10 Commandments

by Dark Angel

  "No, it isn’t … but being a member of your Order mustn’t be easy as well. I’ve heard you … have to make vows?" she asks me, and I realize immediately what she’s getting at.

  "No," I laugh, "we don’t have to make any kind of vows. We’re just regular people, Clarise."

  "Oh, I thought that you --"

  "Yes, I took a vow, but it has nothing to do with the Order. It’s more of a... personal vow," I tell her, having no idea why the hell I’m telling her all this. Still, after that quiet moment we shared in Central Park, I can’t help but be crystal clear with her – even if that means telling her all about my decision to keep women at bay.

  "Oh," she whispers, a note of disappointment in her voice. There’s silence then, and we just look into each other’s eyes for a long moment, my heart suddenly drumming hard inside my chest. Jesus, why do I feel like this whenever this girl is around?

  "Everyone has to face temptation," I start, taking my eyes off hers and filling the silence with my voice. "And facing temptation is what makes someone stronger."

  "So, the stronger the temptation… the stronger you get?" she asks me, lowering her voice into a whisper and taking one step toward me. My heart goes from drumming to racing, and I can almost feel it kicking and punching against my ribs in desperation.

  "In a way," I whisper back at her, fighting against the urge to let my eyes wander down to her cleavage. But she takes another step toward me, and her scent hits my brain again, acting as fast as a drug … My eyes falls to her lips and, for a moment, I even hold my breath.

  "And what’s temptation for you?" she asks me, taking one more step and resting one of her hands over my chest, her small manicured fingers right over my heart.

  "Right now ... it’s you," I breathe out, the words escaping my mouth before I can reel them in. Jesus Christ, did I really say it?

  "You know what I like about vows, Connor? They’re like rules … and like rules, they’re meant to be broken," she tells me and, with that, she goes on tip-toes and presses her soft full lips against mine, the strawberry flavor of her tongue making me close my eyes by instinct.

  I take my hands to her waist then, parting my lips and allowing the tip of my tongue to brush against hers. Boiling blood starts rushing down to between my thighs and then I --

  "No," I tell her firmly, pushing her back. "We can’t do this."

  She looks straight into my eyes, her parted lips still calling mine, and then she smiles. With a nod and without saying a word, she walks past me and leaves the house, closing the door behind her.

  I remain frozen in place for God knows how long, still trying to process what just happened.

  Oh, shit. How am I supposed to keep my vows with someone like her around?

  Clarise

  I still can’t believe what I’ve just done.

  Oh, I know what you’re thinking right now; you’re thinking that I’m a very bad girl, and you know what? You’re absolutely right. If being thought of as a bad girl is the price I have to pay to feel Connor’s lips on mine, then you can bet that’s a price I’ll pay willingly.

  Sure, fair enough, Connor pulled back from me. But, for a short moment, he actually kissed me back. And that’s got to be a victory; a small one, yes, but a victory nonetheless.

  And the taste of his lips… Oh, God, could there be anything sweeter in the universe? I don’t know what it is about him, but there’s a kind of raw manliness to the way he moves, talks and ... kisses. And I can’t help but wonder how raw and manly he acts when doing all the rest.

  I’m so dazed as I head up the mansion’s stairway that I don’t even realize that my mother’s standing there at the top, her narrowed eyes following me.

  "Where have you been, Clarise?" she asks me right away, and I stop dead in my tracks, returning her gaze and feeling her eyes cutting straight into my soul. My mother might be stern, and she might care more about appearances than all the rest … but she also knows how to read people better than anyone I’ve ever met. Even when I was a little girl, my mother was the one person I couldn’t lie to without being caught. She was born with a bullshit-detector, I think.

  "Welcoming Connor," I tell her meekly, trying to think of some bullshit way to worm my way out of this. But, just like I told you, trying to bullshit her is a lost cause. Her built-in lie detector is always at work, and believe me when I tell you that she never turns it off.

  "Connor is important to this family," she tells me matter-of-factly, her eyes never leaving mine. "Now that Edward’s gone, we need someone like Connor more than ever. Without him, this family will fall apart."

