by Zara Cox
Before I knew the true depth of the darkness in your soul. Before I found out you were capable of cold-blooded murder.
“Before real life got in the way.”
“Real life,” he breathes, and I swear I see dragon’s fire flaming from his aura. “And what we had before this ‘real life’ was…?” His voice is deceptively casual.
Behind us, the elevator doors open, but he doesn’t move. Over his shoulder, I see four people waiting to board.
“Axel, we’re here. There are people waiting…” I venture.
His eyes don’t move from my face. “I asked you a question,” he spits out. “What did we have?”
“Nothing more than unsustainable dreams spun by horny teenage idiots?” I hiss under my breath. We’re gathering an audience and although his large body obscures most of mine, it doesn’t take a genius to work out where his hand is situated.
I hear whispering before one man dressed in a shiny PVC boiler suit clears his throat.
Axel removes his hand, unhurriedly buttons my coat before he steps back. His face is the taut mask of a stranger and the hand that grasps mine is painfully tight, his control barely leashed.
The man in the suit receives a withering look that makes him take a hurried step back once he realizes whom he dared to disturb.
We enter the main reception area of the club and the first true taste of what goes on here hits me in the face. Even this early in the morning, the scene is so shockingly decadent, my jaw drops open.
In the city that never sleeps, apparently neither does the craving for punishment.
In a private alcove, two scantily clad women are openly flogging each other, the sting of the whips drawing sobs with each blow delivered; a middle-aged man in a three-piece suit is crawling across the floor, shaking his head and muttering shame over and over; a young man, barely over twenty-one, is seated in front of a video game, his severely bloodshot eyes glued to the screen as his fingers fly over the handheld console. Occasionally, he sips from a mug labeled Rat Poison.
Unlike the last time I was here, there are no nude clients or lurid sex acts being performed, for which I thank my lucky stars.
I follow Axel as he walks to another private elevator. The stunning black woman behind the desk openly eye-fucks him as we pass. He doesn’t acknowledge her. Her gaze shifts to me, and whatever she sees in my face makes her eyes widen a touch.
His mocking reminder of my possessiveness over him once upon a time rises to slap me in the face. I want to tell her I have no claims on him. I don’t straighten the frown I sense on my face, and when the words lock in my throat, I tell myself it’s because I don’t care enough to utter them.
We enter another elevator. This time he doesn’t look at me or move in on me. He faces forward, jaw locked, although his hand doesn’t release mine.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised when he hits the button for the second floor and walks me back to the suite I rented.
Did I, on some subliminal level, imagine he would whisk me to his personal domain now that I am supposedly his?
No, this is a far better fit. The reason I had the club make a replica of his pool house bedroom was so I had an inescapable reminder of my dangerously naïve past. The grief and horror that burn in my heart are adequate reminders, but the visual evidence is a useful stimulus.
He punches in the code and pushes the door open. I enter and my chest tightens as I’m slammed by the very thing I craved a moment ago.
Behind me, Axel hulks in ominous silence. When it becomes too much to bear, I turn and face him.
His face is hewn from stone, his eyes so dark and stormy that the gray looks almost black.
“Now what?” My voice is a hoarse, shaky mess I thoroughly detest.
He kicks the door shut with his foot and shrugs off his jacket.
He prowls forward, tossing the leather without looking where it lands.
“We’re going to take a shower. I’m going to fuck you again. I’m going to feed you. Then we’re going to talk about this.” He indicates the room with a slow twirl of his finger.
Chapter Seventeen
BATTLE STATIONS
Axel
Nothing more than unsustainable dreams spun by horny teenage idiots.
I can’t get the words out of my head. Which is absurd considering I have endless proof of her heartless duplicity. It’s why she’s here, after all.
So why the fuck do I want to smash my fist into that damn painting I once loved so much? Why do I want to destroy every piece of furniture in the room?
I inhale. Slow. Steady. Slow—
Fuck it.
