by Nadia Aidan
A Total-E-Bound Publication
www. total-e-bound. com
Masochist
ISBN # 978-0-85715-904-5
© Copyright Nadia Aidan 2012
Cover Art by Posh Gosh © Copyright March 2012
Edited by Stacey Birkel
Total-E-Bound Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2012 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.
Warning:
This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-melting and a sexometer of 2.
This story contains 217 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 11 pages.
Revenge Never Dies
MASOCHIST
Nadia Aidan
What would you do for revenge? To what lengths would you go? Would you destroy the man you loved or would you let him destroy you?
La Ville des Dieux —the city of the gods. It isn’t. It is a city full of evil, demons and devils that prey upon the weak, the vulnerable, the pitiless and the poor. Mortal men who call themselves gods own the city, controlling the lives of all who live within its vast borders. Yet they aren’t gods—just men with the faces of angels and godlike bearings. And they share the weaknesses of all men—their sins, their lusts, their desires—and Selena knows this with certainty.
Sixteen years ago, the most beautiful of all the gods took her innocence and, in doing so, destroyed her soul. She has never forgiven him, and, on the anniversary of that night, she sets out to remind him that some sins can never be forgiven, that some sins can only be atoned for with the sacrifice of blood.
Adonis —the most beautiful of all the gods. He bears the face of an angel, and with a simple touch, a single look, he can inflame the passions of both women and men. Some say his beauty and the desire he ignites with his touch is a gift—others say it is his curse. When he stares into the ravished eyes of his past, he knows that this woman who once found pleasure beneath his touch has been equally cursed by it.
Sixteen years ago, he destroyed the only woman to love him and ripped apart her soul…in order to save her life.
No matter the sacrifice or the intent, there are some sins that can never be forgiven.
But, on the anniversary of that night, both Adonis and Selena will discover that, while some sins require payment in blood, sins of the flesh can be atoned for only with the surrender of the body.
One night forever changed their lives, and this one promises to do the same…
Dedication
To Melynda P.
Chapter One
La Ville des Dieux…
The city of the gods.
Selena knew better. It was a city full of demons, devils, evil that preyed upon the weak, the vulnerable, the pitiless and the poor.
Mortal men owned the city, controlling the lives of all who lived within its vast borders. They called themselves gods. They weren’t. They were just men, with the faces of angels, godlike bearings…but they shared the weaknesses of all men—their sins, their lusts, their desires.
Selena pulled her black silk shawl up higher around her face, slipping through the crowd of patrons who’d come to La Maison d’Adonis —the house of Adonis—for the grand opening of the opulent hotel that would bear the owner’s name. It was a place of decadence and finery, the gilded golden luxury of the establishment as perfectly and beautifully made as the man himself.
Adonis.
The proprietor of the western district of La Ville des Dieux —the most beautiful of the four gods…and the cruellest of them all.
She was dressed in a floor-length, black gown, the sequins twinkling beneath the warm glow of the crystal chandeliers. Her dress was subtle, understated, yet flattering as it raised her full breasts and flared at her rounded hips. The expensive attire had cost her two months’ salary, but it was worth it—the expense, the sacrifices would all be worth it, very soon. The dress was necessary. Its opulence gained her entrance—its modesty allowed her to pass through the crowd without notice.
And that was exactly what she wanted—to pass without notice. No one would expect a simple, diminutive beauty who wore the crucifix of His Saviour draped around her neck—the outward symbol of God’s handmaiden…a nun by any other name—to do harm to a single person. But her sole purpose for being there was to do harm and to reclaim that which had been cruelly taken from her sixteen years ago.
Selena left the crowded ballroom and glided beyond the guest bathrooms into the elevator and rode to the forty-second floor. She then got off, silently disarmed the lock and slipped into the stairwell to climb the last three floors to the penthouse level. A guard awaited her as soon as her heeled feet left the dull grey concrete of the stairwell and sank into the plush, burgundy carpet.
“Excuse me, Sister, but I cannot allow you back here. The chambers in this hallway are private.”
The guard was young, handsome…beautiful, as all of the god’s men were. He favoured beautiful things and beautiful people to mirror the perfect beauty of his own flawless face. That was why he’d taken her, defiled her—her beauty had reputedly surpassed his. But not anymore. Outwardly, maybe, but deep inside she was ugly, the core of her vile and hideous.
She knew what the guard saw when he looked at her—an ethereal angel, a stunning being touched by the divine. She smiled, disarming him with her loveliness before disarming him with her weapon. She raised her hand, trained the gun on his neck and pulled the trigger.
His eyes widened as he clutched his throat and gasped then crumpled at her feet in a heap.
Every movement was muffled, almost silent.
