by August Red
"Trouble?” he smirks. “I can live with that.” He stops the dance as the song fades to another. “Hungry?”
“A little,” she says, stepping back, needing some space to breathe.
“I’ve made dinner. And there’s wine if you want."
“No wine for me, thanks.” Her eyes stray from his as she turns her back to him.
“Scotch, then?”
“No,” she laughs, taking in the feast he’s prepared at the dinner table. “I think I’ll just stick with water or juice tonight.”
“Don’t you trust me?"
Turning to look at him, she catches the twinkle in his eye then. She draws in a shaky breath. "I... I don't know."
His smile distracts her from the fact that he’s coming closer. It’s sinister yet an intensely alluring smile that makes her blood run cold, causing each molecule in her body to shatter.
His eyes fall to her parted lips. "Now you've got me curious. Do you?"
Belle's gaze remains locked with his as she admits, "Yes. Sometimes... And other times… I feel like I shouldn't."
He moves to stand behind her, sending a tremor of longing through her body. "Why is that?" he asks, his voice rich yet soft.
She’s aware that her voice sounds breathless as she replies, "I don't know... I just feel as though I should be cautious... when it comes to you."
She feels his hand hover above the flesh of her exposed back. Teasing her, he prolongs her agony. Her eyes close as her chest heaves with shallow breaths. Hell is breaking loose in her body, but just as she thinks it can’t get any worse, she is introduced to a much crueler form of torture.
His touch.
He finally lets his fingertips just barely graze up her spine. A jolt of excitement tears through her, so intensely, that she can’t hide her soft gasp. So much of what she feels for Judas has been repressed and denied. But now, as his fingers skim lightly over her skin, she can no longer suppress the barrage of feelings. His skin is so rough and full of desire as he brushes his fingertips along the contours of her shoulder blade. His movements are agonizingly slow, as though he waits for her to protest. But no objection comes.
His touch is as gentle as a feather, the tips of his fingers cool against her bare back, but they bring with them a sensation that she can only liken to electricity. It sparks through her entire body, igniting her flesh and waking the dreaming demons that dwell in her heart and soul. The feeling is both Heaven and Hell. Rapture and torture, twisted together. It’s like a whisper, a sweet promise, and a dark threat of all the things yet to come. She can’t help imagining such a touch all over the rest of her body. She desperately fears it, and craves it at the same time.
God... why is he doing this to her? In her mixture of elation and misery, she realizes she is doomed, because how can she stop a feeling, especially when it’s so divine? It seems she’s incapable of rational thought as his fingertips continue to skim over her shoulder blades and trace a path down the valley of her spine, only to resume their journey upwards, grazing over her back.
That’s why you chose a backless dress, you bastard...
He flattens his palm firmly against the flesh between her shoulder blades and with considerable pressure, he rubs his hand up, squeezing her shoulder before his fingers trail across the nape of her neck. Her sharp intake of breath is audible and only further prompts his exploration.
Stepping closer, he brushes her hair aside. Time and space seems to hang suspended between them as he bows his head and lowers his lips to her shoulder. His breath comes hot on her bare flesh as he purrs, "You're trusting me now."
Her breath is stolen away as he tastes the skin of her shoulder. His kiss is painfully slow, and artfully deliberate. His lips slowly advance to where her shoulder meets the side of her neck, goose-bumps rising all along her flesh. Both his hands close roughly on her shoulders as he lavishes open-mouthed kisses against her neck.
Belle's heart leaps into her throat as desire surges like liquid fire through her veins. She’s melting in response to the increasing roughness of his touch and kisses. Such seduction is beyond devilish. Evil. It has to be, because... the things it makes her want to do to him… are very, very wicked.
As though he can never get enough of her, Judas roughly turns her to face him, and slowly he runs his tongue across the nape of her neck, almost like savoring her taste. Her mouth parts at the sheer pleasure of it. She’s going to die from the sensation alone; never in her life has anything stirred her so. Rattled by the sudden dizzying desire she feels for him, she tenses. Evil or not, she doesn’t care. She wants him. Quite desperately. The peril of falling washes over her like sudden vertigo, as she teeters on the edge of a terrifying precipice.
His hands slide down her arms, steadying her as they tighten around her waist. His voice is husky and breathless as he says, "I know you're torn. Deep down you do trust me... but... you're afraid of me.”
Belle struggles to catch her breath, "A... Afraid of you?"
His response is laced with tension as he groans, "Yes. You’re afraid of how I can make you feel—that you won’t be able to stop with me."
He is so goddamn right that it kills her. She won’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know how very right he is. She shakes her head, trying to gain a small shred of composure.
But Judas is faster. His hands travel up her sides as he relentlessly kisses the side of her throat, finally scraping his teeth against her skin in a rough sort of love bite, just hard enough to startle her. She cries out at the blessed mixture of pleasure and pain, and his hands steadily travel upwards, his mouth finding her ear. He nips seductively at her earlobe just before his harsh sultry voice promises, "I know what you want, Belle. You can’t hide from me. I can give your body every thing it needs.”
Holding her breath, her head swims a little. “How are you so sure what I... want... need?”