  "I know that, mother. And I --"

  "Don’t play with fire, Clarise. I really mean it. This family already has enough problems as it is," she continues, and then turns her back to me, stepping inside the house with a hurried step.

  "Hang on!" I call after her, hurrying up the stairs and following her into the house. "Don’t try to pin it all on me. It’s not my fault our family is falling apart."

  "It’s no one’s fault, Clarise. But things aren’t great, and even you can see that," she tells me, turning on her heels to face me again.

  "No one’s fault? Last time I checked, Earl’s constant screw-ups and bad decisions are what’s causing all this chaos." I feel on the verge of exploding right now; my body is tense, and I feel anger welling up inside of me. Yeah, I was a bit of a wreck during my early years, but am I really to be blamed for the state our family’s in right now?

  I studied hard at Wharton, much like Earl did, but I’ve always been sidelined because I was seen as someone unreliable. But I’ve changed, and I want to help the family. Unfortunately for me, nobody seems capable of seeing that. It’s all about Earl, Earl, Earl.

  Even though he’s made bad decision after bad decision, my parents have always protected him, insisting that it’s all part of the learning process. Of course it’s all part of the learning process! But is Earl really learning anything? Because as far as I’m concerned, all Earl seems to be doing is drinking hard and becoming more of an asshole with each passing day. I mean, the scene he caused at Edward’s funeral … that was shameful. And, aside from chiding him for doing it, my father did nothing else.

  "Don’t be late for dinner," my mother finally tells me, ignoring everything I’ve just said. I stand there in the middle of the entrance, just watching her go, and I grit my teeth so hard they might shatter.

  "Screw this," I finally sigh, allowing my body to relax. I walk up the inner stairway and head straight for my bedroom suite; there, I simply throw myself on top of the bed and try to forget about this confrontation with my mother.

  That isn’t hard to do; after what happened between Connor and I, it’s really easy to distract myself. If only I could have these lips all to myself… God, I could kiss him all day long.

  I start imagining how it’d feel to have him by my side right now, to feel his breath on my neck, his body pressed against mine… Before I know it, my pussy starts growing wet, the fabric of my thong sticking to the skin.

  Pursing my lips, I slide one hand down my chest and hook my fingers on the hemline of my dress; hiking it up to my waist, I flatten the palm of my hand between my thighs and arch my back, a soft moan climbing up my throat as I press hard against my wetness.

  I run the tip of my tongue between my lips and, before I even know it, I’ve flicked my thong to the side. I run one finger up the length of my wet pussy lips and, doing it fast, I slide that finger deep inside me while I press down on my clit with my thumb.

  Closing my eyes and breathing hard, I let my mind weave all kinds of sinful scenarios while I work on my pussy, images of Connor’s naked body flooding me. Time seems to dilate all around me, and all I feel is that sweet tension building up inside my muscles.

  "Oh, God," I groan, pressing my legs together as I feel a bolt of lightning climbing up my spine, a violent orgasm exploding inside my skull.

  Oh, if thinking of Connor is this good, I can’t even
begin to imagine how it’d feel to really have him.

  Clarise

  After enjoying that little private moment, I jump out of bed and take a quick shower. Hoping to see Connor again at dinner, I rummage through my wardrobe for a long time, trying to find something I know will grab his attention.

  I settle on a tight skirt, one that hugs the curves of my ass perfectly, and on a red blouse that somehow makes my breasts look even bigger than they are. Satisfied with my choice of clothes, I take one spin in front of the mirror and then put on some vibrant red lipstick, one to match my blouse.

  Checking the watch on my phone, I realize I only have five minutes to be down in the dining room. Not wanting to get on my mother’s bad side (more than usually, I mean), I hurry out of my bedroom suite and make my way downstairs, carefully balancing myself on my favourite pair of Jimmy Choos.

  By the time I get to the dining room (which takes me almost two minutes, that’s how big my house is), everyone’s already sitting at the table. Everyone but Connor, that is.

