His laughter is as sinful as it is adorable and after his arm slides around my shoulders it tightens, tucking me closer to him. He chuckles while placing his lips on the crown of my head and running his fingers from my shoulder to my elbow over and over.
“Well aren’t you just an inquisitive, little tipsy thing. What was it like? I guess you could say it was normal, if any childhood can be called normal. My father worked, my mother stayed at home, we were always wealthy so money was never a problem or factor that caused tension between my parents. I never went without. My parents never had reason to be strict. I always made excellent grades and never drew negative attention to myself, any disobedient or mischievous proclivity I displayed, they over looked preferring ignorance instead of accepting the possibility they had a bad son.”
My drunken thought process tries to keep up with his answer but fails and my goldfish attention span veers into another direction to lighten the mood his words created.
“I’m excited to meet your mom and dad. Do you think they’ll like me?” My slurred words heighten in pitch towards the end of my question and my face scrunches up when my eyes meet his.
“Mouse, I have no doubt they will both love you the moment they meet you.”
His words make me smile and I giggle, “Really?”
“How could they not? You’re perfectly imperfect eagerly attempting perfection.” He tucks my hair behind my ear as his smiling gaze studies my face.
A sighing hum escapes as my eyelids flutter shut, I quietly wipe my eyes before leaning into his strength, and without thinking I lay my head on his shoulder. My head tilts to look up at him, smiling I softly whisper, “You love me, Romie.”
My hand moves on its own accord to touch the side of his face but self-preservation stops my hand from moving less than an inch from his cheek. Our eyes remain locked as our expressions turn serious. I gather more courage and continue, “You don’t want to believe it, I honestly wondered if you were capable of love but I never stopped hoping for the time when it would be so and now I feel it, Roman.”
He slowly shakes his head chuckling and when he looks down at me his fingers slide through my hair as his eyes scan my face.
His beautiful smile causes the last of my inhibitions to slip away, “I don’t have a damn clue what this feeling is I have for you, little mouse. I do know I have never been as fascinated nor intrigued by any other woman in my life. If you wish to call my growing affection towards you ‘love’, I’ll allow it.”
I snuggle into him tucking my face into the crook of his neck and drape my shoeless feet and hose covered legs over the top of his thighs. His steady hand smoothly slides up and down, caressing my legs and the last thing I feel before I give into the unconsciousness that’s been slowly making my eyelids heavier is Roman’s chuckle reverberating through me.
“Time to wake up, my tipsy little mouse.” Roman’s dark soothing voice rouses me awake as his arm tightens around my shoulder and his lips brush against my forehead.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I meant to rest my eyes for just a few moments. Are we in trouble because I fell asleep?” I yawn the last words.
“No. I don’t get in trouble and you are never in trouble with anyone but me. Now, come along.” He stands before pulling me to my feet by the hand and keeping his eyes on mine as he asks, “Do you feel steady on your feet?”
I giggle, “If I’m not are you going to carry me?”
“I will if necessary, now answer my question, mouse.” His voice holds a stern quality; however his eyes are still smiling.
“I’m fine. I can walk, promise.” I feel myself taking my first tentative steps into uncharted territory, a place where even after all this time I’ve held on to the unwanted truths of what Roman Payne is capable of, and also what I’ve suffered at his hands. I’ve used these truths to keep him from reaching the last sacred place in my heart. The place I’ve kept him locked away from and unable to hurt the little girl who hides behind my heart. But now, as I look into his handsome face; a face shining with amusement and curiosity…I feel him slip straight through my heart, and into her innocent one.
“Good.” He pulls his laptop from the overhead bin and extends his right hand to me and pauses. I look deeply into his eyes as I place my fingers in his palm and I feel his strong warm hand immediately envelop mine. When we step from the jet something shifts between us, something vital yet fragile, rooted by our new understanding of one other.
