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

by Vanessa Fewings

Tonight, I’d been able to forget all that chaos.

  I trusted Theo. He was more of a brother to me than Carter. He’d never held it against me that I was a Godman and carried the weight of privilege. Instead of breaking him, life had carved out a gentleman—though it had bestowed upon him a need to indulge in the forbidden. Tonight he’d proven again he was equal to me in all things debauched.

  Theo headed off down the hallway, adjusting his pants to disguise that enduring erection. I pushed the door open and headed back into the suite.

  Damn it.

  Pandora stood a few feet away in the center of the room. Her dress had been rearranged back to decent—and the blindfold dangled from her right hand.

  How much had she heard?’

  “He’s gone,” I told her. “Let’s enjoy the room.”

  “It was Theo?”

  I shouldn’t have left the door ajar. “Yes.” I watched her expression. “How do you feel about the fact it was him?”

  “He’s certainly good at certain things.”

  “Theo’s a brilliant man. I’m lucky to call him a friend.”

  “You’re taking me back to my parents’ home?”

  I studied her face to gauge her mood. “Yes, I believe that’s best.”

  “Salvatore Galante can’t be persuaded?”

  “You heard everything?”

  “You can’t make my father’s scandal go away, can you?”

  “What was our agreement, Ms. Bardot?”

  “I’m not to bring it up.”

  “If you ever eavesdrop on me again, I will…”

  “You will what, Damien?” She looked fierce. “You’re breaking it off with me because of my father’s scandal?”

  “We can remain a convincing couple to the public.”

  “This relationship is still a fake one to you?” She threw the blindfold at me.

  It hit my chest and dropped to the floor.

  She wore the same pleading expression that had persuaded me to bring her here an hour ago. Only this time she was asking to be loved. That same look had inspired me to honor the mark of the clavis; the wearing of that pendant she had yet to earn.

  “Pour me a brandy.” I pointed at the bar. “And while you’re at it, think of all the ways you’re going to apologize for your behavior.”

  She headed over to the other side of the room, and then paused to look back at me. “I’ll never love you, Damien. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  My jaw flexed, and I suddenly felt a dull ache where my heart used to be before emptiness filled up that void. “Well, good,” I said. “We agree on something.”

  Her lips quivered as she glared at me.

  “Hennessy Timeless Cognac,” I said. “No ice.”

  Pandora rounded the bar and set about pouring me a drink.

  Seething at how badly this had gone, I watched her throw ice cubes into the tumbler. She uncorked the Cognac and filled the glass.

  She headed back across the room with the drink, moving with the kind of elegance I’d become addicted to, with her petite frame gliding as she approached me.

  I eyed her suspiciously when she stopped a few feet away, refusing to hand the drink over.

  “I will continue to act like I’m happy to be around you at social gatherings.” She sipped the Cognac—my drink—and then added, “And you will continue to keep your end of the bargain.”

  “Continue to fuck you?” I pointed to the velvet chair. “Like the pet you are.”

  Her cheeks flushed bright red as she took another sip of Cognac.

  My cock hardened at the memory of her on my lap, her pussy being devoured by Theo at the same time…the way she’d responded to us both—and how hard she had come.

  She sipped some more of the drink. “The sex was fantastic. Only it’s a shame it’s you on the other end of that dick.” Pandora finished off the Hennessey in one gulp, delivering a burning punishment to her throat—the same throat I should be fucking.

  I forced a smile. “Let’s take you back to Mummy.”

  “That’s generous of you, considering you don’t actually like me!” She bit out the words that Theo had spoken in the hallway.

  “All power returns to me.”

  “You gave me the illusion of power. But you never gave it up.”

  “That’s the first insightful comment you’ve ever made. Get your purse. We’re leaving.”

  “Why are you like this?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t understand. I thought you and I…”

  “Tonight, you were awarded a gift while leaning over that bar, and then again in that very chair. You should be thanking me.”

  Her lips trembled and she looked like she was biting back tears.

  “It’s true, your father’s ambitions probably won’t be realized.”

  “Some part of me believed you might…”

  Love her? Was that what she’d been about to say?

  My look of astonishment caused her confidence to shrink. She wilted like a flower scorched by the sun—once thriving below dazzling rays only to be utterly destroyed, savagely burned by my words.

  “These are precarious weeks. I need you to be obedient.”

  “I was coming around to the idea of you,” she admitted.

  Push her away.

  It will be easier on her in the end.

  “You were never anything more than my plaything.”

  She looked unsteady on the heels I’d bought her. The same ones I’d taken my time to pick out for her. Placing them on her feet had felt like a sacred ritual.

  Destroying Pandora Bardot should be something I savored, a gift to myself and to my family. In order for that to work, I was going to have to get my head back in the right space. Back to the same position I’d held before Pandora had walked through that red door last night and given herself to me—her innocence enduring even after all I’d done to her.

  I struggled to drag my gaze away from her beauty, trying to remember a time when I’d once felt nothing for her.

  I headed for the door. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  I stood in front of the hotel. Pandora took her time before joining me.

