To Burn In Brutal Rapture

by Nyla K

  “Dad,” I grab his shoulders and shake him. His face mirrors my own emotions. We’re fucking pissed. “Don’t do anything crazy, okay?”

  “I’m not…” he starts then shakes his head. “I won’t. I just… This is fucked. He’s my best friend.” His voice trails off and he looks at the ground, something so fragile and complex crossing his face, I have no clue what to make of it.

  “I’m going to check on Lazarus,” I tell my father, and his head immediately bobs up, like he wants to protest. His mouth opens and everything, but I cut him off before he can start. “Let me. Please? I’m sure he’s freaking out and I think I can talk to him.”

  Dad looks like he wants to argue, but eventually he blinks slowly, nodding in acceptance.

  And that’s all the go I need. Rushing off toward the suite I know Lazarus was using as his dressing room, I dash through the hotel in my heels, while also trying not to draw too much attention to myself. When I find his room, I stumble up to the door, but before I can knock, there’s a loud crash behind it.

  I swallow down my unease and bite my lip. I could be walking into a tornado of rage right now. This might be a really bad idea…

  But that doesn’t stop me, because I would do any measure of stupid thing for Lazarus Weston.

  So I knock.

  Waiting patiently, I tug at my cream-colored satin dress out of nerves. I hear shuffling behind the door, then footsteps.

  And suddenly I can feel his presence on the other side of the wood. Like a wild animal who could quite possibly rip me apart is waiting behind it, if I’m stupid enough to step inside. It’s a thrilling sense of fear, one that’s oddly comforting to me. It gives my heart a jolt and makes me feel alive.

  “Who is it?” Lazarus’s deep voice asks, quiet and cautious, as if he’s ready to attack at any moment.

  “I-it’s Traci,” I stutter, squeezing my hand into a fist to stop the shaking that’s returned. “Can I come in?”

  There’s silence on the other side for a moment. Actually, it’s long enough for me to think maybe I should just turn around and go get Dad. But right before I do, the door opens a crack.

  Within it, I see the face of the man who scares me and makes my body tingle at the same time, looking like he has one hell of a shield up. His slate eyes are dark and relatively wide, his jaw visibly clenched and his inky black hair all tousled about, like he’s been ripping it at its roots. Those dark eyebrows I love stitch together as his gaze darts around me.

  “I’m alone,” I tell him quickly, in case he’s worried I brought someone to make him feel worse. As if I would ever do that.

  Lazarus looks like he was prepared to attack whoever came to see him first, not that I can say I blame him. But the way he’s peering through the small crack in the door, behind the chain that’s still linked to keep everyone out, he reminds me of a beast with raised hackles.

  I can see the frantic vulnerability in his eyes, and it splits my heart right in half.

  “What do you want?” He grunts, blinking at me like he’s waiting for a secret password before he lets me inside. My brain races over whatever the magic words could be.

  I decide to go with the truth because I’m blanking on anything cool or suave to say.

  “To make sure you’re alright.”

  He squints, glaring at my face as if he’s searching for my angle. All I can do is give him a look of sincerity, to which he huffs and slams the door in my face.

  A wave of naïve rejection tries to sweep me up until I hear the chain unlink behind the door. And when it reopens, Lazarus is standing before me, looking like a completely different person than the animal peering through the doorway three seconds ago.

  “Hello, Traci,” he shoots a sugary fake smile at me, then steps aside. “Please do come in.”

  I gawk at him like he’s insane, but it doesn’t stop me from slinking inside the room, catching a whiff of his delicious, masculine scent as I pass.

  Mouthwatering, just like the sight of him in his tux.

  Not much difference from the one he wore on New Year’s Eve, when he proposed to the no-showing bitch, it’s black with a gray vest underneath, which is what I’m seeing now. He’s lost the suit jacket, and has untied his plum purple bowtie, leaving it draped around his neck, collar unbuttoned to make him even more edible. He’s rich, decadent perfection.

  Nothing like tattoos peeking out from beneath a twenty thousand dollar tux.