She stepped over the beautiful man and turned the corner. His room, she could easily tell, for another two guards stood before the double oak doors.
Selena smiled as she approached and the two men fell under her spell.
Her smile mimicked the pure luminescence of warm sunshine peeking through the dull grey of winter clouds. Before either could react, she shot them both, also in the neck. The mild neurotonic venom seeping through their blood stream would cause immediate paralysis. Unconsciousness would follow in seconds. They would think they were dying. But all would awaken…long after she was gone.
Only one needed to die this night.
She stepped over the prostrate guards and knocked gently on the door. There was no need for pretence. He knew she would come, for she’d told him. Sixteen years ago he’d taken her innocence and destroyed every dream she’d ever had. And sixteen years ago she’d promised him she would do the same to him someday. When he was at the pinnacle of success, she’d promised, she would destroy him as cruelly and carelessly as he’d once destroyed her. She kept every single one of her promises. She’d warned him then. And with a letter just weeks ago, she’d warned him again.
There was no need for pretence for he knew she was there, knew
why she was there, just as he knew nothing would stop her.
Adonis.
He bore the face of an angel, and, with a simple touch, a single look, he could inflame the passions of both women and men.
His beauty and the desire he ignited with his touch—some said it was his gift, others said it was his curse
As Adonis stood in the doorway to his suite, staring into the ravished eyes of his past, he knew that this woman who had found pleasure beneath his touch was equally cursed by it.
He stepped aside and let her in.
The cobra entering the lion’s den. She was small…delicate even. To be disarmed by her diminutive stature was to be foolish. She was dangerous, deadly, and she’d come there to kill.
He closed the door behind her with a soft, ominous thud—the locking of the door sealing his fate…and hers. Tonight would forever change their lives, just as that night sixteen years ago—on this very same date—had irreparably altered their destinies.
There was no turning back—no space for redemption, for forgiveness.
“Selena.”
She turned at the deep, husky lilt of her name on his lips. His accent was rich and heady, like potent brandy. Her shawl slipped to her shoulders as she lifted her head and met his gaze.
Piercing amber eyes bore into her, seeing through her, inside her, searing her body, marking her very soul. She shuddered despite herself. He knew the effect he had on women, men… her. Yet he did not gloat—he appeared to take no pleasure in the tightening of her nipples against her dress, the slight dilation of her pupils. And for a moment she wondered why?
“You know why I am here.” Selena spoke softly, deliberately avoiding the use of his name. The last time she’d said it, she’d cried it out in the wake of blinding pleasure. Every time she thought his name, she heard it floating from her lips in the throes of release and it shamed her.
“I do,” he said, crossing the room, his back to her. His long strides ate up the distance between him and the bar hidden in a shadowed corner of the expansive suite. It was a long while before he turned to face her again, a small glass of liquor in his hand.
“You are here to kill me,” he uttered after swallowing the contents of his glass in a single gulp.
“And, yet, you are relaxed for a man who is about to die.” His easy manner was her first clue.
“Am I about to die, Selena?” He set his glass down.
“You know why I am here,” she repeated. She should have felt fear…been anxious, wary. He would not simply lie down and allow her to take his life. She knew this—just as surely as she knew, no matter the trap he sprang, she was ready, and she would prevail. Her lust for revenge would accept no less.
“You are here to kill me, but that does not mean I shall die.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You desire revenge, and you shall have it.” He stalked across the room towards her, his steps deliberate. He moved with a sensual, practiced grace that demanded attention, that captivated and seduced.
Selena felt the pull of that attraction all the way to the core of her, even as she pushed it to the dark corners of her mind and ignored it. His seductive grace was both sexual and deadly. He was a predator—a killer—trained to take life, to destroy it…just as he was a trained seducer—the bringer of pleasure—trained to inspire lust and fuel it.
“Revenge is a strange thing, Selena. It consumes its owner. It consumes their life.” He halted before her, his breath sweet and heavy against her face. The pungent scent of alcohol tickled her nostrils with each breath she drew in.
“I imagine you have killed me a thousand times—swiftly, slowly, painfully, mercilessly…” He smiled, the perfect smile of an angel, a god. “But death, whether painful and slow or swift and merciful, is not what you seek. To deliver death to one such as I would be too kind. I deserve more than death.” His breath hovered between them and her heart thudded to the rhythm of his inhalation, his exhalation. She tried to remain unaffected by him—yet she couldn’t. With every breath, every smile, every blink of his eyes, she was all too painfully aware until her senses were full of him.
“What would you have me do, then?” She managed to find her voice somewhere between determination and desire. “If not death, then what do you deserve?”
“Revenge, Selena. I deserve your revenge.” He transformed before her eyes. The seducer became the killer. His eyes hardened and the perfect beauty of his face darkened.