  In silence, I escorted her all the way to the chauffeur-driven car parked outside the Ritz. The hotel valet opened the rear door and I assisted her into the backseat. She refused to make eye contact or speak to me.

  Seeing her like this shouldn’t have hit me quite so hard, but it did. I felt like I’d ruined a good thing—a goddamned brilliant arrangement.

  Not an arrangement, a relationship.

  Seeing her in pain made me feel like acid was burning my soul.

  “Ms. Bardot’s home, please,” I instructed the chauffeur.

  I returned to the hotel, striding fast for the elevator that would take me back to our private suite. I couldn’t go home just yet, for no other reason than it was hard to focus. I was being assailed by too many conflicting thoughts and emotions, and there were no easy solutions.

  Clearly, I had been letting my heart do the thinking for me. It was a colossal mistake I wouldn’t repeat.

  On my way downstairs the next morning, I tried to come up with the words I’d need to describe the current situation. When I stepped into the dining room and sat down to have brunch, saying “I fucked it up,” probably wouldn’t land very well.

  Back at The Ritz, I’d blown up any chance of continuing a relationship with Damien. Before our argument the evening had been magical. I’d reveled in their erotic games, being their plaything, and finding freedom in my sexual desires—fucked hard in that velvet chair while having my pussy devoured at the same time by some secret stranger, who’d turned out to be Theo Tamer, a man just as devastatingly handsome as Damien.

  Last night…

  I relived an endless array of powerful sensations—the lingering soreness I felt below proving it wasn’t a dream. Leaning my head against the dining room door, I tried to recover from the arousing memories that still made me
breathless.

  Maybe I’d also thrown away any chance of having that type of experience again. I crash landed with the unforgiving truth that Damien had admitted to Theo in the hall that he would be extracting himself from this marriage of inconvenience.

  All that was left to do was share the news of our breakup with my parents and tell them my future as a Godman wasn’t looking so good.

  I should be happy. I should be glad that my escape was imminent, but all I felt was heartache. I didn’t want us to end just yet.

  Nudging the dining room door open, I strolled over to the long table where my parents sat, their conversation ceasing when they saw me.

  Mom looked bright and full of hope. “Damien is such a gentleman.”

  “How do you figure that?” I asked, as images flooded in of last night’s escapades.

  If they only knew.

  “He brought you back home last night.” She reached for Dad’s hand. “You can only imagine the peace this brings.”

  Yes, but two nights ago, Mom, he tied me to his bed in his own private dungeon. Facts are important, after all.

  “He has his moments,” I said, keeping my amusement to myself.

  Mom reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. “We know you’re doing everything you can to appease his family.”

  “Is there any truth to what Galante is threatening to reveal?” I watched her expression carefully, as well as Dad’s.

  “I was a businessman long before I went into politics, Pandora,” he replied flatly.

  Mentioning his scandal as a career-ending event before lunch was not allowed, I knew that much.

  “This is nothing for you to worry about,” he added.

  Well…another banal comment from a man unwilling to share the all-important details with his daughter—the same daughter who was meant to save his place in the Cabinet.

  “Just keep at him,” said Dad. “Keep Damien on our side.”

  Right.

  The way our evening had ended at The Ritz, I was fairly certain that would be a tall order.

  I noticed there were only two settings for brunch, and asked why. “I was going to join you.”

  “I thought you had a thing?” Mom rose and walked over to the sideboard to fetch a gift box with a bow. “Damien had his driver drop this off. His chauffeur is outside ready to take you to Number One Observatory Circle.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes, it’s the Vice President’s garden party.”

  “Are we going to that?”

  Dad looked frustrated. “I’m not. But you are. Reaching across the aisle is essential. You know that.”

  Mom looked exasperated as she handed me the gift. “You forgot?”

  No, that asshole forgot to mention it—that’s what had happened here. I’m sure he got some sordid pleasure from imagining me scrambling to get ready in a rush. This was his way of punishing me for our argument last night.

  Still, considering I never expected to see him again, this news actually stopped my heart from aching.

  Oh, Damien.

  You’re such a loveable bastard.

  Lifting the box, I gave it a rattle and tried to guess what was inside. “Suppose I should get ready.”

  I headed out of the dining room, thinking I didn’t want to go to a garden party, or a press mixer. Especially when half the staff there would know who I was and what my father represented, which was an extreme version of all their backward policies. No doubt the other guests would give me crap for it.

  Part of me wanted to forget Damien Godman existed because the thought of having to face him and his intimidating wrath…not too keen on that, to be honest.

  Halfway up the staircase, I unraveled the ribbon on the box. Maybe this was a peace offering and his way of apologizing. Maybe he’d chosen this gift himself and inside was a beautiful snow globe or some other pretty ornament.

  I entered my bedroom and removed the box’s lid.

  Oh, my God.

  Thank goodness I’d not opened this in front of my parents! Damien was the devil incarnate.

  Easing back the tissue paper, I peered in at the sapphire-beaded butt plug. One size up from the other bejeweled item I’d removed last night. His plan to prepare me for butt sex was still underway, apparently. Last night, I’d removed the other one and had hidden it in a Louis Vuitton pouch that was currently shoved into a corner of my underwear drawer.