My boots come off with vicious kicks. Her little gasp is music to my ears. I want more. I will have more. Preferably when I’m balls deep inside her treacherous little body.
“Take off your clothes.”
Either she’s resigned to her fate or she’s eager to be rid of the borrowed clothes. I don’t care either way. The coat is discarded, and the T-shirt and shoes come off faster than they went on. In a heartbeat, she’s naked. Her beauty punches me in the gut.
Christ, she’s beyond gorgeous. From her tumbling hair to her swollen lips to that immoral little triangle at the top of her smooth, shapely thighs. The triangle my cock is burning to fill. And her breasts. Fuck me, those tits were the subject of my wet dreams long before I ever got to taste what was between her legs.
I force myself not to look at the bruises on her body.
I force myself not to ask why.
I force myself not to wonder, for the millionth time, how I got it so wrong.
I’ve driven myself insane for far too long.
Tonight, my cock overrules every single thought. I unzip my pants and push away my remaining clothes.
Her gaze drops to my erection, her mouth parting on a cute little pant that has my balls tightening with the raging need to fuck. Her thighs do that twitchy, slidey thing that drives me nuts. I close the distance between us, slipping my fingers into her hair.
Her head tilts up, way up, and I realize, despite what I said in the elevator about the heels, that I prefer her like this. Petite. Breakable.
Mine.
I fist her hair, drawing her head back, exposing her face to me. Her nostrils quiver with a false vulnerability and her bewitching blue eyes darken with a peculiar light that reminds me of the guileful heart I’m dealing with.
I drop my hands to her shoulders and turn her around. “Bathroom. Now,” I rasp.
She obeys. Her plump, heart-shaped ass taunts my cock as she walks. I resist the urge to turn that glorious skin pink and stalk after her.
Like in every suite in the club, the adjoining bathroom is fitted with every amenity and luxury. The fees I charge demand nothing less than the best. I bypass the Jacuzzi bath and head for the large shower cubicle. The shower is fitted with half a dozen heads ranging from a gentle spray to jet stream. I select a middle range and turn back to her.
She’s gathering her hair to her crown, her movements slow and sultry, her eyes watchful.
“Leave it. It’s getting wet whether you tie it or not.”
She lets go, and it tumbles back down, half obscuring her face and breasts.
Un-fucking-satisfactory.
I stand with my back to the spray, the jets beating down on my shoulders, licking down my front. I want her tongue to do the licking. With special concentration on the throbbing organ between my legs. “Come here.”
She places one foot tentatively in front of the other, the movement of her hips rolling into her slim torso. Hell, even the way she moves sets me alight.
Cleo McCarthy is built for fucking. Dirty, bed-breaking fucking. The kind I only managed to deliver once during our time as horny teenage idiots.
Don’t think about that.
She arrives in front me, and I clench my gut against the urge to desecrate her completely. Right fucking now.
I reach for her and turn her so the water hits her body. Her hair is drenched in se
conds, plastering the lower strands to her breasts. I move the wet tresses out of the way and pass my thumbs over her erect nipples. They’re dark pink from when I sucked them earlier. Heat washes up her chest, and the gasp I crave bursts from her lips.
“You like that?”
Heavy lids sweep down. “Hmm,” she moans.
I let her get away with hiding her eyes from me and reach for the gel on the shelf. There are other special blends bought by B that I could use to enhance her mood, but I resist the urge to play dirty. For now. She may have been up all night, but she’s not passing out until I’m good and ready.
I rub the gel between my palms then caress her neck and shoulders, arms and back. When my palms cup her breasts once more, she rewards me with another moan, her head bowing forward as pleasure washes over her. I wash her front, sinking down to wash her thighs and calves.
“Turn around.”
She presents me with her back. From my position, I’m eye level with her wet, spankable ass. My palm tingles with the need to paddle her. But I want to be inside her when I do. So I concentrate on lathering her skin instead.
