Disgraced

by Natasha Knight

  Handing my coat to the same girl at the coat check, I made my way to the bar in the main room where the piano was located. Lina wore a red dress tonight, the fit tight, the color a striking contrast with her hair and skin. It had spaghetti straps and a plunging back. I caught sight of the tattoos again and swallowed hard when I realized they covered almost the whole of her back, disappearing into her dress. Flowers. So many flowers, color upon color, as if she were a bouquet.

  Not for you.

  I banished that voice to the farthest corner of my mind. My cock twitched at the sight of all that skin. At the memory of her dancing last night. Of her breasts, nipples tight, pressing against my chest when she’d stood close enough that I could smell her.

  Thing was, since the day I’d first laid eyes on her four years ago, I’d been drawn to her. She’d been sixteen, though. Off-limits. And I’d been studying to become a priest.

  I’d had doubts before I’d met Lina. The thought that I’d used the church to run from my problems—that I was running from facing the past—it were always there. But after Lina, after that day we’d spent together—it wasn’t just in the background anymore. It took center stage.

  “Something to drink?”

  The bartender’s question jarred me from my thoughts.

  “Whiskey neat.”

  He nodded, and a moment later, I had a tumbler in my hand. I sat and watched her.

  She looked up several times over the next two hours, seeming more distracted than she had been when I’d been here last. I made sure she couldn’t see me.

  At midnight, her shift ended. She rose to her feet and seemed to be in a hurry as she gathered her things. The dress, like a second skin, softly draped as it hugged her body, and fell asymmetrically to just below her knees. Thin leather straps bound red high-heeled sandals to her feet. She wore no bra. I could see that even from this distance. And some part of me, it didn’t like it. Didn’t like that others could look at her. See her.

  When she turned her back to the room, my gaze roamed the length of her, my breathing coming tighter, my cock, once again, reacting. I finished the last of my second whiskey and moved to rise when, from behind the door she’d use to exit the room, emerged a man about my age, slightly shorter than me, wearing a tuxedo. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and I instantly wanted to wipe the grin he wore off his face.

  “Who is that?” I asked the bartender, although I could guess.

  He cleared away some glasses as he glanced over. “Alexi Markov. Owns the club. His father owns the building.”

  Lina stopped short at seeing him. I could tell from this distance that she was surprised by his sudden appearance. He stepped over to her. Too close to her. She held a small clutch in one hand. I saw her free hand fist as he extended his to take hers.

  Riveted to the spot, I watched their brief interaction, and it spoke volumes.

  He said something. She gave him a half smile, then dropped her gaze to her feet. When she wouldn’t open her hand to him, he took her small wrist in his hand, bent it, and twisted her arm slightly, forcing her to look up at him. Again, he spoke. This time, though, she didn’t pretend to smile.

  She was afraid of him.

  I could see it from here.

  I could feel it coming off her.

  And I bet he could too.

  I took a step toward them, but what happened next surprised me. She pulled her arm free, said two words, and disappeared behind the door he’d come from. He turned to follow her, but someone interrupted. A woman. He replaced the sneer on his face with a wide, toothy smile and turned to his new guest.

  I quickly paid and moved through the club to retrieve my coat. Like the other night, I went around the block to the exit she’d use. Unlike that night, though, I actually caught her leaving, her coat half on, her high heels clicking as she rushed out.

  She stopped dead when she saw me, and I swear I saw tears in her eyes. But they were quickly gone as she shook her head once and drew her coat closed. She still wore the dress. The other night, she’d changed into jeans and an oversize sweater. Tonight, she’d freeze with just the sleeveless, backless dress beneath her coat, not to mention the sandals more fitting a tropical location.

  I turned to hail a taxi, and when it came, I opened the back door and gestured to her.

  Without a word, she obeyed, stepping inside. I climbed in after her and gave the driver her address. But Lina shook her head.

  “No. Somewhere else. Anywhere.”

  I studied her face. She wouldn’t quite look at me but fixed her gaze forward.

