Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Vanessa Fewings

  Lucky me.

  If this was his weekend home, I’d be living in a house as lonely as his father’s back in the city. It made me wonder what that place would be like.

  I headed for the bedroom door, my heels clicking on the well-polished floorboards, and paused when I saw a silver picture frame on the mahogany cabinet.

  A chill ran up my spine.

  I walked over to the photo, my mouth dry as I picked it up. This had been taken the first night I’d danced with Damien at the Debutante Ball in April. His arm was wrapped around my waist possessively. That blissful expression on my face revealing I was overwhelmed with joy to be so close to him. I’d believed my prince had come to rescue me from the tower. How could I have known I was escaping one confining existence to be immediately imprisoned in another?

  My lips quivered at the swell of conflicting emotions I was feeling—those crashing waves outside the window reflecting my inner turmoil.

  I jolted, realizing that I was no longer alone.

  Damien was leaning against the door watching me, his big frame filling the space. I liked him the most when he didn’t speak. It was easier to admire his gorgeous face and suave demeanor and pretend he was a different man.

  A tremor went through me as I sensed him undressing me with those dark eyes.

  “I want my life to mean more,” I said.

  “Not an uncommon desire.” His expression hinted at empathy for our situation.

  “How long have you had that?” I pointed to the photo frame.

  “Since it was taken.”

  “Six months ago?”

  “I’m hardly ever here.”

  “Did you frame it?”

  “No.”

  Then who? His mother? Someone wanting to make it look like he cared, perhaps.

  “You’re very pretty.” He shoved off the doorframe and walked into the room. “I should have told you that before. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

  A neat trick, trying to soften me up before he took me. “You’re not bad yourself.”

  He looked amused and then suppressed a smile. “That look on my face in the photo is what it feels like to pluck out a debutante.”

  “You’re not offended that our meeting was pre-arranged?”

  “The illusion of control.” He folded his arms across his chest.

  “After we’re married, I still want to work.”

  Surprise flashed over his face. “Your job is having the populace fawn over you. Your job is to be my wife.”

  “I have so much more to offer.”

  “Can’t see it, myself.”

  “You can’t bring yourself to say something decent, can you?”

  “Have you considered saying something decent to me?”

  I lifted my chin. “You’ll never be President.”

  “That’s the kindest thing you’ve said so far.” He looked like he meant it, too.

  “Where am I sleeping?”

  “Shall I show you?”

  “I want to sleep with you.”

  He hesitated as though not expecting my comment. “If we’re in the same bed we won’t be sleeping.”

  “Fucking then.”

  “Careful, Pandora.”

  “You should consider yourself lucky to have a woman like me offer you her virginity.”

  “Your Royal Highness, are you on the pill?”

  “No,” I said.

  He watched my reaction and then turned on his heel and walked away.

  My legs went weak and I slumped on the edge of the bed, full of regret for ruining the night even more.

  We were never going to work.

  I raised my hand to examine the emerald on my ring finger, coming to the painful realization that it would always remind me of our loveless marriage. I went to pull it off, but it was too snug. I’d need soap and water to extract me from Damien’s mark of the beast with its many facets of shiny hate.

  I smoothed out the duvet, musing that it could have been here on this bed where we first slept together. My first time…

  The thought of choosing my wedding dress brought no joy. Deciding on the flavor and look of the cake or even having a say where we went on our honeymoon would not be tasks I could enjoy. All those bridal magazines I’d collected over the years made me look naive.

  “Shall we?” Damien stood in the doorway, holding up a condom packet.

  I drew in a sharp breath.

  He studied me with an intensity that caused a delicious frisson to feather my skin.

  I gave a nod, letting him know I wanted this to happen. God, how I wanted to feel his body against mine…even if hate was our baseline.

  I couldn’t wait to be free of this curse. My innocence had been used as leverage to get me here and getting rid of it made me feel a rush of power.

  Damien strolled across the room toward a mirror and signaled I was to follow. He gave the mirror a tap and a secret door opened to a staircase.

  “Where does that lead?”

  Instead of answering, he headed up a spiraling marble staircase. Feeling unsure, I followed behind him anyway, our footfalls echoing around us.

  I peered up at the high ceiling, proving the expanse of this place was awe inspiring. Continuing to put distance between me and the rest of the house chipped away at my bravery.

  We reached a door at the top and I followed him into another bedroom. An antique four-poster bed was positioned at the opposite end of the room. French-style furniture added a sensual flair, along with the faded soft blue and pink rug in the center.

  Strolling toward the window, I looked out at the dramatic ocean view. Up here in what felt like a loft, the vantage point was just as enthralling. My fingers caressed the hairs on my nape—I could feel him staring at me.

  I turned to face him.

  Then I saw them.

  Red silk ties hung down from each of the carved bedposts, the sashes of scarlet suggesting that someone could be tied to that bed.

  Someone like me. “You’re not…”

  “If you remain in this room, yes.”

  Licking my lips to wet them, I tried to rally my courage. “Will it hurt?”

  His shoulders relaxed as he asked, “Do you want it to?”

