Descended (The Red Blindfold Book 1)

by Rose Devereux

He rocked me against his huge shaft, handling me as if I weighed nothing. Though I was untied now, it was clear who was in charge. Lowering himself over me, he covered my neck in soft, sucking bites. Every kiss was a sharp, shivery tingle along my spine. I wrapped my legs around his back and urged him even deeper.

  “That’s right,” he murmured huskily. “Give yourself to me. Let me take you.”

  He moved his mouth to my nipples, grazing each one with his sharp teeth and sending shocks of excitement to my clit. Pleasure-starved, I thought. That’s what I was. After years of clumsy lovers and lovers I hadn’t really wanted, my desire was endless, a hole too deep to fill.

  Marc’s lips were on my ear, my chin, and again on my mouth. There were so many sensations I could hardly contain my cries. With a hoarse moan, he reached up and took my wrists in one of his hands, pressing them into the pillow. He ground his pelvis against me, sending waves of bliss fanning out through my lower body and into my toes.

  I was truly losing control, handing my body and soul to a man I hardly knew. And it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me.

  “I’m going to –” I breathed. “Marc…Oh, God.”

  “No, sweet girl,” he said, slowing his thrusts. “Not yet.”

  Mad with need, I dug my fingernails into my palms. He couldn’t do this to me, not again.

  “Been a long time?” he whispered.

  I squeezed my legs around him as hard as I could. “You have no idea.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I know you, Sophie. I know exactly who you are.” His thrusts began again, fast and urgent. Nearly bringing me to orgasm had driven him to a frenzy. He withdrew almost completely before sinking into me again, showing off how long and thick he was.

  “You feel so good,” he said between deep kisses, his breath becoming ragged. “I need to come inside you.”

  Right now, I wanted nothing more than to give him the ultimate satisfaction. I tightened myself around him until I felt him throbbing in response. “Yes,” I whispered. “Come inside me now.”

  As soon as the last word left my lips, his muscles went taut and his breathing stopped. He said my name once before coming with a ferocity I’d seen only in my imagination. Groaning like an animal, he drove into me, pinning my wrists against the bed and devouring my mouth with his own. Every time I thought he was finished, he shuddered once more and moaned softly, a low, savage sound I could hardly believe was for me.

  When he finally relaxed with a shaky sigh, I couldn’t help smiling into his hair. I’d done it. For the first time, I didn’t feel like a disappointment as a lover. Sex like this actually existed. It wasn’t just an exaggerated story women passed around over cocktails.

  We lay together in a damp tangle, spent and gasping. His chest was seared to mine, his heart thundering through his skin. Eventually he got up and turned off the light, then slid under the sheets beside me. For a long time we kissed in the dark, our lips and tongues mingling, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. Neither of us spoke.

  An hour may have passed by the time he fell asleep curled against my back. Still, we’d said nothing. I listened to his breathing and the noises the house made, creaks and whispers that seemed to emanate from the air. Though I tried to sleep, I was so restless I couldn’t keep my eyes shut for more than ten seconds at a time.

  “Marc?” I whispered, but he slept on.

  The first birds were singing when I slid out of bed and found my dress, panties, and ballet flats on the antique rug. I slipped the dress on over my head and, with one last look at his sleeping form, crept quietly back to my room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Where am I?

  I turned over in bed and cautiously opened one bleary eye. Bureau, stone walls, shuttered French doors – I was in the guest room of Marc’s family chateau.

  What’s wrong? I thought next. What awful thing had happened that I couldn’t quite remember?

  The texts from Trevor? No. The neighbor making a pass at me? No, nothing as trivial as that. Marc reading to me in the library? But why –

  And then all at once, it came to me.

  I sat up with a gasp. Scenes from last night rushed back in vivid fragments: Marc tying my wrists and ankles. His whispers – beautiful…my sweet…fuck you the way you deserve. My shameless obedience when he instructed me to spread my legs. The look on his face as he gripped my wrists and entered me, inch by huge, hard inch.

  And his refusal to let me come, taking his satisfaction and denying me mine. I was so aroused thinking of it, so mortified that I’d let him fuck me in countless positions under bright lights, that I covered my head with a pillow and groaned.

  Worst of all, it hadn’t even occurred to me to use protection. By some miracle I was still on the pill. I’d made the biggest mistake of my professional life, but at least I wasn’t pregnant. I was grateful for that, if nothing else.

  I couldn’t believe I had to face him this morning. Not just him but his father, who might have heard every moan, every rustle and creak of the four-poster bed. And then I had to sit beside Marc in the car all the way to Paris. Finish the interview and politely thank him. Say a pleasant goodbye and move on as if nothing life-altering had happened the night before.

  I pulled the pillow from my face and stared, sick with regret, at the frescoed ceiling, where pink-skinned cherubs cavorted with satyrs and maidens in tight corsets. No wonder I’d lost control last night. Lust was painted into the walls of the house, leaking out of the plaster and drifting like a sweet drug through the air.

  As I struggled out of bed, I realized that I was still wearing my dress from the night before. The inability to undress before bed was becoming a disturbing pattern on this trip. What did it say about me that every night since I’d met Marc, I’d fallen into a dead sleep in my clothes?

