“It's not love,” she says, her voice so close to my ear.
“Hell no, it's not.” I run my mouth over her ear, running it over the edges of the diamond earring. “Thank Christ. If I loved you, I'd hate to see what I would become.”
“I didn't make you like this.” Her fingernails score up my back and I drop my forehead to rest on her shoulder. “I'm not to blame.”
“Yes you are,” I hiss. “It always come down to you.” I drag my hands down her thighs, shoving her dress up to her hips.
“I really dislike you,” she says, her hands finding their way to my back as I fumble with my belt and my zipper. “I do, I do, I do.”
“And you want me anyway. So what does that make you?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she whispers. “I'm nothing to you.”
“Wrong,” I say. “You're my woman.” I know the words are true the second they leave my lips. She's my other half, the person that brings out the worst and the best in me. The object of my decade-long obsession. But the reality of her is what brings to my knees, not the fantasy. The smell of her skin. The feel of her lips. The light in her eyes. It's so much better than I deserve.
But I'll take it anyway.
Her hair is a dark halo around her head, her lipstick is smudged all over her mouth, and her eyes are wide and frantic, but she's so goddamn magical I almost can't stand it. I plunge into her and she cries out, arching her back. The diamonds in her ears catch the light and it makes my cock swell to see my gifts on her body. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me against her soft body.
“Dorian,” she murmurs, my name so sexy coming from her lips.
“You're my woman,” I repeat as I press into her. I drop my elbows on either side of her head, caging her in as I thrust into her, harder and harder. She raises her head, brushing her lips against mine. The soft sensation conflicts with the rough slide of my cock in her and I feel myself slow my pace. An aching sensation rushes through me as I shudder against her. She trembles beneath me, lifting her hand to cup my skull and scrape her fingernails across my scalp. “I won't give you up.” I pull back to look in her eyes. “That's why you're here. Because I want you and I need you and no one else gets to have you.” I can't stop myself from saying the damning words, but I want her to know.
I want her to know why she can never leave me.
“Selfish, spoiled man,” she whispers. I buck my hips, letting every inch of me slide into her heavenly cunt. The pleasure is so sharp it's almost painful.
“Beautiful, mad woman,” I say through clenched teeth. “We deserve each other.” She clenches her pussy around me and tightens her hand in my hair and I drop my head back. I take that as a sign of her agreement. I grind into her, wanting her to hold me until the day I die. She shoves my shirt off my shoulder and presses her mouth to my collarbone, trailing her wet tongue all over my warm skin. I shove my arm under her and snake it around her waist, lifting her. I can feel where the ridge of the riser created a groove in her back. I make a mental note to soothe it with my tongue later. “Hold me tight,” I say.
She doesn't fight me. She tightens her body around me as I roll my hips against hers. Our bodies move together, as one. Urgent, but not hard. It's not exactly comfortable, but it feels too damn good to rush it. She buries her face in my neck, muffling her moans against my skin. “I'm not sorry,” I say because I can't lie to her and I'm not sorry. I'm never sorry. Whatever terrible, vile things I've done or will do, they bring me closer to what I want. And right now, all I want is her.
And she knows it.
With every thrust of my cock, she knows it. With every taste of my tongue, she knows it. With every bite and slap and fist and drop of blood, she knows it.
She knows me. She knows us.
And so do I.
*****
I throw my head back and it bounces against the hard wood of the stairs beneath me. My vision goes blurry as I stare up at the glittering crystals of light above me. He's done it again. He's overpowered me with his words and the power of his being, even though I don't want to forgive him. He hasn't asked for forgiveness. In fact, he throws forgiveness in my face.
He doesn't want it.
I don't know what he wants, other than me. Maybe that's enough.
I shake my head as my vision comes back into focus.
No, it's definitely not.
When he fucks me like this and pulls me against his big, strong body, it can be easy to forget myself. But it's not like it was before. The darkness doesn't disappear when Dorian fucks me. It only grows and grows. It's taking me over and I don't fight. I let it take over.