When I’m done, I tug the detachable shower head off the wall and train it on her body. I watch the water slide over her, and a dark pang washes through me. Fuck, I’m jealous of the goddamn water.
I want to laugh.
I want to roar with rage.
I want to fuck until I explode into a million pieces.
This is what she does to me.
What she’s always done.
With her, I’m as changeable as mercury. The only constant is the junkie-strong need to have her. The verdict is as damning now as it was a decade ago. I’m salivating by the time I reach her pussy. “Brace your hands on the wall and open your legs.”
Once again, she complies without speaking. Her silence doesn’t worry me. Her body tells me everything I need to know when I aim the shower head between her legs and she shudders. When my fingers find her, she’s as slippery as an eel.
Ready. So fucking ready.
Rising to my feet, I let go of the shower head, change positions, and slip my hand down her belly to tease her clit.
“Oh…”
One finger teases her hole, tests her scorching heat. A loud whimper escapes her.
“You feel empty, baby. Would you like me fill you up again?”
A groan rips from her chest. “Hmm.”
My hand clenches on her ass, kneading her flesh. “I need the words, Cleo.”
She pushes into my touch. “Yes, f-fill me up,” she gasps against the wall.
As much as I relish the temptation to take her from behind, the memory of how she felt on top of my car, her legs tight around my waist, wins the position stakes. I catch her around the waist, and carry her to the bench inside the cubicle. Propping her up, I move between her legs, my supereager cock already poised at her opening.
The promise of bliss already clawing through me, I open her wider.
One small hand lands on my stomach. “Axel, wait.”
My insides clench. “Hell no.”
Her face scrunches, and she takes a breath. “Please.”
The phenomenon of Cleo begging is a new but hellaciously delicious concept. Images of her doing it while on her knees rush through my mind. Pound through my cock. A bead of pre-cum leaks from me, insolently tastes her pussy. Connects us on a chemical level. The sight of it nearly knocks me off my feet.
“Please, Axel.” She repeats. The curious note in her voice stops me.
I drag my attention from between her legs. “What?”
“I…you’re not wearing a…condom.”
I possess a million flaws, but I’m not sexually irresponsible. I’ve never taken a woman before without protection, not even Cleo when we were horny teenage idiots. I have monthly checks like clockwork. And I had protection in my wallet when we fucked in the woods today. Protection I didn’t not use because I forgot.
I haven’t fully grasped this zealous need to fuck her raw. A part of me doesn’t want to analyze it for fear another layer of mania will present itself with malicious glee.
Whatever it is, I’ve crossed the line. I’ve tasted the ultimate high that lies between her legs. There is no going back.
“I’m clean. I can prove it to you if you need. And you’re on the pill.”
Blue eyes widen. “How…how do you know?”
“I had a little time on my hands in your bedroom while you took your shower.”
Her breath catches. “You went through my things?”
My gaze drops to her pink pussy, her delectable opening flowering around my impatient cock head. Unable to resist, I drag my thumb over her aroused clit. Her hot shudder cements my decision.
“Yes.” I feel no remorse, and my voice holds no apology.
She looks puzzled for a moment as she struggles to speak through my continued caress, even as her nipples jut out harder, scream for my mouth. “But, aren’t you worried that you’ll… Aren’t you worried about me?”
“On a grand scale of things, no. I lived in the roughest part of Manila for nine months and trained with assholes who delight in ripping limbs off just for sport. I served in every hell hole imaginable in Afghanistan. I’m still alive. If the way I’m destined to leave this world is courtesy of this exquisite piece of heaven in hell between your legs, I’m all for it.”
“You won’t…I haven’t…” She stops and bites her lip.
I take satisfaction in the fact that she’s reluctant to bring him here. She’s beginning to understand that I won’t abide it. That’ll make her transition so much easier.
It pleases me enough to bend and taste her lips. “Tell me you’re clean and I’ll believe you.”
The look that rushes over her face is unexpected. A touch of relief. “I’m clean.”
