Fable of Happiness Book Two

by Pepper Winters

  Wait, what’s the time?

  My eyes strayed to the clock by the bookshelves. A paua shell-carved extravaganza that didn’t fit with the rest of the smoky, masculine vibe of the reading den.

  Holy shit, two p.m.?

  I’d slept face-first on the carpet for eight hours?

  My hips pulsed with another painful urge to climax. I flinched and fisted my hands. The urge to come became almost unbearable. A means to an end. A way to get rid of the tight desire between my legs and wake up properly.

  Stop it.

  Ignore it.

  My body had other ideas. A crest of agonizing lust made my back arch.

  This was yet another problem caused by that trespasser of mine. Until she’d come along, whenever my body had demanded an orgasm, I’d been able to ignore it. My hands hadn’t shook as I forbid them to touch myself. My heart didn’t race trying to override my unanimous decision not to self-pleasure.

  I was happy not to touch myself. Relieved even.

  But thanks to her?

  All I could think about was her welcome, her wetness, the way we fit so perfectly together.

  Ah, Christ.

  My cock rippled with pre-cum, creating a damp patch on my boxer briefs.

  Seemed just thinking about her had the power to make my body disobey. My teeth ground to dust as I squeezed my eyes closed and focused on the constant sickness inside me instead of the overheated lust in my blood. My head still pounded. My eyes still felt too big for their sockets. My ears still rang with concussed bees.

  Focus on getting strong again. Sex has to wait.

  But...sex with her. Sex with someone who actually gave me pleasure instead of pain.

  I wanted that.

  I wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her—

  Another ripple up my cock. Another damp spot.

  Ah, stop.

  The flutter around my stomach came again, wrenching me upright.

  I grabbed my head, sinking all ten fingers around my skull as pokers of pain stabbed from all directions. It took a horrifyingly long time before the library stopped spinning, and I trusted my stomach not to evict the pasta from last night before opening my eyes again.

  The flutter returned around my belly—a sensation of something wriggling on a fishing line.

  You’re the spider now. And she’s the fly.

  Gemma.

  She was moving around. Wherever she was, we were bound, and that knowledge sent a dark thrill through me. I was alive to feel her. I’d left that decision in her dangerous hands, wondering if she’d do what others had done.

  However, even in her rage last night, she hadn’t come to harm me in my sleep. And really, I had to face the facts—the fact I was alive was a blessing in itself. After her mood last night, I honestly hadn’t known what she’d choose. She’d certainly looked pissed off enough to do me serious bodily harm if it ensured her freedom.

  Sweat ran down my temples as I looked down at the belt around my waist. The chain pooled onto the floor, then snaked its way out to the door to wherever she was.

  Two p.m. in the afternoon and she still hadn’t come to find me.

  I could feel her.

  Moving around.

  Existing in my home.

  But I couldn’t see her, and that was almost as bad as not knowing what drawers she was poking through or what she’d been doing while I’d been imitating a useless corpse.

  Climbing slowly to my feet, I wobbled a bit before grabbing a handful of Parable and moving forward. Unsteadily, I made my way out of the library, following the links, swallowing hard as my stomach decided to tangle with hunger at seeing her and hope that she hadn’t been snooping into things she shouldn’t see.

  No sound hinted at what she was doing, and I held my breath as I continued tracking the path of the chain, through the foyer, past the stairs, following a path leading through the games room all the way to the rear conservatory.

  And there she was.

  Sitting cross-legged on a rattan peacock chair, nestled between two palm trees with the algae-stained water of an abandoned fishpond beneath the glass floor. In her hands rested a magazine that one of Fable’s guests would’ve brought. Trivia and gossip from a society I’d been stolen from. It didn’t seem to bother her that it was over a decade old. She studied the glossy photos of women on the arms of men and overly white fake smiles from movie stars as if it was an almanac on escaping.

  She didn’t look up.

  I cleared my throat.

  She didn’t acknowledge me.

  I coughed pointedly.