  His hair is swept back again, as if he pushed it into place before reopening the door for me. It seems like he’s putting on an act, to make me think he’s alright, and honestly, from the way he’s standing around with a casually pleasant look on his face, I’m almost inclined to believe him.

  But the thing that gives him away, aside from me knowing Laz well enough to know he’s very good at hiding what’s going on inside him, is that his dressing room is completely trashed.

  Seriously. There’s shit everywhere. I can’t even walk a straight line without stepping over broken lamps, toppled chairs, smashed wall-frames, and a variety of scattered items from the minibar.

  Taking in the scenery, I glance up at him for a moment, my face reflecting my state of worry. In response, he simply grins and holds his hand out, gesturing for me to take a seat on the only cushion left on the couch. I hold my dress and sit, folding my hands in my lap.

  “So, as you can see I’m fine,” he gets right to the point, adding a little shrug. “Are you alright? Where’s Day -”

  “Lazarus, we know Evangeline isn’t coming,” I cut him off. He narrows his gaze at me, the clouds in his eyes filling my belly with nerves. I swallow hard. “Jerald told us she texted you. I mean, it’s six-thirty…”

  “Well, why doesn’t he just tell everyone to leave so we can put an end to this production?” He hisses, his blinking becoming rapid.

  Then he bites his lip and looks away, kicking at a lamp shade by his expensive dress shoe.

  “The wedding’s off. We’re done,” he adds, hushed enough that I almost don’t hear him.

  But the tone I do hear makes me want to rip my own beating heart out of my chest and hand it to him, as an offering.

  He doesn’t seem as devastated as you’d think one would at being stood up on his wedding day, but there’s the faintest hint of disappointment and sadness behind his eyes and in his voice, something I feel like only myself or my dad would be perceptive to.

  “Laz…” I whisper as I gaze up at him. He’s so tall… And so beautiful.

  He rolls his eyes. “Traci, don’t.”

  Before I can prepare myself, he plops down on the seat next to me. As I mentioned, there’s only one cushion on the couch, so he’s sitting very close to me. Our thighs are nestled together and my first instinct is a need to snuggle into his side. But then he flops against the back of the couch, resting his head on it as he stares up at the ceiling.

  All I want in the whole world is to touch him right now, but I can’t. Not only because it’s his wedding day, and he’s my dad’s best friend, but also because I’m horrified that he wouldn’t want it.

  He’s a much older man and continually throwing myself at him seems like the opposite of wise for my heart’s well-being.

  So instead I turn to face him and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, freshly shaven and missing that dark stubble he usually has there; the stuff of wet dreams. My eyes drift down the smooth skin of his throat, saliva filling my mouth at how badly I want to kiss and bite it. Below, there’s some ink along his clavicle that stands out.

  The number 4. I remember it from my dreams.

  I’ve seen a lot of Lazarus’s tattoos before, mostly the ones on his arms and hand. And I cherish moments when I peep the art on his back, and his chest… and pelvis. He has a lot of tattoos, but I don’t get to see those as often as I’d like, which is why they’re still so intriguing to me.

  But this one, this 4 on his collarbone… It makes frequent appearances in my dreams.

  I wa
nt to know what it means.

  “I dodged a bullet, Traci,” he speaks, calm and docile, addressing the ceiling, though he said my name. “I didn’t want to marry Evangeline.”

  My mouth falls open, but I don’t know what to say. I had a feeling this was the case, but now I’m itching to find out why he would agree to marry someone he had no desire to marry.

  As if reading my mind he says, “Don’t get me wrong, she’s a beautiful woman. Smart, sweet, sophisticated… The whole package, really.” A knot forms in my stomach at his words, and the fondness in them. He still doesn’t seem depressed about losing this woman, but he clearly cares for her, and it stings. “She comes from a wealthy and prestigious line of people. I mean, if there was anyone I probably should settle down with, it would be her.”