I barely notice the impeccably attired concierge conscientiously placing our luggage on the marble foyer as I enter the suite. I’m transfixed by the opulence before me and a breathlessly whispered “oh my” escapes my lips.
It takes Roman clearing his throat before the spell is broken and my eyes lock on his, sky blue, hooded, and filled with mischief as he slowly arches an eyebrow.
A shudder of erotic excitement races through me at the sight of Roman sitting in the black large winged back leather chair with his left ankle resting on his right knee and his long fingers steeple together under his chin with the devil’s smirk across his lips.
It isn’t the beautifully sinful aura he is displaying, it’s his voice cloaked in darkness while he commands, “Strip,” that makes the flush of warm wetness soak between my thighs.
Fuck I love it when he’s like this; both demanding and yet playful enough to keep fear from darkening these very rare moments between us.
Although his tone and salacious smile tell me I’m in no danger, my breath still hitches in my throat. I can’t keep my hands from trembling with desire as I slowly unzip the floor length sleeveless lace dress at the side and letting the thin material slip from my body.
As the fabric pools on the marble floor around my black six inch Manolo Blahnik stilettos my eyelids flutter until my eyes lock on the only man I’ve ever willingly sacrificed every thing for.
He continues to watch me from hooded eyes before demanding in a dark tone, “Step from your dress and finish. I want you stripped of everything except the heels and my diamond on your fucking hand.” His eyes clench shut for a moment as he mutters, “God, woman, I do love you in heels and diamonds.”
After the satin bustier and silky garter belt fall to the floor along side my dress I hesitate, uncertain if I should take the thigh high hose off and then put my shoes back on or leave them.
I follow his command, keeping my eyes cast down. When his black slack covered thighs are in my peripheral, he answers my unasked questioned, “The hose are fine, mouse. Take two steps forward and then stand completely still. You are not to move an inch until I tell you differently, understood?”
“Yes.” I nervously whisper before stepping forward twice and coaxing my body to go austerely still, my breathing and heart rate slow until every muscle relaxes.
I’ve been conditioned so well by first the academy, and then Roman, that I’m able to remain perfectly still even as he stands and stalks towards me before towering over my petite frame.
Using his single fingertip he traces the skin from hipbone to hipbone and continues around to my lower back, trailing his finger as he circles my frozen stance.
I’m barely able to prevent myself from giving into the urge to arch my back and release the moan lodged in my throat when that same fingertip traces up my spine until he reaches the nape of my neck and fists his hand in my hair, wrenching my head back until I’m facing the ceiling. A split second later his palm lands painfully across my ass, splitting the silence of the room over and over. In an effort to keep quiet, I bite down on my bottom lip until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
Suddenly he stops, pulling his towering form completely away from me and regretfully, I stagger a bit before I’m able to regain my footing and go still again.
My eyes literally roll back into my head behind closed eyelids and my chest heaves air in at an accelerated rate when I hear the buckle of his belt. The skin between my thighs soak in anticipation of him filling me… then breaking me
down only to build me back up.
Butterflies explode in flight within me and I smile letting a happy sigh escape from between my smiling lips.
“Oh no, no, no, no, no, my love. You have royally fucked up, and you are about to suffer the consequences, mouse—greatly.”
Before I can put his words together the sound of his leather belt slicing through the air is the only warning I’m allowed and less than a second later it lashes across my flesh. After the first whack signals the beginning of my punishment, he relentlessly continues whaling the belt over my flesh from mid-thigh to the small of my back, harder and faster, as he rains down the mother of all spankings. I lose count somewhere between fifty and sixty but it goes on much longer after I lose count.
Tears run down my cheeks, neck and chest, chapping the skin before more salty tears sear down their same paths. Snot runs from my nose and down my chin, but still I remain unmoved and completely quiet.
I feel myself separate before backing into the recesses of my mind. I take the small little abused girl who has already fallen so very deeply in love with Roman and I mentally wrap her up in a soft down, fuzzy blanket and hide her in the farthest, darkest corner of my mind, rocking her to sleep.