  Her eyes stayed locked on the magazine.

  “The silent treatment will get old real fast around here, you know,” I muttered, entering the stagnantly humid conservatory and leaning nonchalantly against the glass wall. I leaned to give an air of “I don’t care,” but I also used the stable surface to catch my breath and train my knees into being trustworthy instead of trembly.

  Surprisingly, I was feeling better than yesterday. The short walk had woken me up and my internal war on denied orgasms and wanting a woman who I had a lifetime to fuck and grow old with blew away the smog in my head, leaving me slightly more coherent than before. Perhaps it was the carbs from dinner; maybe it was knowing she’d lasted a night, and I was still alive. Maybe it was because I’d finally accepted something had been missing inside me for so fucking long, and she’d somehow filled that void.

  I’d say all of those things were worth celebrating.

  Despite the fact that her living here wasn’t voluntary, I couldn’t argue that her wrath was worth more to me than her disappearance.

  She sniffed and thumbed over a new page, her body language screaming at me to leave her the hell alone. She was so prim, so proper, so exquisitely beautiful. It was unfair really, how gorgeous I found her. It wasn’t just physical attraction—it was so much more than that. It was too much more. Too much for me to acknowledge in my current concussed condition.

  Sitting so demurely, she glowed with power. After all, she did have the power to kill me. I’d gladly given her that power if it meant I got to keep her until that day, but I didn’t think she understood just how desperate I actually was for...

  Companionship?

  Civility?

  Co-fucking-habitation?

  It wasn’t fucking her in the rain that’d switched my heart. It hadn’t been my humanity that’d steadily been waking up. It’d been our conversations, our arguments, our volleys of hate and hurt.

  “Where did you sleep?” I asked softly. “You look...rested.”

  She looked ready to slay me and not just climb up the cliff but fly.

  She gave me nothing but silence as her hair glimmered with darker gold, hinting she’d had a shower in one of the three downstairs bathrooms. The subtle scent of lavender and pear from the tissue-wrapped soaps set my mind alive with images of her naked under a cold spray, her hands teasing her breasts, feathering down her belly, cupping between her legs—

  Christ.

  I shifted, willing my stubborn hard-on to fuck off.

  A small growl sounded beneath her breath as she snapped another page over, glowering at some poor TV star as if she’d happily rip his head off and crumple it into a paper ball—mainly so she had a weapon to throw at my head.

  With the sun bathing her and anger still dripping off her like the addicting liquor I’d consumed during my year-long party for one, I physically couldn’t stand the thought of her leaving. My stomach didn’t just clench; it tore itself in two. It bled. It slid into my feet and died.

  How had I ever thought I could kill her?

  She. Was. Mine.

  After all, why had she found me if I wasn’t meant to keep her?

  Yet you tried to kill her how many times?

  I scowled.

  That was before.

  Even just yesterday, I’d woken with the full intention of hurting her. But now? Now, I would do anything to protect her because she was never permitted to leave me
. I was grateful I’d thrown away her car keys. When I was stronger, I’d climb up that damn cliff with the last dregs of gasoline that I’d been saving for a special occasion (instead of powering the ancient generator), and set fire to the car that still waited for her.

  Was it normal for a man’s thoughts to flip from one decision to another? To exist as two entities inside one’s head? I was both the master and the monster, the fallen and the friend. Maybe I wasn’t concussed but schizophrenic, and I hadn’t noticed it while living out here alone?

  I stilled.

  Maybe, despite my relief that she wasn’t going anywhere, those tendencies to end her life would come back, and I’d do it anyway? I’d strangle her before I could confess that if she ever left me—by her choice or by my mistake—I wouldn’t choose to keep living here.

  I’d do what I should’ve done at the start of my solitary confinement and let nature have me.

  Crossing my arms, I tried again. “Are you one of those girls who has a crush on a celebrity?”

  Her head tilted up, her narrowed eyes catching mine. “Leave. I have no intention of talking to you today. Or any day for that matter.” She flipped a page, revealing a copper ball gown on some starlet. Something that would look absolutely stunning on my gorgeous captee.