  “All right.” Without hesitating, I told the driver to take us to my apartment. What the hell I was doing, I didn’t know. All I knew was I needed to be with her. To be alone with her.

  We didn’t speak on the ride. Didn’t say a word as I paid and led her around the side of the church to the entrance of my apartment, grateful the door of the one Father Leonard occupied was on the other side of the building. She didn’t hesitate to go where I led her with the slightest touch of my hand on her lower back. I had a feeling she, like me, wanted to be out of sight as quickly as possible.

  I unlocked the outer door, and we ascended the stairs to the second floor, where my studio apartment was over the church. Once we stepped inside, I turned to her as she stopped to take in the small space—a living-room, dining-room combination with a small kitchen. My bed at the opposite corner. Her apartment was about twice as big. While she studied the surroundings, I studied her. Her long, dark hair was piled high on her head tonight, her lips colored a deep, dark red, her lashes thick with mascara and liner.

  As beautiful as she looked, I wanted it off. This wasn’t Lina.

  “Go into the bathroom and wash your face,” I told her, closing the door behind us.

  Lina faced me, confused. “What?”

  “Take it off.” I pointed to the bathroom, unsure why I felt so angry, so possessive suddenly.

  She looked like she wanted to say something, maybe ask me what the fuck was wrong with me, but instead, she obeyed. Sliding off her coat, she handed it to me, then went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her. I watched that closed door, standing like an idiot holding her coat, still wearing mine, listening to the water run.

  Shaking myself out of it, I set her coat over the back of a chair and put mine on top.

  I went into the kitchen and grabbed the bottle of whiskey and two glasses before returning to the living area. I poured us each a drink and took my glass to the window, where I gazed out onto the street at the few people strolling outside, not seeing anything at all. I swallowed the contents of my glass and set it down on the side table. Absently, I rolled up my shirt sleeves before pouring myself a second drink and sitting on the couch to wait for her, knowing exactly what I wanted to do.

  Knowing how wrong it would be.

  Lina emerged a few minutes later, her hair out of its bun and in one long braid over her shoulder. She stood there, not moving, letting me take her in in her dress and four-inch heels, only that fine silk standing between us, shielding her from my sight.

  And I wanted to see.

  I wanted more badly than anything to see.

  “I poured you a drink.” My voice sounded foreign to my ears.

  She looked to where I gestured, opened her mouth, but closed it again. She crossed the room while I watched her and picked up the glass, then forced it down all at once, squeezing her eyes shut as it burned down her throat.

  I watched her. Couldn’t take my eyes off her. And I liked that the whiskey burned her throat.

  “You lied to me,” I said.

  She blinked, having the grace to look away momentarily, not denying what I said. We remained silent, studying each other.

  “Take off your dress, Lina.” I took a sip of my whiskey and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other.

  “My dress?”

  “Take it off.”

  I saw her nipples pebble beneath the silk as her throat worked to swall
ow. The air in the room suddenly seemed charged with electricity, alive and sparking and ready to electrocute us both.

  Lina moved slowly, reaching her hands to either strap and, with her eyes locked on mine, she pulled the dress down to her waist and paused there, letting me look at her, at her small, round, high breasts with their dark, pebbled nipples.

  I swallowed another sip of my whiskey and nodded for her to go on.

  Hooking her thumbs into either side of the dress, she pushed it over her hips and let it fall to the floor. She stepped out of it, shoving it aside as if it were a scrap of nothing. She stood with her arms at her sides wearing black lace panties, thigh-high stockings, and high heels.

  I let my gaze travel over her, hovering at the slit of her shaved sex visible beneath the lace. I then dragged it back up over her flat belly, pelvic bones jutting out—too skinny—and up over breasts I wanted to take whole into my mouth and suck on until she called out my name. Until she begged me for more.

  I forced my gaze to hers.

  “Do you do this for him?” I had to ask. I had no choice.

