Chapter 6 — Ava's Faithful Husband

Leon’s POV

Paris, 2:17 a.m., and the city I came to for business was just whore beneath me.

I sat like a king that I am on the velvet chaise in the penthouse suite of the Hôtel de Crillon — the Imperial Suite, the one that cost a fortune for just a night and came with its own private elevator, marble floors that is colder than a corpse, and a view that made the Eiffel Tower look like a cheap toy.

The chandelier above me dripped like frozen cum, scattering light across the room in sharp, cruel patterns. Well, I didn’t need the fucking light. I was the light. The smoke curling from the Cuban cigar between my fingers was thicker, darker and more alive than any chandelier could ever be.

I was shirtless and my trousers were unbuttoned. It has been a hell of a day for me. That made me really horny. My cock was already out and heavy in my fist. I wasn't stroking hard. Not yet. Just slow, deliberate pulls — the kind that made the veins bulge, and the cap shoot out. The slit of my cock leaked a single fat drop of precum that clung to my thumb like a diamond.

I smeared it down my weapon, watching it glow under the low amber glow of the room lights. My balls were tight, and drawn up, aching with the weight of two days’ worth of tension, even though I've been fucking all nights. I had to make the most of it before becoming a faithful husband for Ava.

Paris had been good to me. The Syndicate had been better. But nothing —I mean, nothing was compared to the way my own hand felt wrapped around my dick when I knew I could ruin someone with it.

Behind me was the bed which is always battlefield of sin. Bella, my companion who followed me on my business trip, lay sprawled across the sheets, half-naked and fully lethal. Her black lace straps had ridden so far up her ass that it was nothing more than a string disappearing between her ass. The matching bra — if you could call it that — was nothing but a scrap of lace barely containing her boobs.

One strap had already slipped down her shoulder, the cup of her bra pulled low enough that her left nipple peeked out. It was dark and hard, begging to be bitten. She was on her stomach, pressing her phone in one hand, and the other hand was lazily tracing circles on the sheet near her thigh. Her legs were kicked up, and her ankles were crossed. The red soles of her Louboutins were flashing like blood in the dark.

She didn’t even look at me. She didn’t need to as she felt me. The air in the room was thick with my presence alone — smoke, leather, sex, and the kind of power that made pussies of every women drip without a single touch.

“How’d it go with the Syndicate?” she finally said something. Her voice was low and filthy, like she was sucking the words out of her throat. She pressed her tits together with her arms slowly, knowing exactly what that did to the lace, to her nipples, and to me.

“Did they give you your full quarter? All 2.8 billion?” Bella now knows all about the Syndicate, the secret group in charge of the country's cash and where every billionaire belongs to.

I didn’t answer right away. I just took a long, slow drag of the cigar, held the smoke in my lungs until it burned, then exhaled through my nose like a dragon that was claiming its territory. The smoke curled up, wrapping around my face, my chest, and my cock. I watched the smoke dance, then looked down at my dick which is now so thick, pulsing in my grip. Another precum welled up, and I caught it with my thumb, and licked it clean.

“Bring me one of my girls,” I said, voice lethal, and final.

The door opened instantly, following my order. No hesitation. No knock. Just obedience.

She stepped in barefoot — the maid I’d had flown in from Prague two days ago. She was beautiful, with dark hair that fell in a straight sheet down her back and her lips painted in red. She wore a black robe that tied loosely at the waist, and the fabric was so thin that I could see the shadow of her nipples, the curve of her hips, and the faint line of her pussy through the lace panties underneath. Her eyes dropped to my lap immediately.

Of course she knew what I wanted. She’d been trained for it.

Bella didn’t even look up from her phone. Just smirked, and went back to scrolling. She is always a good girl. She knew her place. She wasn’t my wife. She wasn’t my equal. She was my mirror. My fucking mirror.

The maid dropped to her knees in front of me without a word. The marble was cold against her skin as I could see the goosebumps race up her thighs but she didn’t flinch. Her hands were steady as she reached for my zipper, pulled it down slowly. My trousers parted. She didn’t bother pulling them down all the way. She pulled just enough to free me.