  As I take my seat right next to Earl, my father nods at the two servants standing close to the door and they push their food trolleys toward the table, ready to start serving us. I never really felt comfortable with having servants and maids, especially when they simply stand around and watch you eat, but what am I going to do? That’s how I was brought up, and I don’t really want to start acting like a rebellious teenager again.

  "Where the hell is Connor? Too important to have dinner with us?" Earl asks suddenly, raising his voice and being as subtle as an elephant in a china house.

  "Connor is skipping dinner today. He wanted to spend some time in the chapel," my father tells him, his tone of voice firm and commanding. "You should try and respect him, Earl. He’s going to be helping this family and, besides, the man just lost his father. Have some compassion, will you?"

  "Compassion," Earl scoffs, lowering his gaze toward his plate. Then, as if deciding he doesn’t really care for the food, he nods at one of the servants, whom immediately reaches for the bottle of red wine sitting in the middle of the table and refills my brother’s glass. "I doubt compassion will help any of us. We’re the Donovans, for God’s sake! Not Buddhists or whatever."

  "Can you shut up just for a minute?" I snap at him, offering him a death stare. "He’s just praying, you don’t have to be an asshole about it."

  "He’s probably praying for you to leave him alone," he mutters under his breath, but he does it loud enough for everyone at the table to hear it. Yeah, thanks for that, my lovely brother, really kind of you.

  "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" I tell him, raising my voice loud enough to grab his attention. "If there’s something you want to tell me, just do it, Earl."

  "Tell you what? I don’t need to tell you anything. But it’s obvious to everyone what you’re trying to do."

  "Which is?"

  "You’re trying to fall on Connor’s good graces so that he’ll help you into the business. Am I wrong? Huh? That’s all you care about, isn’t it? Running our whole fortune just so you can feel all important?"

  "Alright, enough! The two of you!" my father says, slamming his fist down on the table and making all the silverware jump up. He looks from me to Earl with a disapproving stare and a heavy silence falls around us. "This is a family dinner, and you’re family. So behave accordingly. And more than that, I don’t want any conversation about business. Can’t we just be a family for the night?" he asks and, even though he’s being stern, there’s a slight note of sadness in his words. It probably isn’t easy for a father to see his two children at each other’s throats all the time.

  My father’s words work, but probably not in the way he expected them to. Both me and Earl fall into a sullen silence and, even though there’s no more fighting or snide remarks around the table, we’re not really "being a family for the night," as my father put it. Unless what he really meant was for us to act like a family slowly falling apart, because that’s the one thing I’d say we’re really succeeding at.

  Earl’s right, though. Even though me being attracted to Connor has nothing to do with my family’s business, it’s pretty obvious that Connor can help me get a foothold in the business. I mean, he’s our family adviser, and my father always cared a lot about the way Edward helped guide our family… So it’s pretty much a given that Connor will establish the same kind of relationship with my father, which means that he’ll be able to help me become more than just the Donovan troublemaker.

  And if Earl already thinks I’m doing that … why not really do it? I want Connor in my bed, but I can also enlist him as an ally against Earl. Now, you’re probably thinking that this makes me some kind of sociopathic, manipulative bitch. And that’d be a fair assessment if Earl was a good guy, but Earl’s none of that and, from what I know of him, he only cares about himself.

  So, more than wanting Connor as my ally to serve my interests, I need Connor to help me because that’s the only way I can protect this family from my deranged brother.

  I need Connor, and I need him on multiple levels.

  But first, I need to break him. I need to make him succumb to temptation, and I need him to see that sin can also be fun. That’s going to be a challenge, yeah, but trust me on this: I always get what I want.

  Connor

  "Get your shit together, Connor," I whisper to myself, the sound of my voice crushing the eery silence inside the chapel. I’m sitting on one of the front pews, staring at the cross over the altar as if it could provide me with the mental fortitude I need.