“Glad to hear it. But even if you weren’t, we all have to die of something, baby,” I lean in and mutter in her ear, unable to help the darkness that drips from my soul. She exhales sharply, and her face pales. Her eyes grow haunted, wary as they rest on me. It’s unfortunate timing perhaps, but she needs to know. It’s inevitable that she will be touched by some of it. “Some of us have surrendered to that end being less than the peaceful one innocents deserve. So, rest assured that this…” I probe her with a shallow push, “will be a fucking deliverance.”
I grab her hips and plunge into her, unwilling to wait, unable to resist.
Her scream echoes in the rising steam and her small hands grip my biceps. I withdraw, slick and wet with her essence, wrap her legs tighter around my waist, and fight my way back inside her.
I fuck her with long, sublime strokes. Her cries fill my ears and attempt to probe the darkest corners of my existence. She’s the purest drug, the highest high. Nothing I’ve had in my doomed life comes close to what I’m experiencing with her.
Her face is no longer pale, but her eyes are squeezed tight. I open my mouth to command her to show herself, but I’m rewarded in a different way.
“Axel, oh God…”
Her warm gush drenches my cock and balls. The decadent suction when I thrust back inside propels me to the edge.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Fuck!” Stars explode across my vision. Sweet Jesus, the intensity of it, of her.
I want…no, need her closer. Picking her up, I stalk out of the shower and into the bedroom. We fall, wet and irreparably altered, onto my childhood bed. Still connected but destined never to fit.
I punch every extraneous thought away and ride the rapture sizzling up my spine. Her hands move from my arms to my shoulders, into my hair. Nails drag across my scalp, and a groan tears free.
Her legs are spread wide. I press one knee into the bed and slam into her. My teeth grit, unable to get over how hot, how glorious, she is. “Damn, you’re so small. Tight as a fucking fist.”
A glazed look enters her eyes. “You…fill me up.”
“Not enough, baby. Not nearly enough,” I reply, my voice a useless croak. I have more
to give but any more and I risk hurting her. I have too many plans for her to allow that.
But what she can take, I give in abundance. Until her breaths begin to fracture. Until her arms fall back and her head thrashes on the bed. “I feel…I think I’m coming….oh.”
A firm grip in her hair halts the frenzied move, centering her for my attention. “Stay still, baby. Breathe.”
Her panting escalates. “I can’t.” Her face contorts as I spread both knees and plow into her. “Oh God.”
“Let go, Cleo. Look at me and give me what I want.”
Her mouth parts on a final O of bliss. Then wild, sweet convulsions jerk through her body. I feel her climax rippling along my length, her muscles squeezing in ever tightening circles until she explodes.
“Fuck,” I groan. White heat flares across every single nerve ending. Glorious pressure pulls in my balls for a deliciously long moment. Then I erupt like a fucking fire hose.
I’m drained in seconds, my mind firing with a million stars before it goes blissfully blank. I come to with my face buried in her shoulder, our bodies lying side by side. I’m still embedded in her. Despite knowing there are other, important, things to tend to now the sex is out of the way, I continue to lie there, on familiar yet alien sheets, her soft weight in my arms, my pulse still wild.
“Axel…”
I tense, instinct warning me I won’t like what she has to say.
“Breakfast,” I preempt her. “I’ll order room service.” I keep a team of chefs on the premises so food can be easily taken care of.
She shakes her head. “Not hungry. Too tired. Later,” she murmurs, her voice slurring.
No. Answers. You need answers.
“Cleo.”
But she’s already asleep. I grit my teeth and pull out of her. She shudders and moans in her sleep but doesn’t wake.
And in the early morning light, I drop back next to her, my mind teeming with even more questions.
Chapter Eighteen
TOTAL RECALL
Despite the languid exhaustion prowling through me, I don’t fall asleep next to her. For one thing, sleep is the furthest thing from my mind. For another, I don’t trust myself on so many levels when it comes to her.