  Also in the box was a handwritten note from Damien:

  Don’t be late, Ms. Bardot.

  Well, he was going to be disappointed.

  Insert your gift. Wear it during the event. You’ll also find a complimentary object d’art. Make sure you are wearing this, too. There will be consequences if you fail to follow these simple instructions.

  See you soon, my love.

  —DG

  I rummaged around and found a velvet pouch inside.

  Hmmm…

  The pouch weighed less than the plug. Clearly, he still needed me to uphold the illusion that all was well within the kingdom of the Godmans.

  Tipping the velvet pouch, I blinked in confusion at the two ornate blue spheres that fell into my palm, both connected by a fine strand of silk. They were beautiful. Then it dawned on me where he wanted me to place them.

  I was already half an hour late. My palm closed around his gift and I tried not to imagine how this would feel inside my pussy.

  I wanted to hate this man.

  I wanted to hate the way he made my body ache for more of his dark fantasies, his dirty, erotic schemes that were so addictive. I rubbed my thumb over the sapphire plug, craving its insertion.

  I hated myself for craving his games.

  All I had to do was stay out of everyone’s way.

  It was a skill I’d cultivated when having to make an appearance at prestigious events like this, smart enough not to become the center of attention—simply playing the role of a pretty wallflower.

  If this was war then I was ready for it. I’d worn my bright red Giambattista Valli long-sleeved midi-dress with accented lace—the one my mother insisted was too mature for me. My scarlet lipstick complemented the radical color.

  Music from a string quartet rose above the chatter inside the Vice President’s historic residence. Many of the excitable visitors had thrown down a handsome sum to schmooze with the movers and shakers of Capitol Hill.

  I was fulfilling my end of the bargain by attending. It didn’t mean I had to talk with any of the senators, or their partners, who were cutting through the crowd looking for their next victim to intimidate and persuade.

  Besides, I was all hot and bothered from the sensitized tissue of my sphincter, caused by the sapphire gift that kept on giving, enhancing the heady stimulation I felt from the two spheres inside my vagina.

  Avoiding Damien was also in my well thought out plan.

  I was here to be seen, but I would simply refuse to talk with him.

  Counting down the minutes until I could go home, I lingered at the long table covered with delicacies from around the world. Everything looked appetizing to my eyes, considering I’d missed brunch. I nibbled on the lobster truffles from France, and then noticed the Polish pastries, which were similar to crepes. I used the tongs to reach for one.

  “Have you tried the Parisian soufflé?” said a familiar voice.

  Turning, I dropped the tongs back on the table. “Mr. Vice President.”

  VP Aiden Palmer cut an intimidating figure at over six feet tall. His African-American heritage graced him with a sophisticated authority that was easy to trust.

  “Ms. Bardot, how are you?” he asked.

  “I’m fine, sir, thank you. How are you?”

  “As bored as you are by the looks of it.” He winked. “Is your father here?”

  “No, he couldn’t make it. Daddy sends his apologies.”

  “Right.” Palmer smiled. “Has a date been set?”

  I wiped my hands on my napkin, and gave him a puzzled look. “I’m
sorry?”

  “Your wedding day?”

  “Oh, no, we decided not to set a date until the election is over with. Not that we’re trying to push you out or anything. That would be rude. I mean, this is your home…and it’s beautiful. You must love it here. And um…I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

  He laughed. “I’m used to it.”

  “Thank you for inviting me.”

  “Well, you are Damien Godman’s plus one.” He gave me a mischievous grin. “His father is here to ruin everyone’s appetite.”

  “Oh, how wonderful,” I said with sarcasm, grinning back at him.

  He pointed at me. “And you’re here to be beaten down by my staff so we can get intel on Godman’s campaign.”

  “Love your honesty, Mr. Vice President.” I leaned in. “Put me to work. I might be able to help you out.”

  He laughed raucously. “I was impressed by the guest piece you wrote for the Washington Post.”

  “The one about social media?” I felt a rush of pride. “You read that?”

  “Yes, in fact, if you ever want to come and work for us, we’d love to have you.”

  “That would be awkward. My father’s policies—and Senator Godman’s—kind of clash with yours.”

  “You believe everything Godman stands for?”

  “I’m respectful of what he’s hoping to achieve. Some real change in a new and positive direction. I’m passionate about many of the forward-thinking policies he’s running on. Their hope is to inject a new vitality onto the Hill. And as you know, Damien is dedicated to modernizing public housing.”

  “As are we.”

  “Kind of slow to make things happen, sir.”

  “Everything hits a wall at some point. No matter how well intended. Surely the Godman campaign know you’re their secret weapon? Or maybe they’re holding back until they can unleash you days before the election.”

  I held my arms out with a palms-up gesture. “Unleash the sorceress!”

  “I can only imagine.” He scrunched his nose. “They don’t know how lucky they are.”

  “Thank you for the offer of work. I’m flattered. I mean, if it was up to me—”

  My body erupted with sudden pleasure—the space between my thighs wired with a potent pulsing, a deep-rooted vibration within my pussy. “Oh, God!”