  I’ve been sitting here for more than an hour now, but that strength I need so much is nowhere to be found. My thoughts always run back to Clarise, to the taste of her lips on mine… Jesus, just one kiss and she left me in disarray. How the hell am I supposed to be the Donovan’s adviser if one kiss is enough to leave me like this? I even skipped dinner with the Donovan’s because I wasn’t sure if I could be in the same room as her tonight.

  Getting up to my feet, I run one hand through my hair and amble down the chapel aisle, making my way toward the door. Stepping outside, I lock the door behind me and start walking down the cobbled path toward the guesthouse.

  Then, without even knowing why I’m doing it, I turn around and look at the Donovan mansion, a full moon glowing over its roof like a chandelier. Even though it’s already late, there are two lights still on in the Donovan house. One is on the first floor, in Jonathan’s office, and the other one is on the top floor… Clarise’s bedroom.

  I stand there, impervious to the night chill, staring at that rectangle of light in the wall. I imagine her lying in bed, her silky blonde hair cascading over her pillow, a short nightgown embracing her skin…

  "Get your shit together," I repeat to myself, but the words sound too hollow for me to take myself seriously. Pursing my lips, I force myself to look away from Clarise’s window, and I go down the path once more.

  Locking the door to the guest house behind me, I make a beeline toward the bedroom and get in bed as fast as I can. I throw my clothes over the chair I have in the corner, and I crash on top of the mattress wearing only my boxer briefs. Even though the night’s cold, the walls around me seem to push it away while keeping the warmth inside.

  I close my eyes, trying to surrender myself to sleep, but that feels like an impossible task. My mind insists on working at full speed and, every time I look at the clock on my bedstand, one more hour seems to have passed. By the time I drift off into sleep, it’s already 1 am.

  "Connor…" I hear her voice then, sweet and seductive, like honey and wine. "Connor…" It’s only a whisper, but one that shakes me to my very core. I toss and turn, dreams of Clarise tormenting me mercilessly. I wake up drenched in sweat, and the clock reads 1:47 am.

  It seems that I won’t be getting any sleep tonight.

  She’s like a virus, and I’ve been infected. If I’m awake, I think of her; if I’m sleep, I dream of her. How the hell am I supposed to forget about t
he taste of her lips when my mind is being this rebellious?

  No matter what I do, images of her keep assaulting me.

  And these images… they make me rock hard.

  Stop, I tell myself, but it’s already too late. I’ve slid one hand down my naked chest, and now my fingers are going over the fabric of my boxer briefs, curling themselves around the thick shape straining against it. Grabbing my cock, I imagine Clarise’s small and delicate fingers around my shaft, and my blood feels as if it’s boiling.

  I can’t do this, I continue to admonish myself but, at the same time, I push my boxer briefs down my legs. My cock springs free fast, and I grab it again, my grip tight and hard. Laying here, completely naked, I allow that need for Clarise’s body to wash over me. I’d give everything - everything - for her to be with me right now, laying by my side.

  I want to feel her lips on mine again. I want to undress her, to peel her dress off and take my time with her underwear. I want all these things, and I want them so bad that I forget all about vows, honor, and duty. Right now, my mind is working on fumes - and they’re toxic fumes.

  "Oh, fuck," I groan, slowly moving my hand up and down the length of my shaft. With each stroke, I sink lower and lower into the depths of an ocean of lust, imagining how it’d feel to have Clarise’s naked body pressed against my own. I imagine my hand going down the side of her body, feeling her perfect curves, savoring the warmness of her skin…

  I’m an experienced man. I’ve fucked so many women I’ve lost count, and I’ve lived that life for so long that sex became… routine. Even though women still throw themselves at my feet, I don’t even glance at them twice. But with Clarise… Ah, fuck, it’s different with Clarise. There’s something about her that strokes my primal side. Whenever I’m close to her, I feel like a wild animal, restlessly pacing around its cage as it tries to figure out a way to break free.

  Stroking myself harder now, I let all kind of dirty thoughts parade behind my shut eyelids. I think of Clarise on her knees, her parted lips reaching for my cock, her tongue brushing against my shaft… I imagine her wet, and I can’t help but wonder about how she’d taste, the wetness between her thighs against my lips…