  “I want it to be special.”

  “I can promise it will be memorable.” His eyes narrowed on me. “Would you like that?”

  Damien took my hand and led me toward the bed, his gaze never leaving mine like a hawk watching its prey.

  He’d already shown me what kind of man he was, dismissive and punishing. I sensed his brand of love making wouldn’t be much different. Everything rested on me surrendering to this moment. Surrendering to him. That’s what he wanted to see.

  With a gesture he ordered, “Lie down.”

  After slipping off my shoes, I lay on the bed feeling the firmness of the mattress beneath my body, tulle swimming around my waist. I rested my head on the soft pillow and stared at the ornate ceiling, trying to steady my breathing.

  At least he hadn’t asked me to remove my dress.

  Damien wrapped a silk ribbon around my left wrist and tugged the material to ensure it was inescapable. He moved over to my right wrist and did the same. Then set to work attaching the lower ribbons to my ankles, tying them to the lower two bedposts after easing my legs apart, leaving me sprawled out and vulnerable.

  He stepped back. “How does that feel?”

  “Nice,” I confessed, enjoying the sensation of him stealing all responsibility from me. He’d made it impossible to break free. Guilt for what came next might not even find me in all of this drama. Being tied down meant nothing that happened would be my fault.

  I’d secretly yearned for this. For him.

  The bed dipped as he reached over to brush a strand of hair out of my eyes. His gesture could easily be mistaken for someone who had a heart. “Do you trust me?”

  When I did not respond, he ran his hand over my dress like I was a plaything—tugging the mat
erial and caressing the tulle as though his thoughts carried him far away.

  Damien reached out and stroked the ribbon around my left wrist, running a fingertip beneath it. “This is so that you understand what I need.”

  I exhaled sharply; obviously he was into bondage.

  He gave me a slow smile as though sensing I understood. “Follow my rules. Once you abide by them, I will let you come.”

  “Rules?”

  His hand slid down to my neck, his palm resting on my throat. “Please me and coming frequently will be your new reality.”

  Excitement caused my chest to rise and fall and my breasts to swell, nipples pebbling and showing through the material of my dress.

  Having him this close in a sensual way felt like a dream. Damien was too powerful a presence to ignore as he assessed my curves, his pupils dilating at what he saw.

  Our eyes locked.

  “Are you aroused?” he said, his voice gruff.

  “I imagine you’d like that.”

  He lips curved, showing me he knew the answer to his question was yes.

  My body tingled simply from hearing his seductive voice. His fingertips grazed my breasts through the material, my nipples beading beneath his circling thumb.

  His hand gliding all the way down to my pelvis. “So much to explore.”

  He hoisted my tulle skirts up and I raised my hips to help him expose my panties.

  I jolted when his warm palm cupped me between my legs, causing me to writhe a little at the sensations he aroused there.

  Damien was reading every nuance of my expression, sensing my response to the way he commanded my body with his firm caresses and tender stroking, greedily assessing my white thong.

  His thumb caressed my clit through the thin material of my panties, causing it to throb and swell.

  Feeling frantic from his teasing, I pulled against the silken binds that captured me, but they only grew tighter, making me feel vulnerable. My heart rate skyrocketed, as though I really wanted to be free. Exhilarated, I feigned resistance, as though he’d captured me and was forcing me against my will to feel this pleasure.

  I stopped struggling for a moment, aware of the dampness of my arousal.

  He pulled my thong aside to reveal the fine strip of pubic hair that was now revealed to him, and with gentle fingers he traced my folds, parting them to expose more of my clit.

  I shuddered.

  He knew how to touch a woman…how to find the exact spot that would elicit pleasure.

  He flicked my clit slowly. “You like this?”

  Raising my chin, I gave him a defiant stare. My show of rebellion seemed to please him.

  I hadn’t begged him to stop…couldn’t let those words escape my lips because his thumb was edging me toward orgasm. His fingers eased apart my labia to increase my pleasure.

  “You’re mine to do with as I want,” he said, his voice husky.

  My moan betrayed me as I arched my back, giving myself over to him, revealing it was easy to want this intimacy. I needed this release more than anything, even though my mind waged a war against the sensations tearing through me.

  It wasn’t my fault that it was feeling this good. He’d captured me in this house. Tied me down…made me want him. Each time he entered the room Damien left me spellbound.

  No, you hate him.

  Then why did I want to know how it would feel when he was buried deep inside me? On top of me, entering me, riding me into a state of bliss.

  Oh, God, please don’t let it hurt too much.

  “You’re so damn wet, Pandora.” The raw craving in his voice revealed he was just as turned on by my squirming.

  “Faster,” I pleaded.

  He ignored that and continued the leisurely pace he’d set with a fingertip on my clit. “No one’s ever touched you here?”

  “No.”

  “I’m glad I’m your first.”

  I arched my back with a gasp when he finally relented and set a faster rhythm, his fingers exploring my dampness but not entering me.

  I shook my head, whipping my long hair from side to side, wanting more and unable to hide the rising desire that snatched away every last ounce of resistance.