I rip at his shirt and he leans back to let me have a good look at him, bracing his arm himself against the wall. He rolls his hips and I watch his sinewy abdominal muscles move. I like how he looks between my thighs. He drops a hand to my face, his fingers barely brushing across my lips. “My little crazy one,” he whispers. I kiss his fingertips, then raise my arms above my head, opening my body up to him. He lets out a low growl and grabs my wrists. He presses them down into the unyielding wood, his fingers digging into my skin. I cry out as my back bends over the riser, but I don't want him to stop.
And he doesn't.
He thrusts into me again and again. He moves slow and rhythmically, like he's making love to me even though he's not. When he's inside of me, everything is easier. When he's gone, that's when it gets bad. That's when the days get dark and the air seems to still and life seems to stop. The second the orgasm unfurls in my brain I know exactly how I want to punish him. The same way he wants to torture me.
By making it last forever.
He drops on top of me as he comes, his jagged cry cutting through throbbing in my brain. I hold him tight, not letting him go just yet. If I let him go, I'm not sure what will happen. Part of me wants him to go and never come back, but the other part, the more insistent part, just wants for all these games to end. I want to know what he's thinking. I want to know his plans for me and for the future. I want him to stop being so cruel. Most importantly, though, I want to be free.
“Take me outside,” I whisper in his ear. “I want to see the stars.”
To my surprise, he doesn't question my request. He pulls out of me slowly and we both moan at the feeling. We re-arrange our clothing silently, even though the dress has been ripped beyond repair. He puts his suit jacket over my shoulders and then he stoops so that I can climb onto his back. It's awkward because we've never done it before, but eventually I hold him tight enough and he lifts me and carries me to the door without a word. When the cold night air hits my face, it's almost too good to be true.
I tilt my head upward, staring at the inky black sky. It's a cloudy night but some stars peak out, here and there. It's more beautiful than all the jewels and crystal chandeliers in the world. It's more precious. Staring up at the night sky, my mind drifts back to my childhood, to the first night I met Jessica.
It was Christmas Eve, over ten years ago. I flew in, watching the city lights twinkling outside the airplane window. My father had sent a car to pick me up from Kennedy airport. I rode to his new townhouse in Chelsea, my stomach in knots the entire time. I hadn't seen him in months. I was terrified of doing or saying something wrong and ruining the visit. In fact, I was terrified of what I would say to him at all. Small talk with my father seemed like a foreign concept. Laughing would be unheard of. But things were going to be different, I told myself. The house was new. The neighborhood was new. All the old feelings could be left in the shadows of the mansion I'd grown up in, far away and forgotten.
When the car pulled up to the curb, I knew instantly things were never going to be the same. I knew I would never have to go back to that dark place. I knew because Jessica was there, standing in the light of the doorway, a smile on her face like she was happy to see me. I'd never seen her before and I had no idea she was my father's fiance, but just seeing her standing there was enough. She was wearing Gucci and my father's huge ring glinted on her
finger. Her hair was red, not pale like my mother's, but a thick, glossy auburn. She looked healthy and clean and young. She looked pure. She wasn't complicated and sad like my mother had been. She was simple. I loved her from the first moment I saw her. I was sixteen years old and desperate for a place to call home. Jessica offered that to me and I accepted it greedily. And for a few short years, we were a family.
I tell myself to stop thinking about Jessica, because it will distract me from Dorian. I spent so long running from her and rejecting her love after my father's death. I feel so guilty. Time was so short and I let it pass me by. I died in Turkey and she's the one paying for it. Now we're both alone, me in this drafty old mansion and her in the city in her empty townhouse. I'm lonelier than I want to admit to, because I should be used to being alone by now. But the days are longer than they ever used to be. I have too much time on my hands and none of my old coping mechanisms to deal with it. All I have is Dorian. He's everything to me now – lover, friend, captor, enemy – because that's the way he wants it to be.
If that's what he wants, that's what he'll get.
When I start to shiver, he takes me inside despite my protestations.
