Masochist

by Nadia Aidan

  “Or maybe it’s the most obvious answer of them all,” he whispered inching closer, his movements as seductive as his throaty voice. “Like you and your sister, your mother may have had a twin.”

  Selena was already shaking her head. Plausible, but still impossible. “If my mother had a twin, I would think I would know about it.”

  The relentlessness in his eyes was joined by ruthlessness and she concluded that his next words would be the worst she’d heard all night. She was right.

  “Like you knew about your brother?”

  “My brother?” Her eyes rounded. “I do not have a brother—”

  “You do, Selena,” Adonis said harshly. “Your father did a spectacular job of hiding his birth records, but everything can be found with the right price, especially when one owns the whole damn city.

  “In his old age it would seem your father became sloppy or he just didn’t fucking care anymore. Jarrod Andrews Gowen—born to some unknown woman your father had an affair with while still married to your mother. Your father paid handsomely to have another couple raise him, and only recently claimed him as his son and heir a year ago.”

  Selena could not breathe, the air dragging through her lungs frozen. For the second time this night, she found that everything she’d known, everything she’d believed…none of it was true, all of it lies.

  She shook her head vehemently. “My father would never do such a thing. That cannot be tr—”

  “If you say that cannot be true, I swear to God I will shake you, Selena,” Adonis thundered. “When will you wake up and see your father for what he is? He sold you and Serena to my father to pay off his debts. He does not care about you, he does not love you. Everything Woodward has ever done has been to benefit him. He is selfish and cruel and the only reason why he did not threaten your life sooner was because he could not obtain full control of your mother’s estate until your thirty-fifth birthday.”

  He stopped, his chest heaving, his eyes a mixture of sadness, pity and frustration. She wondered if he’d stopped because he was simply done, or was it owing to the look in her eyes that revealed so clearly that he’d crushed her soul and ripped out her heart?

  “Serena and I turned thirty-five yesterday,” she said absently, mindlessly. The attacks had begun last night—on the sixteen-year anniversary of that fateful night, on the sixteen-year anniversary of what would have been their engagement announcement, on what had been her thirty-fifth birthday. She did not want to believe him…she did not want any of it to be true. Yet, when she stared deep and long into his eyes, she knew every suspicion, every dark thought that had needled her all these years. She knew he was telling the truth, although her mind had never wanted to accept it.

  She did something then that she hadn’t done in years.

  She began to cry—gut-wrenching, bone-numbing sobs. She cried for so long, and so hard that she did not realise she’d slipped to the floor and Adonis held her to him, rocking her slowly as if she were a child.

  She cried for the mother she hadn’t known well, but may not have known at all.

  She cried for the man who was her father, who she’d never known.

  She cried for her sister whom she’d once known but didn’t anymore.

  She cried for her brother whom she hadn’t known at all, but now desperately wanted to.

  She even cried for herself, the woman who had built her existence upon a family that was as alien to her as a group of strangers on the street.

  Ironically, the only constant seemed to be Adonis. He’d betrayed her with his body, but his eyes had promised to love her forever. He’d kept that promise. Even as she’d sought to end his life, even as she’d vowed to cause him pain—he’d still loved her in spite of it all, in spite of herself.

  She wasn’t certain of when she’d stopped crying or when Adonis had carried her down the three flights of stairs back to his bedroom. She only became aware of her surroundings when her back sank into a soft, feather mattress.

  Adonis undressed her in silence, then himself, and, when he joined her on the bed, she found her way into the warm circle of his arms.

  He held her gently, tenderly, as if she would break or fly away, as if she were a precious gift too fragile to open.

  Adonis’ gift.

  That night sixteen years ago, that was how Dieu had presented her to him—‘ Adonis’ gift’, he’d sneered.

  She closed her eyes then, shutting out the memories of the past, as sleep began to steal over her.

  * * * *

  Selena awoke with the feeling of eyes upon her. She sat up with a start, clutching the sheet to her chest. The sun yawned in the sky, peeking through the heavy-paned window to battle the shadows of the gothic room for supremacy. Beside the window was where she found him. His long legs were stretched out, his arm draped lazily over the twisted oak of the chair.

  His eyes were riveted upon her.

  She wasn’t certain of what made her do it, but beneath his piercing stare she self-consciously tightened her hold on the sheet to her chest.

  The almost imperceptible motion did not go unnoticed, and his eyes shimmered beneath arched brows.

  “You still do not quite trust me.”

  It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a lie. She still did not entirely trust him, so no words to the contrary were necessary.

  He stood, crossing the room to where some of his things from his home were scattered atop an intricately carved dressing table. He gathered his belongings to shower, but with his back to her she was reminded of his scars.

  She hesitated for only a second.

  “What happened to your back?”

  He turned at the sound of her whispery quiet voice, his eyes meeting hers from over his shoulder. He held her attention for a second, then released her from the spellbinding intensity of his gaze when he twisted his head back around.

  She slid from the bed, taking the bed sheet with her and securing it around her body. On bare feet, she padded over to him, knowing she was daring a lot.

