Paradise: The Masters of The Order Novel Two

by Verne, Jillian

  Her eyes widened, the pupils dilating, but her lips remained locked. On a gut level, the idea appealed to her, but she was ashamed of it and that was unacceptable.

  “Oh, no, Isabella. No being ashamed. Your needs do not make you fifty shades of fucked up either. You,” he tapped her nose, “are perfect just the way you are.”

  Her eyes softened with a look of admiration that stirred every dominant instinct. “I’m not as open as you, Jacques. Sex was taboo in my family and with four older brothers, experimenting was kind of impossible. I fantasize about a dominant lover, but…” The words trailed away.

  “You’ve never had one,” he finished for her.

  She shook her head.

  “But you would like to try?”

  She nodded.

  “And you are scared?”

  “No. I’m not scared. Not with you, Jacques. Not at all.”

  And she wasn’t. There was absolutely no fear in those deep brown eyes. For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to do with that. Everyone looked at him with fear in their eyes, especially women, but not Isabella. She looked at him as an equal even though she knew full well who he was and more importantly, what he was. It was shocking. And wonderful. Wow.

  “Then you’ve come to the right place.” He smiled at her.

  “I didn’t come here,” she smiled back, eyes playful, “you kidnaped me.”

  He couldn’t resist. “And what else would you like me to do to you, my little sub?”

  Those eyes shot away again. Now she was scared. Isabella may have been a seductress at the opening and a fireball in the state room, but the vulnerability he sensed was in there too, especially around the topic of her sexuality. He had to tread more lightly and he would. He had a feeling that this woman would be worth the wait and he could be patient when he wanted to be. He switched to a more innocent subject.

  “You are a special person, Isla. Very unique to match your name.”

  She visibly relaxed and started talking again. He liked the sound of her voice, the accent in it was very alluring, and wondered how that sexy voice would sound talking dirty.

  “My grandfather nicknamed me when I was a little girl. He grew up in Ibiza. He called it his isla paradisíaca. That’s what he called me, mi pequeña isla paradisíaca, my little island paradise in Spanish. My brothers started calling me Isla for short and the name stuck.”

  His mouth went dry and he tried to hide his reaction. No way he was explaining what was running through his head.

  Isla Paradisíaca.

  Island Paradise.

  Paradise.

  His paradise?

  She yanked the towel out of her hair while she spoke. The wet locks fell free. The wet black locks.

  You will know her by her red hair. Guess not.

  While he was mentally engaged in his little walk down memory lane, Isabella leaned over and pressed her mouth to his. He hesitated, shocked as she brushed her lips over his, sampling. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman kissed him uninvited.

  Probably because it was NEVER.

  When she flattened her hand against his chest and silently begged him to let her in, his lips parted as if by their own will. She kissed him, long and slow and deep, as if she was trying to understand something about him through the kiss. When she pulled back, something mysterious played across her eyes.

  “Booze or no booze, I would definitely remember that.” Her fingers rose to her lips. “We really didn’t, did we?”

  Jacques licked her taste off his lips. Yeah, fire. She would definitely be a hot lover.

  “No, Isla Paradisíaca. We didn’t, but the day is still young.”

  5

  Maybe

  Isabella lay face down, sprawled across a sinfully soft chaise, drifting in and out of sleep and enjoying the solitude. The warm sun caressed her skin and the gentle roar of the ocean sounded in the distance, but she wasn’t listening to the waves. Her sex god was on the phone inside barking commands and bossing people around. God, the man had an intimidating voice. A dominant voice. Full of intelligence and sex appeal. She adored the fluttery feeling that booming voice gave her. Her pussy throbbed just listening to him.

  You are truly not wired for normal. Are you, Isla?

  Squirreling away to strange country with a complete stranger was one thing. Admitting her long hidden fantasy of being a submissive to him after finding out he was a Dom was quite another.

  Why did I do that?

  “Something is really wrong with you,” a little voice whispered in her head.

  “Or maybe with a man like Jacques, something is really right,” another voice said.