  “If you fancy dressing up, you can claim any of the gowns in the wardrobes upstairs.”

  She laughed sourly. “Oh, how very generous of you. Dead women’s clothing. No, not just dead women. Dead rapists.” She rolled her eyes in my direction. “Excuse me if I don’t leap to my feet in joy.”

  My arms crossed tighter, sending a flash of agony down my broken one. “You’re wearing something of theirs right now. What’s the difference?”

  She glanced down at the pearl-colored shirt with silver buttons and black skirt. Her toned climber legs seemed to go on for miles, their creamy expanse ruined by the cuff on her ankle.

  “Oh yes, that reminds me. Thanks to you, I had to slip into this skirt headfirst because your damn chain stops me from pulling anything on via my feet. And if you must know, I’m currently soaking the T-shirts and leggings that I have with me—not that I can wear them right now—like I just pointed out. Plus, I had to cut off my last pair of leggings seeing as you weren’t around to unlock me—but believe me, the minute they’re dry, I’ll be changing—with or without your help. I don’t care if the damn chain trails up my leg and pokes out the waistband.”

  “Or you could wear nothing at all.”

  She flinched, her gaze automatically dropping to the highly obvious spear in my boxer briefs. The very same spear angled eagerly in her direction.

  Her irritation darkened into outright contempt. Closing the magazine, she set her hands elegantly on top of the glossy cover. “Seeing as you very kindly told me what to expect in this forced imprisonment last night, allow me to do the same.” Uncrossing her legs, she turned to face me, her dislike rippling over the floor and lapping at my ankles. “Are you listening, Kassen? Because I’ll only say this once.”

  Her mocking tone nettled and awoke my temper, but I clenched my jaw and merely nodded. “Be careful with using that name. But yes, I’m listening.”

  “Good.”

  I bowed my head, making the room flicker for a second. “Should I take notes?”

  “I’m sure you’ll get the gist.” She smiled thinly. “I don’t have much to say. In fact, I really only have one piece of advice.”

  “Then I’m sure, even in my concussed condition, I’ll remember it.”

  “Oh, have no fear. I’ll make sure you do.” Digging into the chair by her thigh, she whipped up a knife that I’d used countless times to cut up zucchini and fillet game I’d snared. The blade was nicked and tarnished, but it still worked. Still sliced. “This is my new best friend. If you come near me, I will stab you. If you think for a moment of kissing me, this will be in your heart.” Waving the pointy end at my hard cock, she hissed, “Try to fuck me, and I won’t just stab you; I’ll gut you.” Her smile was evil, but it also made me rather proud.

  Proud and pissed off.

  “Did you catch that? Unlike you, I could be persuaded to repeat myself if you didn’t get the message.” The knife sliced through the air, her fist wrapped tight around the handle. “Any questions?”

  I trembled for different reasons now.

  Not because I was weak but because I was livid. Anger filtered through my limbs, coaxing me to leap forward and rip that stupid blade from her stupid fist. She thought she could threaten me? To withhold my pleasure after being denied it for so long?

  Not gonna happen.

  I barely managed to get words through my gritted teeth. “Are you done?”

  Her dainty nostrils flared but she nodded. “As long as you’re aware that you lost all privilege of having any piece of me, then yes, I’m done. Forget everything I ever said about feeling a shred of emotion for you. I don’t care about your past. I don’t care about your current injury. I don’t care about your excuses or your justifications. You’re an asshole, and I’m done. I will never get on my knees for you again. I will never welcome you into my body or my heart. As far as I’m concerned, the moment I get up the courage to end you, I’ll be gone, and you can haunt this valley for the rest of your—”

  “Right.” Pushing off from the glass wall, I marched toward her and slammed my hands down on the arms of the rattan chair. Waves of pain shot up my broken arm, but I didn’t care. I bent and shoved my face into hers, ignoring my wooziness and the piercing blade tip over my heart.