  Wide green eyes stared back at me. She knew exactly what I mean. Who I meant. She didn’t open her mouth to speak. Didn’t try to explain anything. But she shook her head once.

  No.

  And I couldn’t put words to the relief I felt at that knowledge.

  My cock pressed hard against my trousers. I uncrossed my legs and set my glass aside.

  “Come here.”

  She obeyed, moving slowly.

  I leaned forward, and once she was close enough, I took her hands and drew her to stand between my knees. Close up, I could smell her sex. Her arousal. A musky, light, weighted scent. I kept hold of her tattooed arm and traced the flowers with the fingers of my other hand.

  I wanted to punish her. To hurt her for lying to me. To hurt her for that man having touched her. For wearing that dress. For showing herself to them, to all those men and women in that room who watched her with lust in their eyes. Who wanted her.

  I wanted to hurt her for all of it.

  The hairs on her arms stood on end, and her breathing came short, choppy. She had to feel what I was feeling. Had to know what was coming.

  Keeping hold of her wrist, I drew her to the side and pulled her down across my lap. With one hand on the base of her skull, I pushed her face into the seat of the couch and looked at her there, over my lap, naked, or almost so. I studied her tattoo for a long time. She didn’t move.

  Her back tightened with my first touch, but then she relaxed again. I took my time caressing every inch of her, every tiny bud inked into her skin, finding a small bird—a robin—I hadn’t noticed before. I was suddenly, irrationally jealous of the man or woman who’d held the needle to mark her, jealous of anyone else who had ever touched her. Who had ever looked at her or at these flowers. All these fucking flowers.

  My cock throbbed. I needed release. I could jerk off right now, come all over her, mark her as mine. I could come just looking at her like this.

  I adjusted my legs, shifting my gaze to her ass lifted higher than the rest of her. Did she know what I intended? Gripping the top of her lace panties, I dragged them down to bare her ass.

  Lina shifted slightly, made a small sound, but remained over my lap.

  I took her in, her pale, pristine ass, the shadow of her sex between her cheeks, the scent of her.

  I knew that if I touched her now, she’d be wet.

  She’d be dripping.

  I knew it. I could see it.

  I could smell it.

  But I couldn’t think about that. Not yet. Not if I didn’t want to blow right in my pants.

  My fingers caressed her thigh, slowly rising to her hip, circling her ass.

  “You are so fucking beautiful.” My voice came out hoarse, like it had caught in my throat.

  She shifted, and when I glanced at her, I found her resting her cheek on the couch, watching me. She arched her back then, offering herself to me. Offering her ass for punishment.

  “Don’t look at me,” I said. I had to. I couldn’t have her see me. Not now. Not right now.

  She turned her face away but kept her body prone, her ass tilted upward. Anxiety rolled off her, but also something else. Desire. Want. Need.

  We both needed.

  We both needed this.

  Gripping her waist with one hand, I raised the other, all the while warnings sounded in my head, warnings I would not heed. It was out of my control. Tonight, this, me, Lina…it was all out of my fucking control.

  I struck.

  She gasped, and the sound bounced off the walls. After a full minute, I slapped her other cheek, her skin already turning pink, my handprint clear.

  I held her to me as she struggled. And she did struggle, but it was halfhearted. She wanted this.

  She didn’t beg for me to stop. Instead, she buried her face into the sofa cushion to muffle her cries. She didn’t reach back to cover herself but gave me her wrists to hold at her lower back as I kept her close to me. I struck ten times. Only ten. One cheek, then the other, measuring each stroke, timing every one while watching the pale flesh redden. When it was finished, my breathing was raspy and my cock had thickened. I lay my hand over her punished ass.

  Neither of us moved. I rubbed away the sting, almost unable to breathe, to think, that voice accusing me of sin weaker for my arousal, easily shoved aside. I’d have to deal with that, but not now. Later.

  Because right now, all I had, all I needed, was this moment. Her. Here. Like this.

  Lina shifted. I turned to find her watching me again, her eyes soft, bright, pupils dilated, lips parted and swollen as if she’d been biting them.