  They were back and shouldn’t she have just known they would be.

  Two women lived inside of her. The Angel Isabella went to church every Sunday, helped the sick and was fiercely loyal to family. The Devil Isabella was relegated to living in her shadow.

  “You cannot be considering an affair with this man,” the Angel Isabella challenged with the perfect level of disapproving shock in her voice.

  Well, actually, she was. Jacques had a compelling magnetism and for some inexplicable reason, she trusted him. He was a good person, a successful person.

  “And the sexiest person you’ve ever met. Come on, Isla, consider it. Remember all those kinky fantasies. You know it’s what you want. You'll have the time of your life with a guy like Jacques. Give me my moment in the sun and you’ll see,” the Devil Isabella tempted.

  No fair playing the life card, but she was a devil after all. And she was right.

  The real Isabella knew exactly what she was, had known since seventeen, and it wasn’t as simple as having a few kinky fantasies. That’s why she didn’t grab a life preserver and dive over the side of the boat when Jacques said he was a Dom.

  She had arrived at University a virgin, straight out of a devout Catholic household. Forget dating. Sex was a sin. Even when you were married, except to make more Catholic babies. She didn’t believe that now, but she sure had then. Still, seventeen liked boys on the edge of danger, something wild and forbidden to sweep them away, and she met one on the first day of school.

  They fooled around a lot, but her strict religious upbringing didn’t allow her to do very much without the fear of God’s wrath coming down on her. An orgasm was not worth an eternity in hell. But wild and forbidden generally didn’t mean patient and understanding. Especially that night.

  They were in his dorm room, his roommates just outside the unlocked door watching football. She could hear the muddled sound of their running commentary through the door.

  “Stop pretending, Saint Isabella. I’m going to give you what you really want.”

  Her boyfriend said he was going to go down on her. She’d never allowed him to touch her there, not without a safe denim barrier anyway, and it was more than she was ready to handle. She resisted, saying no, over and over, but he ignored her.

  He unbuttoned her jeans and she tried to push him away. He slapped her hand. When he reached for the zipper, she didn’t stop him. Her jeans slid off and he pressed her to the bed, spreading her bare legs with his knees.

  “You will like this, Isabella, I promise. You can go to confession in the morning.”

  “Please, please don’t.”

  He didn’t stop.

  He eased to his knees between her legs and gripped her wrists over her belly. She struggled against him, but he held her down and buried his head between her thighs. When he began to gently lave her sex, she wanted to cry out, but stayed silent. She told herself that she couldn’t handle the shame of being caught like this in front of his friends. If they stepped through the door, they would see everything.

  But that was a lie.

  In an incredibly short time, her objection melted. “Don’t,” turned into “Don’t stop,” and she came against his mouth.

  Her orgasm, her very first orgasm, crashed through her as the announcer on the television shouted, “Goal,” and his friends erupted into a burst
of hoots and hollers on the other side of the door.

  “That’s ironic, but appropriate,” her boyfriend teased with a self-satisfied grin and licked his lips. “Told you, you’d like it. Now what do you say to me?”

  Her body shook from the force of the orgasm. She felt weak, nauseous, but hell didn’t open and swallow her up.

  “Thank you.”

  Two little words. Words she’d never connected to anything sexual sprang from her lips, suddenly carrying an entirely new meaning. As she said them, a tight pull deep in her body took her hard, letting her know in no uncertain terms that something was different in the way she was wired.

  Once the afterglow faded, guilt, good old fashioned Catholic guilt, crept in. It was months before she even mentioned the incident in confession. The priest was appalled, insisting that what happened to her was no different from rape. Perhaps he was right, but she never saw it that way. She didn’t have the normal response to what happened to her. She may be a sinner, but she didn’t feel violated.

  Wild and forbidden had turned her body against her soul and she didn’t fight. Not really. She got off on it. Liked the whole sordid event from start to toe-curling finish. The juxtaposition of vulnerability and fear against that amazing pleasure and eventual surrender enthralled her, so in the end, she admitted the confusing truth to herself.