  I cringed at my pale face and puffy eyes in the mirror. My watch said it was eight in the morning, which couldn’t possibly be right. That would mean I’d slept three hours, when it looked like I’d been unconscious for a week.

  I went to the door and cracked it carefully. I heard nothing but the old grandfather clock ticking down the hall. Marc was probably still in bed. I took a quick bath and dressed in the most conservative outfit I had – a long-sleeved white blouse and navy suit pants with flats. I knew it was an absurd hope, but maybe if Marc saw me looking like the pinnacle of decency he would think last night had been a bizarre dream.

  I packed, straightened the room, and opened the doors to the balcony. Cool morning air drifted in, bringing with it the scents of grass and pine bark. Stealing quietly downstairs with my laptop bag, I went to the library to take some final notes while I waited. I’d just taken a seat on a long wooden bench when I heard Marc’s voice coming from down the hall.

  I got up and stood by the door. From there, I could hear everything as if I were a foot away.

  “Why won’t you let her rest in peace?” Simon was saying. “For Christ’s sake, it’s only been a year.”

  “You’ve blamed yourself for far too long,” Marc said. “Don’t you want to find out what really happened?”

  “What do you mean, what happened?” Simon snapped. “You think I didn’t know? You think I was blind?”

  “Dad, look –”

  “It’s possible to love a woman too much. You’re still too young to realize that. Save your judgments until you meet someone who –”

  “Judgments?” Marc said. “I’m trying to tell you that you did nothing wrong. You didn’t love her too much, she made it impossible for you to love her. If she was unhappy about anything it was always your fault.”

  “My fault – what do you know about my relationship with your mother? Nothing at all!”

  “Listen to me. When Eleanor and I were at her house last weekend, I found letters. They go back two decades. You should see them. You should know who Mum really was.”

  “Your sister warned me yesterday that you might bring up something outrageous. Is this it?”

 
“It’s not outrageous, it’s the truth. That kind of dishonesty has been on her side of the family forever. It’s in the blood.”

  I heard bitter laughter. “Is that your scientific opinion, Marc? There’s a genetic basis for what your mother did?”

  “Just look at the facts. Her brother sleeping with his students. Her father and his prostitutes.”

  Simon laughed sharply. “Your sister and her perfectly respectable husband and two children. How does that fit in with all this? You have the same bloodline. Are you carrying on the family shame in some way I can’t imagine? Last I heard you were a successful investor dating a series of beautiful, age-appropriate women. Where’s the problem?”

  For a long moment, Marc said nothing. “Dad, please. This isn’t about me.”

  “Isn’t it? Ever since you were young you’ve had some issue with us. We were easier on Eleanor, or your mother was gone too much, or you felt you didn’t fit in. You were never satisfied.”

  “I spoke my mind, that’s all. I was honest about what I saw.”

  “Excuse your behavior if you like, but I’m not going to tarnish what little of your mother I have left. Whatever unfinished business you have with her, it’s yours.”

  There was the sound of receding footsteps, and the house sank into an uncomfortable silence. I sat down again, trying to piece together the conversations I’d overheard with what I knew about Marc. Why did I think the events of last night were connected? His obvious torment at dinner. What he’d said about me ruining him. Eleanor’s comment that the family history was a burden. And now his mother’s letters, and whatever revelation they might contain.

  I’d just unzipped my laptop case when Marc appeared at the library door. My heart fell at the sight of his face. In the few hours since I’d left him naked and languidly sprawled on his side like a demi-god, he’d changed completely. His mouth was tight, his eyes cool and distant. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Good morning.” I barely managed a smile.

  “Unless you’re famished, I’d like to get going. We can have breakfast on the road.”

  “I’m ready,” I said. “My suitcase is all packed.”

  “Good, then you’re as anxious to get to Paris as I am. Have you finished your work here? Notes? Photographs?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’ll get your luggage and meet you out front in ten minutes.”

  He gave me a nod and an aloof smile and disappeared. Gut burning with humiliation, I sat staring at the spot where he’d just stood. We might as well have been strangers. Worse – strangers who’d discovered something about each other that should have remained secret.

  What had I expected after last night, a hug and kiss? My instincts had told me he was a very complicated form of trouble, but I’d wanted him too much to listen. And now I had to deal with the consequences.

  Well, I would die before I’d let him see that I was hurt. I’d slept with him willingly and would salvage my pride, no matter how much I had to fake it.

  Going through four silver pens before I found one with ink, I wrote a thank-you note to Simon and left it on the desk under a crystal paperweight. I was taking a few final photographs when I remembered that I’d left my handbag in the guestroom closet. I walked back through the house, making no sound. My suitcase sat beside Marc’s in the foyer. When I passed his room, I heard his muffled voice through the door. From his businesslike tone I could tell he was on the phone.

  My bag was on the closet floor beside an old box. There were three boxes in all, their lower corners bulging from the weight of whatever was in inside. I lifted a cardboard flap and peeked underneath. Old books. Pulling one from the pile, I opened the cover. It was antique erotica, filled with quaint illustrations of half-naked women and men wearing breeches and boots. Venus in Furs, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. Listening carefully in case Marc walked in, I opened one book, then another. There was an illustration of a woman sitting up in bed, holding the erection of a man standing fully clothed in front of her. I flushed with guilt and excitement. Just a few hours ago I’d been as lustful as the woman in the drawing, not like my inhibited self at all.