Once she’s tucked away I surface as only a shell of the woman who walked into this hotel room tipsy, giddy, excited, and in love only an hour and a half ago.
If it’s silence and unmoving he wants, then silent unmoving he will get. I shut down every single part of me. Draw down the shudders around my heart and my soul, as well as the windows to both…my eyes.
He wants nothing. Then he will have it.
I feel absolutely nothing. Not for him, and not for my life nor my existence.
I feel nothing when he speaks and I stare into his sparkling manic eyes as his crisp, sharp words fall from his maniacal smiling lips. “I said,” He chuckles and it does nothing but prove he is Satan in the flesh, “If you ever called me ‘Romie’ again that I would tear the skin from your ass. And so I have. Now, I want you out of my face this instant. Go and clean your drunken, repulsive self up. You absolutely fucking disgust me.”
I stare deadly into his eyes still unmoving and it causes his eyebrows to shoot up to his hairline. “Did you not hear me? Or has your sanity finally slipped? GET OUT OF MY SIGHT, NOW!”
My gaze slowly moves to the door I assume is the master bedroom, which holds the master bathroom and I step forward making my way towards it, the sound of my heels clicking against the marble floor is the only sound heard echoing through the suite.
I start my bath using nothing but hot water then pour lavender, vanilla oils and bath salts into the steaming water. While I lean against the wall with the phone between my shoulder and ear I feel the blood running in rivulets down the back of my thighs soaking the material of my hose as I unbuckle the ankle clasps on each heel before slipping them off and then pulling the bloody hose from each of my legs. When the front desk answers my call I speak in a dead calm voice, “Yes, would you please send up hydrogen peroxide, gauze, and antibiotic ointment to Mr. Payne’s suite. I’ve done quite the number on a few of my fingers while trying to make a salad for dinner and it seems I’ve accidently cut them pretty deep so I’ll need you to please bring as much as you can. Thank you.”
I’m only somewhat cognizant of the piping hot water burning and blistering my skin as I sink into the massive tub. I feel my skin tighten, then feel as the blisters form and fill with serous fluid as the bath salts dig into the wounds Roman’s belt left by stripping the skin away. I thankfully do not feel the pain or burns, only the transformation occurring as a result of the injuries caused by both Roman and myself.
Perhaps he was correct in his assumption. My sanity may have very well, finally, blissfully slipped.
I’m uncertain of how much time has passed while I’ve gone through the motions of washing and conditioning my hair before bathing, shaving, and soaking. I’m also uncertain how long Roman continued to bang against the bathroom door before the wood splinters and he storms into the bathroom.
“GET THE FUCK OUT! NOW, HEATHER!”
I can’t even care enough to move my gaze from watching as my toe slides in and out of one of the four faucet holes.
“You called the front desk for first aid supplies, and now you’re sitting in a tub full of bloody water, Heather, fucking get the fuck out of it right fucking now or I’ll—“
A dark chuckle from somewhere very deep within me ceases his words before my cynical and sarcastic drenched words are slowly and methodically spoken, “You’ll what, Roman? Tear more skin from my body? Or better yet, chastise me as though I’m a child for doing nothing more than calling you a term of endearment? You want to know what I really wish you would do ‘Romie’?” I slowly stand and step from the bath water and notice the pool of water I was contently soaking in, is indeed dark red. My wet feet pad across the tile floor, trailing a bloody mess of footprints behind me.
I slide my arms through the obvious ‘His’ robe, after I tighten the robe’s sash I turn walking from the room and blandly tell him over my shoulder, “Finish this ridiculous, childish game. Quit dawdling around hoping and waiting for my amusement to wear off and allow me my number. Point blank, I’m tired of your games… all I want is to become number thirteen.”