  She wasn’t normal.

  As Isabella lay in the hot sun, she thought about all the nights afterwards when despite the guilt, she masturbated and made herself come to the memory. She’d discovered her truth at seventeen, but she never went for wild and forbidden again.

  Until now.

  Maybe the time had come to let the Devil Isabella work on her tan.

  Her cell phone rang, shattering the trail of her thoughts. Isabella felt guilty just hearing Teo’s ringtone. She didn’t want to think about what her brother would do if he knew she was in Monaco. Especially with a man like Jacques. Jesucristo, Teo would know what Jacques was in a heartbeat. Hell, he might figure it out just hearing her say Jacques’s name over the phone. Teo and Jacques were the same. Teo never said it, but she knew.

  What’s the old saying? What a man doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  If she didn’t fulfill her secret desires now, she may never have the chance. She didn’t want to deal with reality and merciful fate was offering the perfect escape. If her brother would only do the same. She turned off the ringer without answering and stuffed her phone into the bag under her chaise.

  One week, max.

  Jacques said he had to leave for New York in one week and invited her to stay until then. She had weeks of accrued vacation and given that she hadn’t taken one since arriving at the Institut, didn’t feel particularly guilty about taking some time off now. She would say goodbye to Jacques in one week and then deal.

  For the time being, she wanted to live. And not in the way she had been. She wanted to lose herself to this mysterious man and become the woman she always wanted to be.

  “Well, well. If it isn’t the lovely Isabella. I should have known Jacques wouldn’t let a beauty like you slip away.”

  She startled, lifting a hand block the glare, but the bright sunlight blinded her to the speaker’s face. She hadn’t expected company and couldn’t roll over without giving the man standing over her a nice peek at her girls.

  He shifted his body out of the direct sun and Jerard’s soulful brown eyes appeared. He was still dressed in the grey suit from the opening, but he looked much worse for the wear.

  Something's off.

  She leaned up on her elbows and looked deeper into his eyes. Pinpoints. And not from the sun. Jerard was high as a kite.

  Jacques shot across the terrace like a racing bull. “What the fuck, Jerard? Where were you?”

  The roar practically flipped Isabella off the chaise.

  Jerard shrugged. “Nowhere interesting.”

  The look on Jacques’s face said everything. He saw it too. As the two men faced off, Jerard looked resigned to another tongue lashing.

  Keep quiet, Isla. Let Jacques handle it.

  They were friends. It wasn’t her place to interfere. But, damn, er, darn it, she knew a lot about situations like this. Jacques was angry, making demands, and that was the opposite of what Jerard needed. Especially in his current condition.

  “Jerard, you should go inside and eat something,” she interjected.

  Jacques’s jaw almost hit the deck.

  Before he could utter a single word of protest, she added, “Then come back and sunbathe with me. Jacques left me here all alone.” She propped herself a little higher on her arms, plumping her girls, and bent her leg at the knee. As her foot swung back and forth through the air, she threw a little pout into her performance. “I’m lonely.”

  It was a lie, but she wanted to help and the sexy come-on would make Jerard forget all about Jacques.

  “Will you roll onto your back if I do, pretty lady?”

  “Do what I say and you’ll see,” she sang.

  Jerard grinned and walked into the house, leaving her alone with Jacques. He was quaking mad.

  “What the hell are you doing, Isla?” he shouted as soon as Jerard disappeared. “You don’t understand what’s going on here.”

  “I sure as hell do understand, Jacques, and don’t raise your voice to me. I’m not a fool and I’m certainly not blind. I can see that you want to help him, but you were making a huge mistake and I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t stop you.”

  “What?”

  Jacques was clearly confused. And obviously not used to being bossed around.

  What a shock. “He’s high, Jacques. He probably hasn’t eaten and very soon, his blood sugar will drop. That will make him want another hit almost as much as the addiction that your eyes tell me he’s battling. If he comes to spend time with me, maybe I can help. At the very least, it will give his body time to process the shit he pumped into it before he adds more.”

