝗼𝗻e 𝗼ո.с𝗼𝗺
She reached out, her delicate index finger tracing the line of his white dress shirt, stopping exactly over the left side of his chest. Right over his heart.
“Tell me the truth,” Jocelyn whispered, her voice dropping an octave. “How much did the needle hurt p>
Gaston’s breathing stopped. His pupils dilated, swallowing the dark brown of his irises until his eyes were almost entirely black.
He reached up and caught her wandering hand, his grip tight and trembling. He lowered his head until his lips were a fraction of an inch from her ear.
“Not a fraction of what it felt like to watch you walk away with him,” Gaston rasped. His voice was raw, bleeding with ten years of suppressed agony.
The brutal honesty of his words shattered the last remaining wall in Jocelyn’s heart.
She let out a soft, desperate gasp and dropped her glass onto the carpet. Gaston didn’t even glance at the spilled liquor. His fingers went numb and he let his own heavy crystal glass slip from his grasp, the expensive Bourbon soaking silently into the thick fibers below. In the next instant he lunged forward, wrapped his massive arms around her waist, and lifted her completely off the ground.
He carried her down the hallway in long, urgent strides, kicked the heavy oak door of the master bedroom open, and let it slam shut behind them.
He dropped her onto the center of the California king bed and followed her down immediately, his heavy body pressing her deep into the mattress.
His mouth crashed down on hers — a punishing, desperate kiss.
The Bourbon in her veins ignited. Jocelyn was entirely uninhibited. She tore at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin, desperate to touch the raised ink above his heart.
The temperature in the room skyrocketed. Expensive silk and tailored wool were thrown to the floor.
In the dark, tangled sheets, Gaston’s control completely snapped. He drove into her with a terrifying, possessive rhythm, his hands pinning her wrists to the pillows.
“Say my name,” Gaston demanded, his voice a guttural growl against her neck. “Tell me who you belong to p>
“Yours,” Jocelyn sobbed, her fingernails digging into his broad shoulders. “I am yours, Gaston. Only yours p>
Hours later, the storm finally passed.