He slammed her against the wall in a matter of seconds, forcing the air to whoosh from her lungs, his arm pinned to her neck. She didn’t move or flinch. Her eyes didn’t widen, and she didn’t gasp for air.
She nudged the sharp blade of the knife she’d drawn from beneath her dress, strapped to her silken thigh, against his belly, ready to rip through muscle and flesh, bone and entrails with a single, deadly thrust.
“You deserve every measure of my revenge,” she breathed out against the pressure along her neck. “That is why I shall kill you.” Her eyes became topaz slits. “I could kill you now. With just a simple flick of my wrist, I could end your life.”
“But you won’t.”
His words startled her.
“If you wanted me dead, I would be dead.” He leaned in, his liquor-laced, sweet breath warming her face. “You do not want me dead, because you want me to suffer. And I deserve to suffer.”
Pain—naked, raw pain—swirled in the depths of his golden eyes. He hurt for her. He suffered for her. She did not care. His pain and his suffering were not enough.
“I deserve your hate. I deserve your revenge.” He drew away from her, her neck free so she could breathe. And then she couldn’t. She couldn’t breathe as she watched him remove his tuxedo jacket, followed by his black cummerbund. Then the long, tanned length of his fingers began to undo the buttons of his white dress shirt.
“What are you doing?”
“I am giving you your revenge.”
“What? By stripping naked? How is that my revenge?” she spat.
His eyes held hers, and she saw herself, sixteen years ago to the day. A nineteen year-old girl on the cusp of womanhood—full of innocence and blind naiveté. He’d taken her innocence, taken her youth…her virtue. She’d never been the same after that. After that night, she’d been broken, crippled, irreparably and irrevocably damaged.
His shirt hung open, revealing the golden planes of his hard muscled torso. Hair a darker hue than the silver blond locks that hung to his shoulders wove a straight path across the centre of his ridged abdomen, disappearing into the waistband of his trousers.
He was beautiful, as perfect as an angel, a god…
He was the devil himself.
“You cannot have your revenge if I am fully clothed. That would be less than I deserve. Just as the peacefulness of death would be less than I deserve.”
“And what is it that you deserve?” she asked softly, almost breathless.
“I deserve to suffer as you did.” His full sensual mouth dipped, and even his frown was seductive. “I deserve to experience the pain you experienced, the loss you felt. I deserve your revenge.”
She suddenly burned with anger—an emotion she’d thought she’d buried long ago and replaced by cold, calculated hatred. “You can never suffer as I did. You will never know the pain I felt, the loss I experienced. You destroyed my life. Killing you is the only way to destroy yours.”
He looked down his nose at her. “If that were true then you would not hesitate.”
Her palm throbbed under the weight of the knife in her hand, the braided leather of the hilt heavy in her grasp.
Four paces separated them, maybe less. She’d been trained to hurl a blade from much farther, with deadly accuracy. Her eyes narrowed on his chest. His death would be painful, but it would be quick.
“I deserve to suffer, Selena,” he whispered, drawing her attention to his face. His golden eyes practically begged it of her. I deserve your revenge, your pain. I deserve it all.
&
nbsp; “It is impossible for you to experience what I did,” she rasped, her voice suddenly ragged and hoarse.
“Is it?”
His eyes flickered and she followed the direction of his gaze to his bedside table. And that was when she saw it—the hard, sculpted object that lay there, benign for now—an innocent tool for pleasure that could easily wield pain. Nothing shocked her anymore, had not since that day sixteen years ago…until now.
“I will still destroy you in the end,” she remarked coldly. “Why endure this humiliation only to die?”
“Because I deserve it. I deserve to know the pain you did.”
She glared at him. “I do not believe you will truly suffer. I believe you will enjoy it.”
“I might.” His lips curled into a knowing grin, and her blood turned to scarlet ice at the male satisfaction blazing in his eyes. “I might enjoy it just as you did.”
His head swivelled violently with the impact as she struck his face.
“I did not enjoy what you did to me. I hated it. Every moment of it, I hated.”
Fury lashed him, not because of his burning cheek, but because the sweet smell of her desire hovered between them heavy in the air, filling up every crevice inside his lungs, just as it had sixteen years ago.
“You’re a liar,” he said coldly. “You cried out my name. Every time I made you come, you screamed my name in pleasure—none of it pain.”
“There was no pleasure in what you did to me. You violated me.”
He stilled. “I did.” His hands curled into fists. “I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
If she believed that then she was still the naive, foolish girl she’d been. He knew better…just as he knew it was easier for her to hate him—blame him—than to blame the one responsible or to admit that she was ashamed of her body’s response. He’d been as much the victim as she, but she’d never believe that. And that was why he would allow her to have her revenge.