  Jacques collapsed onto the chaise next to her and she sat up. He was so upset, he didn’t even look at her bare chest.

  “What am I going to do, Isla? I love that man and he’s killing himself. When this began, I thought Jerard was just having a little fun. I was happy to see him let his guard down, but it didn't just come down, it crashed down. I misinterpreted the entire situation and now things have gotten out of hand.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Six months, maybe more. I don’t know. Jerard promised me he had everything under control, but I know he doesn’t. I don’t know what he’s taking, but it’s getting worse. I feel him slipping away, losing himself, and I don’t know how to stop him."

  “You can’t. Only he can stop himself.”

  “That’s what the doctor said.” Frustration bristled in Jacques’s voice. “Jerard needs help, but he won’t get it. And he won’t let me get it for him.”

  “People have to do things for themselves sometimes, Jacques.”

  “It’s not in my nature to let someone I care for suffer. Jerard has never let another person care for him and I can’t break through those barriers. He has a sad story, Isla.”

  “We all do. You did the right thing by seeking professional help.”

  “Yeah, I know. I don’t have to hear it again. Until he seeks help himself, nothing will change.”

  “Right. So we just have to persuade him.”

  “This isn’t your problem, Isla.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Compassionate nature. Remember?” She smiled and took Jacques's hand. “First thing we have to do is find out what he’s using. He came for the party. That means he plans to stick around for a while. He wouldn’t do that without bringing a stash. When he comes back, you search his room. At least then we’ll know what we’re dealing with.”

  Jacques looked at her as if she was insane. “I am not leaving you alone with him. Not while he’s high.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the offer, jefe, but I can take care of myself.�
�

  The look she got in response to that little proclamation made her shiver even in the hot sun. She straightened her spine. “Don’t fight with me, Jacques, or I’ll search his room myself.”

  “Be careful, Isabella.”

  Okay, I'm Isabella again. No more friends. “Don’t look at me that way, Jacques. I’m not your sub.” Not yet.

  Jacques shot to his feet. “I’m getting some tanning oil. You’re going to get a sunburn.”

  “My skin is fine.”

  “Dominant. Remember? What are you going to say to him?”

  “Nothing. I’m going to listen.”

  “I don’t like this,” Jacques declared and went back inside. Only to return thirty seconds later with a bottle of tanning oil. He dropped it onto her chaise. “Put it on,” he barked and walked away.

  Well that was rude, kind of nice that he cares, but still rude.

  Her sex god was bossy with a capital “B.”

  So of course, she ignored him.

  *****

  Jerard strolled onto the deck. His limbs were heavy. Everything was heavy. It was a bad night. A very bad night. He felt dirty, ashamed of his own depravity and completely worthless. He couldn’t maintain the illusion. Not without help. His newfound fame as Darion LeClair’s protégé opened doors.

  Unexpected doors.

  Dangerous doors.

  Darion was a premier player in the art world. Everyone who was anyone knew of his illustrious reputation for having the Midas touch. Showing at one of his galleries virtually guaranteed instant fame and fortune, and Jerard’s experience with him was no exception.

  His new life with Jacques and entering the Order bolstered him initially, but the insecurity was still there, lurking just beneath the surface. His need for reinforcement only increased as the spotlight of success grew brighter. It highlighted the imperfect image bred into the psyche of a neglected boy from a poor neighborhood. The one who wasn’t good enough for anybody to love.

  Last night, he’d sworn he wouldn’t do it. He wanted to be there for his best friend, but he succumbed. Seeing Julianne and Nicolai’s love plastered everywhere in the gallery started the pity party. He should be happy for Julianne, but he couldn’t handle it. So he did what every best friend would do on such an important night. He went on a binge and ended up on someone’s floor, surrounded by naked people he didn’t know. He scurried away at dawn to seek the comfort of Jacques, only to disappoint the person he respected most in this world, like he always seemed to do.