  Blood trickled down my chest as we both froze. Nose to nose, rage to rage.

  “Let’s get one thing straight,” I growled. “You are now mine, and as tolerant as I will be of you having your own thoughts and voicing your, no doubt, very loud opinions, my patience will only go so far.” I bared my teeth, wanting to do something feral like bite her neck or crash my mouth to hers. “As far as withholding sex from me, try it and see how that goes.”

  The knife dug a little deeper into my chest, her voice hitching as she muttered, “Don’t test me, Kas. I will plunge this.”

  “Stop using my name. When you’ve done something to deserve it, I’ll let you know.” I leaned closer, wincing as pain bloomed. “And I’m not testing you. If you were going to stab me, you would’ve done it already.” I deliberately pushed into the sharpness, bracing against the pain, well used to metal cutting into my flesh.

  Her eyes went wide then filled with a deeper kind of hate. A trapped kind. The kind that said for all her bravado and boundaries, she didn’t have the actual strength to go through with it.

  Not because she was weak. Hell, no. I had no doubt she had all the power required to drive the knife through my ribs and puncture my broken heart.

  Her problem was the same thing that’d attracted me to her in the first place. The one thing I didn’t seem to be immune to and the disastrous thing that ensured her eternal sentence in this place.

  Her unnerving ability to be kind, even while threatening a beast.

  Shifting my weight, I brought my hands up to cup her cheeks.

  I shook.

  She shook.

  The chair fucking shook as I held her pretty face and breathed, “You can hate me for however long you need. You can pretend there wasn’t something, that there isn’t something, between us if it makes it easier for you to accept this relationship—”

  “Relationship?” she hissed, latching her hands around my wrists and trying to pull her face out of my grip. “You truly are mad.”

  “I will give you a week. One week for you to come to terms with this because, frankly, I’m not exactly in great condition myself. I need to rest. I need to heal. So you have my promise I won’t touch you for one week, Gemma Ashford, but after that, I’m taking you. And I fully expect you to open wide for me.”

  I let her go.

  She shot up from the chair and shoved me back.

  My compromised balance didn’t stand a goddamn chance. I tripped,
my arms wheeled—splint and all—and I tumbled backward with a grunt.

  The glass floor offered no softness whatsoever. My tailbone exploded in agony. My elbow yelled as I did what I could to protect my broken arm. The conservatory continued to spin as she stood over me and ducked to do what I’d just done to her.

  Both her hands landed on my cheeks, her touch sending fire through my blood and lust straight between my legs.

  She sucked in a breath.

  I shuddered.

  Sexual need burned us to ash.

  I could’ve come from that single contact.

  Another few minutes of her touching me and I would’ve been a goner.

  But she didn’t give me a few minutes.

  She gave me seconds.

  A cluster of awful moments and a condemning curse that echoed in my ears long after she stalked from the conservatory and left me on the floor.

  “The day I willingly let you have me is the day you should fear me.” She smiled and tucked messy hair behind my ears, almost sweetly, sisterly. My skin blazed where her fingertips had been.

  “The moment I kiss you back, Kassen Sands, you’ll be at my mercy, not the other way around. Take me against my will, and I won’t just take your body in return; I will take your heart. I will unearth all the love that you’ve suppressed so, so deep inside you, and I will make you curse the very day you decided to trap me.” Standing, she backed away, shrugging lazily as if electricity didn’t crackle between us and the very walls didn’t drip with our lust. “Take me against my will, and I will show you what heartbreak can do to a man like you.”

  Fuck, who was this girl?

  “A man like me?” I barked, already panting like a love-sick fool as she crossed the threshold.

  She turned her back on me. “A man who’s desperate for someone to call his own.”

  She left.

  “Fuck!”

  I shouted at no one. Just an empty glasshouse, my ears ringing as my voice boomeranged back. My hands fisted to punch something.

  How?

  How did she read me so goddamn well?

  And what exactly could I do to stop her curse from coming true?