  This comment feels like a dagger through my ribs. I know it shouldn’t, and of course he didn’t mean it like that, but I think that makes it even worse; that Lazarus has absolutely no idea how much it kills me to know I could never be to him what Evangeline is. Or was…

  “I wasn’t sure getting married and having children was something I wanted,” he goes on, now fiddling with a cufflink. “But when Jerald started trying to set me up with Evangeline, I began to consider it. I think I liked the abstract idea of having a family, because I never had one. But it was foolish of me to try.” He stops and his eyes harden. “I don’t get happily ever after. It was stupid to think I wanted one…”

  Before I can talk myself out of it, my voice erupts, “You’re way too good for her.”

  His head snaps in my direction, as if he forgot I was here for a second. And then he gives me a severely intense look. I don’t know what it means, but from the depth in his eyes, to the way his lips are slightly parted, looking much more pink than they normally do… I’ve never seen the endless questions on his face that I’m seeing right now.

  Long black lashes flutter as he blinks. “That’s ridiculous.”

  I shake my head. “It’s true. Don’t marry someone just because you think it might look good, or might help fix some part of your past. You can’t just use a fake relationship to cover the cracks in your foundation, Lazarus. Those cracks are what make you you.”

  His irises seem to brighten, and he almost smirks. Almost. “It wasn’t an entirely fake relationship, though.”

  I cringe at the thought of them together, in all the ways I always knew they were, but refused to acknowledge.

  “My point is that settling won’t fix your damage. And personally, I wouldn’t want you to fix it…” My voice trails and I look down at my fingers, twisting in my lap. With the way his eyes are shining right now, it’s hard to look at him.

  “You don’t think Evangeline would’ve made a good wife for me?” He asks, sounding genuinely interested in my opinion, an impression I’ve never gotten from him before. I must say, I like it, though I wish we were discussing more fun topics, rather than his worthless runaway bride.

  I scoff out loud at his question and then glance up to make sure he’s not offended. He’s not. He looks enlivened and amused, those pouty lips curling into the subtlest of smirks.

  “Absolutely not,” I tell him. “Why… Do you?”

  He shrugs imperviously. “She didn’t actively annoy me. At least, not all the time…”

  “That’s your gauge?” I gasp, and this time I can’t help but let a giggle slip.

  Lazarus breathes a small chuckle, and my heart soars from the sound, doused in the beaming light of his perfect smile. I’m afraid I need to ration or I’ll see too much and it’ll disappear forever.

  “What would you know about grown-up relationships anyway, Trix?”

  There’s teasing in his voice which is familiar to me.

  “I know basic things… Like you should marry for love. Not convenience,” I give him a look that makes him laugh again, and the pride that ripples through me is intense.

  “That’s good. Did you get that directly from a Disney movie, or are you paraphrasing?” He lifts his brow in a cocky way, fizzling desire around my insides like sparklers.

  “Says the man who doesn’t understand the basic principles of relationships.” I grin and his eyes flicker with elation. It’s small, but for whatever reason, I think he likes arguing with me.

  Even more so, I think I’m making him feel better about his current situation, which is all I want. I just want him to see that Evangeline walking out was a blessing in disguise.

  “I may not know much about relationships, but I’m sure I know more than you,” he purses his lips as he sits up straight, turning to face me. Our knees are touching, and something so simple is making me quiver. “Have you ever even had a boyfriend?”

  I swallow over my dry throat as I stare up at his face. His sculpted, perfect face. The face of a man, who’s looking back at a child, I suppose, in his eyes.

  But I don’t feel like a child. I haven’t since my mother died.

  And now I’m seventeen and not only do I feel like an adult, but I look like one. I got my boobs… C-cups, but still. My lips are full, and I have mascara on my lashes. My hair is styled, and I’m wearing a dress that looks on me like it does on the models in magazines.

  Lazarus has to see all of that, too. Doesn’t he? He has to know I’m not the little girl who grew up around him anymore.

  I’m a woman, and I’m here, trying to make him feel better. It’s all I want… He is. I can’t help this obsession; I’ve never been able to, and for once it’s not fully insane for him to see me the way I want him to. Maybe a little, but who cares?