  His other hand eased down the bodice of my dress, allowing a nipple to find its freedom. “Do you want me to stop?” His flicking finger slowed on my swollen clit.

  “No!” I moaned, not caring about the rules. Or what was expected. This…this was exquisite, and I was free of blame because he’d seduced me.

  “Are you mine, Pandora?” He slowed the rhythm again in a tease.

  “I am.”

  “And good girls get to come hard.” His fingertip moved slowly but the pressure was more intense.

  Close to fainting, I tried to follow what he was saying, his voice luring me into a trance.

  “I want you,” I said, gasping.

  His mouth came crashing down on my nipple and he drew my areola into his mouth, suckling it, sending a luxurious thrill radiating all the way down to my pussy.

  My body detonated with the flicking of his tongue on my breast in unison with his finger beating my clit. All coherent thought was gone. All I knew were the sensations bursting through me, surging through my blood vessels like oxygen itself, a life force that couldn’t be averted. I reveled in the way he overpowered me, exulting in his control.

  If this was suffering, I welcomed it.

  Blistering pleasure had me trembling uncontrollably, my own gasps sounding foreign to my ears.

  As I came down from my orgasm, he slowed the rhythm of his touch, seemingly respectful of how sensitive my clit felt after his stroking. Shuddering still, I turned my eyes on him as he withdrew his hand and sat up.

  My breathing was still ragged.

  “Did you like me playing with your pussy?” he asked huskily.

  I blushed at the way his mouth so easily formed those filthy words.

  He brought his fingers to his mouth and licked the wet tips seductively as though exploring a rare delight. The sticky sensation I felt between my thighs from watching him made me even more flustered.

  “You’re not quite ready to be fucked hard, Pandora. Not the way I would like. But soon enough.”

  A long moan of regret tore through me. Should Damien have wanted to fuck me I’d have let him. I missed his touch already.

  All logic had left me, and what remained was confusion at this lingering arousal—this man was dangerously erotic.

  “Kiss me,” I pleaded.

  With seeming curiosity, he studied me and then relented and leaned in, his lips close. This was what I had yearned for…his mouth ravishing mine and giving me the affection I’d craved.

  I felt his breath on my face and his mouth was almost touching mine when we heard the sound of chopper blades slashing through the quiet of the night. A helicopter was landing, the invasion destroying the special moment between us.

  Damien got up off the bed and strolled over to the window.

  I raised my head off the pillow. “Who is it?”

  He moved back to the bed and freed me from the red silken ties.

  “Stay here.” He left the bedroom.

  Rising from the bed, my thighs sticky, I tugged down my gown and padded barefoot over to the window, making sure my bodice covered my breasts.

  Peeking out, I focused on the helicopter that had just landed on the front lawn. Damien hadn’t mentioned that anyone would be joining us.

  A man leaned low as he ran away from the chopper, but then straightened, standing tall as he approached the house. He was extraordinarily good-looking with aristocratic dark features that made him look like he’d materialized from a different century.

  I knew him.

  We’d never been formally introduced but I’d seen Theo Tamer at political functions, watching the dashing political strategist from afar. The thirty-something man who worked for Senator Gregor Godman had always been courteous to my father.

  My shoulders slumped with the disappoi
nting thought I might have to spend the rest of the evening talking about the campaign.

  Theo was dressed in a black tuxedo, having attended the same event as us earlier.

  Perhaps an introduction to me would soften the harshness of his expression, cause him to smile.

  I traced him in the glass. And then my stomach clenched in panic.

  He was looking up, transfixed on me.

  His expression was one of intrigue at first, and then it morphed into something that looked an awful lot like contempt. He snapped his attention away and headed into the house.

  I left the window and sat back down on the bed, waiting for Damien to return. I was reluctant to be beckoned to join them—for the evening to turn sour. This visitor had ruined what was meant to be our private time.

  Half an hour went by, though it could have been longer. I had lain down and curled up into a ball, my body responding to Damien’s touch as though it still echoed with rippling pleasure, hips rocking as I yearned for more.

  I sat up quickly when I heard footfalls on the stairs.

  Damien appeared in the doorway.

  I pushed up. “Is he staying?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “Back to your place?”

  “No, your parents’ house.”

  I climbed off the bed and slipped into my high heels, all the while trying to read his expression. “What happened?”

  “I’m needed back in the city.” He paused in the doorway and his eyes flashed over the bed.

  “I thought we were staying all weekend.” Hugging my chest, I willed myself not to glance back at the bed where all of those delectable sensations had flowed. A thrum still rippled through me.

  He led me downstairs and through the kitchen, snagging his black jacket off the barstool as we went. I looked around for Theo, but he’d gone to wait for us in the helicopter.

  Damien reached into his jacket pocket and handed me my phone back. “No sharing with anyone what happened here, understand? And certainly not on social media.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m just making sure you know.”

  The kitchen had been tidied—the plate of cheese and crackers and the two champagne glasses, and even the makeshift ashtray, were now gone.

  All evidence of us being here had been eradicated.