  I didn’t stop her when she slid off my lap to kneel between my legs. I just watched her there, naked and watching me, hands on my thighs, eyes wide. I touched my thumb to her forehead, as if in blessing—even though I knew I had no right—then cupped the back of her head, caressing her soft hair, and for a moment, I remembered what had mattered so much to me once. What had fallen away the day I’d seen her.

  She lay her cheek on my lap, and I petted her. I just petted her.

  When she moved her hand to rest it over my erection, I swallowed.

  I should have stopped her. I knew I should.

  But I didn’t.

  I couldn’t.

  Slowly and never looking away, she undid my belt and unzipped my pants. I shifted a little when she cupped my cock and balls, freeing them. She knelt up.

  Again, I didn’t stop her. I didn’t push her away. Not when she wet her lips. Not when she touched her little pink tongue to the tip of my cock and licked away the precum. No. Instead, I closed my eyes and twined my fingers into her hair and drew her closer, letting her take me into her mouth, her wet, hot mouth.

  “Fuck.” I let out a moan as she took me deeper, softly at first, moving slowly, licking my length and sucking, and when I opened my eyes and our gazes met, I tightened my hold on her hair and drew her closer, guiding her, pressure building as I thickened.

  “Fuck, Lina,” With my hand in her hair, I rose to stand, holding her steady as I fucked her face, her mouth warm and wet around me, tears at the corners of her eyes from trying to take the length, the thickness. And with her on her knees before me, her mouth stuffed with my cock, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing I should stop, I thrust once more and shot my cum into her mouth, fisting a handful of hair tight, throbbing inside her, releasing, releasing, fuck, emptying down her throat.

  I stood a moment, eyes closed, head bowed, holding her, feeling her little tongue on me. When I opened my eyes, I found her looking up at me as if waiting for me. I slid out of her and tucked myself back into my pants.

  One time. Just once. It would never happen again. I just…I needed this now. Fuck. I wanted her. I wanted her so badly. I always had.

  Drawing her up to stand, I kissed her mouth still wet with my cum, tasting myself on her, tasting her, sliding one hand between us to cup her drip
ping cunt.

  Walking her backward to the bed, I pushed her to lie on it, her legs dangling over the side. I shoved them apart and knelt between her knees and, drawing her pussy open, I feasted first with my eyes, then with my mouth, licking and sucking her hardened clit until she whimpered, calling out, her hands in my hair, pulling me hard to her, wrapping her thighs over my shoulders, and coming on my tongue, my name on her lips.

  5

  Lina

  We lay in bed, neither of us saying a word for a long time, maybe both of us wondering what the hell had just happened. At least, I was pretty sure that’s what was going through Damon’s head.

  Me? I wanted it. I’d always wanted it. Wanted him. From that day we’d spent together four years ago, I’d wanted him. It wasn’t even just sex. I just… I wanted to be with him.

  I’d never believed in love at first sight, and that wasn’t what this was. It was deeper than that. Like two souls who belonged together were finally coming together. It made no sense. Even thinking it made me feel like an idiot, but that was it.

  Damon held me to him, his arm draped over me. I had my back to him, his legs bent behind mine, his nakedness against my nakedness. I listened to him breathe and knew he lay awake.

  And I could almost feel the guilt rolling off him.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done—” he started.

  “Stop.” I turned to him and touched his face, the room too dark to see his eyes. “I wanted you to.”

  “Lina.”

  He took my wrist and pulled my hand away.

  “I took advantage of you.”

  “No, you didn’t. I needed—”

  He sat up and switched on the light. I drew the covers up and looked at him, his expression heavy, sad.

  “It can’t happen again.”

  He wouldn’t look at me. He pushed the covers aside and got out of bed.

  “It won’t,” he added.

  I opened my mouth, but he picked up his discarded clothes and walked away, went to the bathroom. There, he turned.

  “Get dressed. I’ll take you home.”