I peel the robe that’s fibers have already dried, embedding themselves into my open wounds and pick up the large box of medical supplies. And without concern, much less giving a shit as to what hydrogen peroxide will do to the Berber carpet in the master bedroom, I open the large brown bottle and pour it down my backside until it’s emptied of its contents. Then I pick up all three tubes of Neosporin + pain relief and squeeze the contents into my palm cackling at the ‘+ pain relief’ before smearing it in copious amounts across my lower back, my bottom, and the tops of the back of my thighs. After I’ve accomplished my first two steps of ‘Triage 101: Repairing an ass whose skin has been removed’, I lay gauze over where I’ve rubbed the Neosporin and slip a silk nighty over my head. I peel every blanket from the bed leaving only the silk fitted sheet and lay across it diagonally facing away from anything and everything that is Roman Payne, all while my bloody bath water soaked hair stains the expensive white silk sheets beneath me.
And right as my consciousness slips away I hear the sounds of Roman Payne, raining down his merciless havoc as he shatters and slams every piece of glass and wood within the master suite against any and every hard surface except the bed until I slip into oblivion with a nothing more than a sigh.
Chapter 15
I’ve lost her. I had her; I’ve had her for over a year. She and I have been on the same page; eye to eye on how this, how WE work for a very long time now. I say when. I say how. I say when and how, dammit. That is how WE work.
Fine, she wants to be number thirteen, then number thirteen she will become.
I chase tumbler after tumbler of an expensive bottle of scotch between sips of my club soda. Every minute within this hell I reside in, my mind alternates from loving her, holding her, cherishing her, to choking her, maiming her, and skinning her. From keeping her…to killing her.
Sixteen hours have passed since Heather stumbled from the tub. Sixteen hours since I watched her pour the bottle of hydrogen peroxide down her back and then doctor her well earned stripes. Sixteen hours since I broke free of the last restraint holding my control and decimated every object within my reach.
Now, I sit staring at the clock over the rim of the glass against my lips and down the last drops of scotch. I realize we are two hours late for brunch with my parents.
The empty tumbler shatters against the wall I sit facing before I even realize I’ve thrown it. I snatch my cellphone from the massive oak desk and dial the clubhouse. “Mr. and Mrs. Payne, please. Let them know Roman is calling.”
After only a few seconds tick by my fathers voice comes over the line, “Roman, is everything alright?.”
“Yes father, everything is fine. I know how demanding mot
her can be so please set her mind at ease. Unfortunately Heather has regretfully eaten something which did not agree with her and she’s suffering from a bit of nausea. I’m sure she’ll be as good as new tomorrow morning. Is dinner still scheduled for six tomorrow?”
“It is. We are dining at your mothers favorite restaurant on Boulevard Montfleury—“
“Il Convivio, yes, I’m familiar. Heather and I will see you and mother at six.”
“Please, inform Heather your mother and I send our sympathy; What a terrible way to begin a vacation.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“Okay, son. Your mother and I love you, can’t wait to see you two tomorrow.”
Without waiting to find out if he’s finished speaking I end the call, dropping the phone on the desk as I lean forward and resting my elbows on the desk and lay my head in my hands.
I don’t wish for Heather to become number thirteen.
My mind grapples with the conflicting emotions I’m feeling. I refuse to allow her transgression of disregarding my orders to go unpunished. I question the possibility that perhaps I allowed my new odd feelings to permit her rewards she hasn’t rightfully deserved? A soft knock interrupts my musings and pulls me from my reverie. “Come in.” I snap at the unknown intruder upon my thoughts without even caring enough to look and see who it is.
When Heather’s bare thighs are visual in my peripheral I allow my eyes to slowly inch up her flesh to find her standing in front of my desk clothed in nothing but my under shirt. The vision in front of me causes a tightening in my chest and a dull ache to take root. I find myself sucking in my breath through clenched teeth at the unwelcome sensation.
My eyes find her face and lock onto her eyes. She holds my gaze mere seconds before glancing down. “Would you like to explain to me, Heather, why you feel you have a right to choose the clothing you wear?
Roman: Book 1 Page 8