  “How is it you are upset that I do not trust you completely, when you will not even trust me with your secrets, with a past that caused you so much pain?”

  He faced her so quickly, she did not even breathe in that single moment. His hands shot out to grip her by the hips, and he pulled her close. She was overcome by the heat of him, scorching her through the garments that separated them, his hands heating the flesh at her sides. Every part of her seemed to ignite, every cell stretching to fill itself with the warm and golden radiance that was Adonis.

  “Why do you refuse to call me by my name?”

  She blinked in surprise. His question caught her off guard, but that had been his intent. She tried to move away, but he held fast, pulling her closer, deeper into the warmth of him.

  She would not be deterred.

  “Answer my question first,” she demanded.

  His eyes flickered, revealing what she already knew.

  So much had changed between them. So much still remained the same.

  “You hesitate because you still feel it,” she said finally. “You still feel what stands between us. You do not trust me any more than I trust you, because you are uncertain of my motivations, just as I am uncertain of yours.”

  “I know your motivations, Selena.”

  She tilted her head to the side, raking him with questioning eyes, but remained quiet.

  “You’re motivated to kill me out of revenge and retribution,” he answered her probing stare. “You’re motivated to keep me alive because of your physical desires, but also because you desire the truth.”

  She could not deny his words, not any of them—every word he uttered was true. She should not have been surprised—Adonis knew her, he knew the hidden yearnings etched within her soul. He knew her as intimately as one could. It shouldn’t have surprised her. But it did.

  He set her away from him and with his belongings in hand headed towards the bathroom. She stared after him, her eyes digging in
to his retreating back.

  “I know your motivations as well, Adonis.” He stilled, the sound of his name on her lips freezing him in place. He waited, his back to her, his entire body rigid.

  “You’re motivated to protect me out of fear.” She crept closer as she spoke. “You’re motivated to take my pain away out of guilt, but, just like me, you desire the truth.” She touched him then, her fingers tracing the uneven skin of his back. He flinched beneath her touch, but he did not pull away. “And, just like me, you are motivated by your own physical desires. But you were wrong on one point. I am not certain that I am still motivated to kill you.”

  She came around to face him. His expression was hard, unreadable. The only indication he gave that he was angry was the small tick of the muscle along his jaw.

  “Why are you angry? Because I would touch your scars?” She ran her hand across his torso, through the fine sprinkling of hair that tickled her palm. “Because I have now decided to call you by your name?” In hushed tones she said his name again. “Adonis…”

  He seized her hand within his, halting any further perusal of his naked chest. “You say you are no longer certain of your motivation to kill me.” His gaze did not waver upon her. “I would be sure of my position if I were you.”

  Adonis released her hand and with long strides stalked into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. She waited until she heard the sound of water rushing from the shower.

  He heard Selena twist the knob and open the door. The slight creaking of metal against wood hinted at her presence. The perfumed scent of her skin and the soft fragrance of her hair floating on the current of warm steam enveloping him was what ultimately gave her away.

  He sensed her hesitation, in that she dared push him after he’d already retreated from her. She knew he was angry, but even he wasn’t certain why he was upset. Was it because she had touched his scars? Or used his name after all this time? Because she’d demanded he trust her when she still did not quite trust him? Or was it because she still wavered on the decision of whether he deserved to live or die? It was all of those things…none of them…something more.

  She was bold. Brazenly undaunted by his silence, she faced his anger as she stepped into the tub, yet he did not turn around.

  He did not turn around when she began to wash his back with warm soap and a soft towel. He did not turn around, not even when she spoke.

  “Why did it take you so long to tell me about my father? My brother?”

  Weary and exhausted last night, they’d fallen asleep before they could discuss this subject, but he’d known these questions would not be far from her lips, because they were not far from his mind.

  “I only found out about your brother yesterday,” he answered truthfully. “Your father’s deceit I discovered last year.” That was not entirely true. He’d long known of her father’s role in that night their lives had been shattered, but he hadn’t understood the enormity of Woodward’s involvement until a year ago. Many secrets had come to light with the death of his father—while many had been buried with Dieu where they promised to stay.

  “I don’t know anything about my mother’s estate, or even what is entitled to me. I stopped caring after my father cast me out and disowned me. But if what you say is true, then I understand why he would want me and Serena dead. What I don’t understand is why he would want you dead? Why would he attack your hotel?”

  “Because you were there. Because he thought you were still there. The only reason he set that fire at my private residence is because he discovered you’d left my hotel and were there instead.”

  And only a few people had known of his departure with Selena. Woodward had an accomplice. Someone on Adonis’ staff, one of his guards, perhaps, was a snitch and a traitor, at the least. At the worst, someone in his employ, someone Adonis trusted, was the one who’d set those fires in his home and at his penthouse within the hotel.

  Her hands stilled against his back, and he turned around to finally face her. Selena’s eyes were hooded, but he knew her too well. She was far too smart not to put the pieces together, far too intelligent not to know.