In my big bed, he fucks me again on top of the crisp, clean sheets. He runs his hands over my bruises and sucks my tits slowly, like he's not in any rush. I come twice before he finishes. I can't stop myself and I don't want to. I shiver and moan and call out his name like I've forgiven him for everything he's done to me. Like I've forgotten. I haven't, of course, I just want him to think I have.
He doesn't fall asleep for an hour or so afterwards, after stroking my hair and whispering little nothings in my ear that make me laugh. It's almost like we actually did have a date, just like two normal people in the city. It's almost like we didn't just try to beat each other and play our morbid little games. It's almost like we actually like each other, just a little bit. But we did play those games and I'm about to play one more.
When it's dark and the only sound in the room is his slow, steady breathing and the ticking of the old clock in the corner, I slip out his arms and pull myself to the end of the bed. I wait for her. I'm positive she read the note I passed to her earlier. It was hard to scribble quickly and legibly on the small tag from the dress, but I'm sure she could read it. I had to move quickly, so that he didn't notice it. But I succeeded and now it's almost time.
A dull metallic ding from the clock signals the hour change. I'm used to the sound and so is he, thankfully. He barely stirs. I hear her outside the door even though she's being quiet. I hear her hand on the doorknob. Irina appears out of the darkness, a ghostly vision in white. She finds my eyes in the darkness and hands me the little bundle. Before I can say thank you, she's gone again, slipping out and closing the door soundlessly like she was never there. I know she's terrified, especially after what happened tonight. I'll have to figure out a way to make her at ease again. We should be joining together in solidarity. Maybe we'll be stronger that way. I'm about to find out.
I unfold the little pocket of fabric and run my hands over its contents. The little glass vial and syringe are so familiar. I know exactly how much to use. I don't want to make him useless, but I do want to make him putty in my hands. The morphine will do that. He started this war but I'm going to finish it, right here. Tonight, it's my turn to play dirty.
I don't feel sorry as I inject the morphine into his sleeping body.
I don't feel sorry at all.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I dream of Adrienne covered in jewels.
They sparkle and shimmer from her neck to her navel, from her fingers to her wrists, her toes to her ankles. Diamonds. Rubies. Emeralds. She shines like a queen. A queen of some long forgotten kingdom that's been left behind by time. I'm enthralled, utterly enraptured. I long to touch and she makes me beg. And I do. On my knees.
I go in and out of a strange realm between dreaming and waking. I can feel Adrienne's warmth surrounding me and it makes it even harder to want to open my eyes. I don't know how long I've been next to her and I don't care. I just want to stay there forever, wrapped up in her. Deep inside her. But there's something wrong. I can sense it, even through the dull haze that's settled in my skull.
“Dorian,” I hear the voice lightly at the back of my brain and at first I ignore it. It seems like a voice from the past and I hope that it will go away on its own. I don't want to think about anything outside of this bed and anything outside of Adrienne. I definitely don't want to think about my wife, who should be across the country by now. She should be the furthest thing from my mind. Besides, I can barely slit my eyes open and moving is even more difficult.
Unfortunately, the voice isn't going away. It's only getting more insistent. I keep hearing my name, over and over. I crack open an eyelid and roll my head toward the sound. As my vision clears, I'm greeted with an unwelcome sight. My wife is standing beside the bed, decked out in the finest that Bergdorf's and my wallet can offer. She's most definitely not in California. How irritating.
“Isn't this interesting,” she says, each word razor sharp. She drags her eyes across the bed and I can only imagine what she sees. With a groan, I prop myself up on one elbow and survey the damage. I'm at the foot of the bed and Adrienne is sprawled the opposite way, her head on the pillows near the headboard. Her dark hair bleeds across the white pillowcases. The bed sheet is tangled around our waists, revealing the breathtaking area from her bellybutton to her collarbones to my wife's gaze. Adrienne's still sound asleep, one arm across my thighs and the other tossed over her head. Her beautiful face remains calm and peaceful and I know she's completely unaware of the poisonous snake in our midst.
