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My hand was wet as it slid in short, fast jerks over his velvety shaft, my tongue drawing patterns as I sucked him in and out of my mouth. I could tell he was close from the way he was panting, the way his dick was hard as a rock. All at once, both of his hands were in my hair and he was forcing my mouth down and up on his cock, thrusting roughly against my tongue, guiding me faster and faster into the rhythm he wanted.

“Take it,” he groaned, his cock thumping the back of my throat, his movements getting erratic and harsh. “Take all of it.” I took it, moaning around his length, loving that this was pleasure we were creating together, loving that he was taking control.

Suddenly he stiffened and suppressed a yell, and with that I felt him coming—that hot, thick liquid spilling into my open throat. I swallowed it all, enjoying every last drop, sucking him dry. When he was done, when his body fell limp and relaxed back into his chair, I licked my lips one last time and stood up, smiling down at him. He was spent, completely unable to say a word.

I’d never felt more powerful.

“Have a nice lunch,” I told him, before striding out of his office.

I’d bet anything he was grateful that I—or he, actually—had come.

Tori

Chapter 16

As the days passed, Stefan and I found ourselves in a new sort of routine. It was almost like the early days of our relationship, where we had seemed to reach a place of understanding—although this time, we’d come to terms with our undeniable physical attraction to each other. I still hated what Stefan did and what he was tied to with KZ Modeling, but if I forced myself not to think about it, my life at home was much easier to bear. And my relationship with Stefan reflected that. We seemed to reach a place of harmony.

There was so much we couldn’t speak about, so much we couldn’t say to each other, but I found that it didn’t matter for the time being. We found other things to talk about, other ways to communicate. The backdoor, shady dealings of KZM were still the elephant in the room, but we both became good at ignoring it.

It helped to remind myself that I would be getting a degree soon—a degree that would get me out of my dependence on anyone else. I was lucky to have schoolwork as a distraction, too, and I took comfort in knowing that with my education, I’d ultimately remove myself from the tangled web in which my father and the Zorics had entrapped me. I didn’t know where Stefan factored into that web; how much he himself had woven or if he, at times, felt just as trapped as I did. There were times, when he was kind and gentle, that I thought he must be feeling just as disgusted with the situation as I was. And even when he was cruel, or relished his control and power over me, I wondered if he was lashing out because he, too, was helpless to stop his father.

I didn’t know what to think and I didn’t know what to feel. Nothing was simple anymore. Maybe it never had been. But was it so bad to try and enjoy the presence of my husband while I could? Because I did. And it seemed like he was enjoying me, too.

When we were together, I tried to focus on the good that was between us. On the little moments of peace and calm. Moments that seemed to grow and expand every day. Our new normal was based less on mutual suspicion and instead on a foundation of time spent.

Meanwhile, with midterm exams over and a little less stress on my shoulders, I let myself ease up on the study dates with my school friends. Most days after I got out of class, I’d come home and settle into the big comfy chair in the living room for hours, making sure I kept up with my homework while also taking some time to explore a little extracurricular reading.

I also signed up for an optional extra credit assignment a few hours each week. It required me to communicate in sign language over video chat with Deaf elementary school students and their parents. It was difficult, and I knew I signed painfully slow at time, but overall it was incredibly rewarding. I felt a lot less isolated after completing one of my ASL sessions.

Stefan seemed to be spending more time at the condo too, often bringing his work home with him early in the evening and tapping away on his laptop at the dining room table while I studied. It became a routine of ours. I grew accustomed to seeing him sitting there, and having dinner with him most nights. Sometimes I’d bring him a drink or a small snack I’d prepared while I was trying to make myself useful by helping Gretna in the kitchen.

It was on one of these nights—when I’d been madly refreshing my sign-in page on the UChicago website in between chopping vegetables—that my midterm grades officially posted to my student dashboard.

“Oh my god,” I blurted, my voice shaking. “My test scores are in. I got straight As!”

I let out a little scream of victory, and before I knew what was happening, Stefan had run in and scooped me up in his arms, spinning me around in the middle of the kitchen as Gretna laughed gleefully and a stray tear rolled down my cheek.

“This calls for a celebration—Mr. Zoric, the good stuff,” she commanded, pointing to the pantry where the wine was kept.

“My wife deserves nothing less,” he agreed.

Dom Perignon, it turned out, was delicious. And here I had thought all champagne tasted exactly the same.

“I’m proud of you, kitty cat,” he’d whispered in my ear that night, letting me ride him as long as I wanted. I came twice in succession, so hard I had to grit my teeth against the force of my orgasms.

I found that I liked waking up next to him, and sleeping next to him, even on the nights when we didn’t have sex. There was something comforting about knowing he was there, that I could just reach my hand out and touch him if I wanted to.

Sometimes we talked about my program, though we both made sure to avoid mentioning Gavin. I honestly missed studying with him, our coffee breaks between classes, and his always-sunny mood, but I’d told him I was taking some time to myself and he’d been supportive.

Stefan brought up Emzee one night, saying her new boyfriend had stopped by the office that day. I was dying to know what he thought of the guy that Emzee was head over heels for.

“What’s he like?” I asked. “Emzee’s crazy about him. I’m excited to meet him, too.”

“I doubt you’ll get the chance,” he said. “They’ll probably be broken up before spring.”

“Really?” I was shocked. “Your sister made it sound like he was…pretty perfect.”

Stefan scoffed. “You don’t know photographers. Always flying all over the world, heads filling up with new projects left and right. They’re flighty. You can’t trust them,” he said.