  “You deliberately opened your hotel on the anniversary of that night, which you knew was also my birthday, in order to orchestrate my return.”

  “If I visited you at the convent and told you that you were in danger and needed to leave, you would have refused. I reasoned the only way to draw you out and bring you to me was to provoke you.

  “Your last words to me that night were a promise. I knew, if nothing else, you would honour them. ‘This was supposed to be the happiest night of my life, and you have destroyed it, you have destroyed me. Be warned, I shall pay you back in kind’. ”

  Her eyes registered the words she’d hurled at him right after he’d ridiculed her and then ended their relationship all those years ago.

  “And when I sent you that note, you realised you had me.”

  He touched her cheek, to reassure her that she’d not been manipulated, despite that that was exactly what he’d done. “I knew you would come to me. And having you near is the only way I know how to keep you safe.”

  The water turned cold against his back, and he reached around to turn the knob again until it blasted warm water.

  “When I arrived at your penthouse… How did you know I wouldn’t kill you?”

  “I didn’t.”

  She flattened her palms against his chest and drew closer. The steam and mist swirling around them thickened. His body, which had been alert to her nearness, responded to the subtle change in the small space between them.

  “So you did not anticipate what came after.”

  What came after…that he would allow her to take him as he’d taken her, take her pain and pleasure and give her his.

  “No, I didn’t anticipate that.”

  “But you suggested it.” She curved one hand around the nape of his neck. “So you must have thought about it.” His breath grew ragged. Hers joined his in its arduous rhythm.

  “Many nights.”

  Her other hand slipped down his body to curl around his turgid flesh, and the skin of her palm was satiny smooth against his rigid length as she pumped him gently.

  “What else did you think about?”

  Her question gave him pause, the images it conjured stealing what was left of his breath.

  “When you did not dream of suffering at my hands, what other fantasies gave you pleasure?” She stroked his cock faster, harder. Her pace was relentless, her words more so. “Sixteen years is a long time not to warm the thighs of a woman, not to feel the hair roughened skin of a man against your back. When you were alone in your bed, stroking your cock just like this, what were the fantasies that gave you pleasure, that made you come in your hand?”

  He bit back a groan, his eyes shadowed with lust, his pupils dark with desire. In a single, fluid motion he twisted her around and fixed her palms against the solid marble tiles.

  Her back was arched, her legs spread. She looked at him from over one shoulder, her coal-black hair wet and slick against her back. She was mesmerising in her beauty. She was perfect.

  Adonis settled behind her, covering her body with his own. His erection nudged the folds of her buttocks, and they both drew in a sharp gasp. He cupped one breast from around her body, while the other hand rested over her hand against the tiles.

  “You play a dangerous game, Selena.” His breath warmed the wet skin along her neck, and she shivered. “You know nothing of what it’s like to love a man in one moment, only to take his life in the next.”

  Her gaze imprisoned his. “And you do?” she challenged.

  “I do.”

  Her gaze did not yet set him free. It was unwavering in its intensity. “I do not want to talk of love and death. I want only to know of your fantasies.”

  A deep chuckle rose out of him, and he kissed her lips gently as he pushed his way between the folds of her sex, nudged at her opening then slowly pressed inside her b
ody. “I would not have us talk at all. I would rather do to you what I could only imagine, when I was alone in my bed, with my cock in my hand and my thoughts only of you.”

  He drove home then, filling her with his hard erection until he was buried to the hilt. Her sheath washed him with heat and desire and the pulsing electricity of his passion throbbed in his veins, pumping through the organ between his legs. She clenched around him, yielding to him, surrendering to the deep, plunging thrusts he gave her.

  Adonis was riding the thin edge of control, his lusts unabated and unchecked threatening to claim him. He was not certain of when the game had changed between them. He sought to take away her pain, to suffer beneath her touch. Yet she’d refused. She would only have his pain if it also meant his pleasure. She was relentless. Even now, as her body yielded beneath his, she mastered him—even now she still controlled him. He’d set out to heal her with his touch, but it would seem she would heal him with hers.

  “Even now you are brooding, when I would have you fuck me,” she said, as if she could hear his thoughts.

  She linked her fingers with his against the wall of the shower. The tender gesture was oddly intimate. It made his heart clench.

  “Sometimes the greatest revenge is the sweetest.”

  Her words broke through his thoughts—words that hit their mark so eerily as if she truly could read his mind, words he was not convinced he entirely believed.

  Revenge could be sweet, but this was no longer about revenge.

  With their fingers still linked, he released the warm, full flesh of her breast to bury his other hand in her tangled, wet locks. Gripping her hair, he gently dragged her head backwards, tilting her face to snare her lips in a deep, demanding kiss that made the slow burn of desire curl through him until it seared his blood.

  His strokes quickened inside her and he went deeper, deeper than he’d ever been before. With his body he claimed her. With his lips he branded her. With his entire being he marked her soul. In that moment he made it clear—she could take his life if her bitterness drove her to it, but there would be no way for her to escape the memories of him. He would haunt her forever.