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The room screamed sex. The roaring massive fireplace was on one wall, and another black leather Chesterfield was on top of a bear-skin rug. There was a coffin-shaped table with a silver bowl filled with fresh fruit. A large gap behind that was a California king bed covered in black satin sheets with a fur throw. The gothic four-poster bed frame matched the thick curtains that covered the ceiling-length windows. I walked over to the couch and sat staring at the roaring fire.

Once Zeus situated himself beside me, I popped the cork free from the bottle of champagne and filled our glasses to the brim.

"Are you doing okay?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" I mocked.

"You seem to be hurt," he commented.

"Annoyed," I corrected.

"What's annoying you?" he pressed.

"Being blindsided," I answered, "If he told me, I wouldn't have cared, but I'm no whore, and he's not my pimp. The audacity he has to tell me that I'm yours for the night like some concubine pisses me off."

"I didn
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