  Recalling his question, I shake my head, and rather than laughing at me, like I thought he would, his eyes grow dark and his head cocks to the side. The eyes study me cautiously, not necessarily admiring, but he looks like he’s actually seeing me for the first time since I set foot in the room.

  I make sure to pop my chest out a little, just in case.

  “Why are you really here, Trix?” His deep voice rumbles from my left. My lips part to answer, but he keeps going. “Did Damien send you?”

  My brow furrows. “No… No. I wanted to come. I wanted to tell you that it doesn’t matter if she left. You did dodge a bullet, Lazarus.”

  He’s quiet for what feels like hours, just staring blankly at me. But I don’t mind the silence. I’d rather sit in silence with my knees touching Lazarus Weston than speak words to anyone else on this miserable planet.

  “What do I do now?” His voice is low and raspy as he watches me so intently, I’m burning inside. The way his eyes are staying on mine causes that familiar throb between my thighs.

  The one that only he has ever given me. That’s it. Just him.

  Lazarus.

  I take a quiet breath, and I’m not sure where I find the courage, but I reach out and touch the ink beneath his open collar. He doesn’t flinch, but he swallows visibly, clenching his jaw, giving me all the intensity those gray irises have to offer. I don’t know if he’s angry with me for touching him, but he hasn’t said anything. So I trace the number 4 with my index finger while looking directly into the storm.

  “Learn from this,” I answer him in a shaky voice that I try so hard to keep steady.

  A movement catches my eye and I glance down to see his hands resting on his own thighs, fingers digging in. It seems like he’s in pain, and I can’t tell if it’s from me touching him, or him wanting to touch me…

  Don’t be crazy. He doesn’t want you. Of course not.

  Right…?

  My eyes travel up his body, observing his broad chest as it moves with breaths much more forceful than before, causing my own breathing to shallow.

  “You’re one to talk.” His voice is extra gruff as he leans in closer. “You don’t learn.”

  My heart thuds into my ribs. Is he referring to the time I kissed him when I was fifteen? Can he tell that I want to kiss him again, right now?

  I watch his lips, witnessing them part. I hear a small, barely audible gasp, and it throws gasoline on
that little spark inside me, spreading it into a roaring blaze.

  When my eyes lift, shockingly, the same fire is there, on his face. Maybe it’s different from the one I’m feeling… I’m sure it is. But either way, I see a burning inferno and it’s directed at me. It’s all I’ve wanted to see from this man for years.

  My small fingers slide up his neck to his sharp jawline, and I cup it in my hand. Without my even realizing it, I’ve inched so close, I’m almost on his lap.

  And he’s not moving away.

  The air in the room is thick and heavy. I’m dizzy and my heart is racing, my mind having gone completely blank.

  All I can see is him. All I can smell is him. All I can feel is him.

  He’s everywhere.

  My crazy hand tugs Lazarus by the jaw, slowly bringing him closer as I close the gap and do the thing he told me to never do again. But I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop myself if I tried with force. I’m obsessed and addicted, a lethal combination.

  Before my eyes close, I catch his doing the same and he’s still here. Still not moving away.

  When my lips press to his, he shudders. And I shudder.

  And I whimper.

  Then I part my lips over that succulent bottom lip I’ve dreamt about tasting again for two years, and I suck, gently.

  And he moans, quietly. He moans into my mouth.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  I have not the slightest clue how to kiss, but I’d be lying if I said I haven’t spent the last two years practicing on my hand in case this ever happened again. So I use that, pushing my mouth into his to kiss him deeper, still slow and uneasy, knowing any second he’ll stop this.

  Any second now, he’ll push me away and call me stupid, and threaten to tell my dad…

  But it hasn’t happened yet. I slip my tongue between his barely parted lips, and the unthinkable happens… He opens up for me. Wider.

  Then he touches my tongue with his.

  Jesus fucking Christ, I almost come just from that. From his taste and the way it feels to have his tongue pressing up to mine, like they’re shaking hands. Hesitant, timid, warm.