I plan to keep it that way.
“All this time I thought it was the coke-head in Tribeca that was keeping your little prick wet,” Selene hisses. “But you've been entertaining a circus freak instead.”
“What are you doing here?” I croak, the words coming out as jumbled as if I had my mouth stuffed with cotton.
“It's my house. Don't I have every right to be here?”
“No,” I say, sitting up as slowly as I can, so as not to disturb my sleeping lover. I lift her thigh off mine and lightly place it on the mattress as I untangle myself from our bed. “It has nothing to do with you.”
“Bullshit it doesn't,” her voice rises and I look at her sharply. “How long has this been happening? How long have you been bringing women here?”
“Keep your voice down,” I say and she gives me a look that might've made a lesser man's balls shrivel up. Luckily for me, I am not a lesser man. I force myself to get up. I can't appear to be under the influence before Selene; she will exploit any weakness.
Adrienne is my greatest weakness but Selene hasn't figured that out yet.
“You like cripples now, husband? Has a whole women become too much for you to handle?” she asks as I stand, making sure not to show just how much my brain is swimming as I do. I should've been more careful. It's Adrienne's fault, of course. She drugged me but I didn't fight her once I figured it out. I just let her do what she wanted with me. I laid in bed with her for days, fucked from morning to night, only pausing to sleep or eat. It was enjoyable. It was relaxing and stress-free. But, like everything pleasurable, it was doomed to come to and end. My wife has just stumbled upon my secret, even though she doesn't realize yet what she's done. I can't let her know just how much power she's gained over me. That would be very inconvenient. “Normal sex is no longer enough?”
“I warned you once, Selene,” I say, keeping my voice low. “Do not wake her.”
“Or what? What if I wake her and throw her out of my house? I have half a mind to throw her out the window.”
“She is... fragile,” I say, forcing myself not to look at Adrienne. If I look at her, I know my face will betray my fondness for her. “And she's not leaving. You are.”
“Fragile?” Selene says with a laugh that could crack glass. “Is that a codeword for missing parts? You're depraved.”
I roll my head on my shoulders, reminding myself that it's never proper to hit a woman. I enjoy violence, but I'm not completely uncultured. Besides, it's in my best interest to keep it civil. Selene must leave here with no marks on her. She must leave here exactly as she came. “Put on some clothes. I don't want to look at your dirty little prick right now,” she scoffs and I feel a little of that resolve break. She thinks she's in charge now, because she's learned something about me that I tried to keep secret. However, she hasn't figured the worst of it out yet and that means I still have control. I still have the power.
I grab her arm and drag her from the room and she tries to pull away, but I'm too strong. She follows me out into the hallway because she has no choice. “Let me go!” she hisses and I clench my jaw as her voice echoes in the vast mansion around us. I swear, all I want is peace and quiet, but that's the last thing I seem to be getting lately. “You have no right to treat me this way!”
“I have every right,” I respond as we reach the staircase.
“We had an understanding.” I can hear the tears before I see them. I resist the urge to roll my eyes in disgust. Tears will get her nothing, I don't know why she insists on them. They may work on her father, but they have never and will never work on me. “You fuck your whore in the city and you keep it quiet,” she's continues, her voice thick with manipulative emotion. “But this is our home! Why would you bring someone else here?”
“This is not our home. This is my estate. I can do whatever I please within these walls,” I say as I stop at the top of the stairs. I can hear movement in the foyer below and I know my few employees are down there, hiding out of sight and pretending not to hear our argument. I'll have to find someone to blame later. There's no reason that my wife could've gotten past them so easily. This never would've happened if I hadn't dismissed Bryan the night of the dinner. He's in the city, no doubt, keeping everything going in my absence. Again, I've made an easy mistake. I hadn't wanted him here because I didn't want his presence to upset Adrienne. He would remind her of Jessica and I didn't want that. I wanted Adrienne to forget all about that old messiness and emotional entanglements. She didn't need those things anymore. She only needed me.
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