  I was closing the book when a folded slip of cream-colored paper fell into my lap. I opened it to find several lines written in a woman’s delicate hand:

  If you find this then it’s probably too late for you. You’d do anything for him. You think you can’t live without him. I thought the same thing and it’s damaged me for good, the things I’ve allowed Marc to do and begged him to do again. If you can still think for yourself get away from him. You won’t have anything left if you don’t.

  “Sophie?” I heard Marc’s voice through the door, followed by two quick knocks.

  “Yes!” I said. “Coming!” I threw the book back into the box, shut the lid, and stood up. The note fluttered like a leaf to the floor. Which book had it fallen from? How would I find it with Marc standing in the hall, wanting to leave?

  “Sophie?”

  Panicked, I dropped the note in my bag and stepped out of the closet just as Marc walked into the bedroom. All I could do was hope he never missed it – if he even knew it existed.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if I heard you answer or not.” His expression was still icy, his voice flat.

  “No problem,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just making sure I have everything.”

  I followed him downstairs to the car and got in while he put our luggage in the trunk. Sitting beside him as he started the engine, my face flamed with secret knowledge and shame at his cold treatment of me. He drove, stone-faced, down the long road toward the highway, breaking his silence only to ask if breakfast at a local café would be acceptable. We stopped a few minutes later at a charming little roadside restaurant, where I managed to choke down an espresso and half a crepe. He flipped through a newspaper while he ate, and I pretended to read emails.

  The drive to Paris was torture. I couldn’t look at Marc without arousal flooding through me, stealing my breath and forcing all other thoughts from my mind. I’d never seen him look so beautiful, or so intimidating. Lips slightly pursed, he glared at the road as if wanting to murder it.

  After an hour, I couldn’t take the silence any longer. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye to your father,” I said. “I left him a note in the library.”

  His long fingers tightened on the wheel. “Thank you.”

  “I asked him to thank Madeleine, as well.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do that.”

  It took all of my confidence to press on. “I hope my being here hasn’t been too intrusive.”

  What I thought was going to be a smile was actually a sexy, ironic smirk. “It’s actually been very interesting,” he said. “I look forward to reading your article.”

  “Thanks.”

  He gave me a short nod but didn’t respond. I’d just settled in for two more hours of misery when he took a deep breath and said, “You might have heard me talking with my father this morning. Forgive me. I didn’t know you were downstairs.”

  “It’s all right,” I said.

  “You’ve overheard some family discord in the last few days. You’re probably wondering what the hell it’s all about.”

  “You don’t have to explain. It’s really none of my business.”

  He glanced at me, his sterling eyes softer than just a minute ago. “I assume there are a couple of – interactions between us that you won’t be making public.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “They’re completely confidential.” The mere mention of an “interaction” made me queasy.

  “Family quarrels included, I hope.”

  “Of course.”

  He opened his mouth twice to speak before he finally began. “When I was going through my mother’s things a few days ago I came across some letters,” he said. “She had a drawer filled with them, organized by date.”

  I was breathless at his sudden admission. Everything I’d wan
ted to know, he was telling me. “What kinds of letters?”

  “She’d written them to a lover, a man ten years younger than she was. She began writing him before she left my father and continued after she married someone else. She eventually divorced him, too.”

  I couldn’t tear my eyes from his profile. It was so refined it could have been etched with a blade. “She wasn’t faithful to either husband?”

  “Apparently not,” he said, with a twist of his mouth.

  “Did you know?”

  “Not exactly. I was younger then but I sensed something was wrong. She was always going out meeting friends and staying overnight somewhere. Even when she was home she seemed restless. She’d prowl the house looking out the windows and listening for the phone. She couldn’t wait to get away. And my father thought she left him because he bored her to death. He’s thought of himself as a failure ever since. It wasn’t his fault, it was the fault of the family she came from. That I come from.”

  “What do you mean?”

  His eyes contracted with a barely-visible wince. “In simple terms, it means I’m sorry I exposed you to that side of myself last night. I wouldn’t be telling you any of this otherwise, but I think you deserve to know. It was something I thought I had…under control, and I did for a long time.”

  “That side of yourself – you mean, tying my ankles? Holding me down?” Just saying the words made my skin prickle.

  “Yes,” he said, nodding tightly. “All of it. I didn’t even think to use a condom. I’m sorry. I haven’t been unprotected with a woman since I was at university, so I hope you won’t worry.”

  “Thank you,” I managed to say. “I’m on the pill, too.”

  “No permanent harm done, then. Anyway, please accept my apology. What I did last night was wrong. It’ll never happen again.”

  Never happen again. His firm tone of voice left no doubt that he meant it. “I’m a grown woman, Marc,” I said, trying to disguise my bitter disappointment. “I made the decision for myself.”

  “Of course you did. But I won’t pull you into something that wouldn’t be good for either of us.”