He chuckles softly. “It’s what every woman wants from me.” She trembles when a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “Let me show you. I can give you so much pleasure, you’ll beg for more. I promise you.”
It’s too much. His words, his touch, his kisses. She’s exhausted from fighting her feelings, and all she wants is to feel his mouth on hers.
His lips sear a path of scorching kisses up the side of her neck, his tongue sending shivers of desire racing through her as his hands slide over the front of her dress, coming to rest over her aching breasts. Rapt by all that is happening, all that he’s making her feel, she helplessly murmurs his name in a rasp of surrender, "Judas..."
Hearing her plea, he looks at her as though he drinks in the sight of her tortured expression, and his eyes darken with desire. “Why can’t I control myself when you’re near,” he growls.
With all the purpose in the world, he claims her mouth with savage intensity. The brutal contact seems to sate her soul, and she returns his fierce kiss with reckless abandon. As his tongue explores the recesses of her mouth, his hands flatten against her breasts as though wanting desperately to feel the warmth of her skin underneath the dress. Her trembling hands slide over his, encouraging him to touch her more vigorously. Drugged by the heady sensations he arouses in her, she savors the potent pleasure of his kiss, his touch.
With her hands still on top of his, he pulls them downward, caressing her ribcage before they resume their journey upward, smoothing over the neckline of the dress and continuing up to the tops of her breasts. His hands move over her mounds and she whimpers against his mouth as her hands leave his to grasp the material covering her thighs. His palms flatten over her breasts, grazing her painfully hardened nipples. She inadvertently lets out a tormented groan as her hands release the dress and clutch at the sides of his thighs. His hand leaves her breast to travel southward, and while his assault on her mouth continues, he reaches down, catching the hem of her dress in his hand.
He grinds his body against hers and she basks in the warmth and feel of him. He hitches up her dress, his hand disappear
ing underneath. Suddenly, Belle feels the warmth of his bare hand coming to rest on her thigh, just above her knee, and long thick fingers gently stroke her silken flesh. Belle gasps at the intimate feeling of his bare hand on her naked thigh. Slowly and deliberately, he runs his hand up, caressing her inner thigh.
Belle gasps for air as the degree of her arousal is intensified. Kissing him back feverishly, she wonders if he’s aware of the deluge of wetness and yearning he’s causing between her legs. As his fingertips drift higher and higher, her world seems to skid to a halt.
Oh God, if he touches me there... I will die.
His hand brushes up her inner thigh, and his caresses are exploratory and lingering. When he brushes his hand up, slowly, toward the juncture of her thighs, Belle's mouth breaks away from his as she releases a shuddering, desperate breath.
His fingertips graze her panties between her legs, right where the throbbing ache is the most acute. Her eyes are screwed shut in anguish as she fails to stifle a soft moan. The sound seems to affect Judas profoundly, elevating his lust to a nearly uncontrollable level. His eyes drift closed and he rests his forehead against her temple.
Raggedly breathing into her hair, there’s a definite edge to his voice, "Christ, Belle, from the moment I saw you I’ve wanted to touch you." He sounds like he’s in just as much agony as she is in. His hot mouth descends upon her neck as he begs breathlessly, "I need to touch you... Let me feel inside you." It shatters her to pieces to hear him beg like that, especially when she too can think of nothing else but the pleasures of accommodating him.
This is Judas Bane. Judas kissing her, Judas touching her, Judas begging her. God, it’s more than she can stand. How much temptation can she possibly endure? She’s already suffered more than what she thought possible. He is so enticing, and the things he does to her feels so damn good. Every fiber of her being screams that she wants him, begs for him to make her feel things that she never thought possible. But such a thing is dangerous. Isn’t it?
Something tells her that if she gives in, she’ll never come out of it alive. But then again, in this moment, it seems a fair price.
Belle wants him so badly; she’ll damn-well suffer the consequences for him.
Incapable of coherent speech, she swallows her pride, throwing caution to the wind as she nods, affirming that he has her permission.
Neither of them seem to breathe as Judas nudges aside her panties with his fingertips and delves into her warm softness. She gasps at the raw pleasure of it, struck to the depths by the feel of him inside her. He toys with her slick sex, focusing his attention on the apex of her desire, the one spot that will bring her the most intense gratification. Her breathing becomes erratic as he pleasures her, and her soft pleading moans become more and more insistent. She grasps tightly at the fabric of his waistcoat as she breathlessly pants in little gasps, "Oh... Judas..."
As though pushed well beyond his limits, Judas suddenly withdraws his hand from under her dress and lifts her in his arms as though she weighs nothing. Setting her down on a side table that holds a few burning candles, he pushes her down onto her back, and shrugs off his waistcoat. Bending over her, he roughly claims her mouth. His kiss is urgent and punishing, and Belle seems to lose herself in it. Just as savagely, he tears his mouth from hers and begins to brand her neck and shoulders with searing kisses.
He kisses a fiery trail down her neck, his tongue tasting the pulsing hollow at the base of her throat. His ministrations venture lower as his mouth teases the tops of her mounds making her moan and gasp with pleasure. His hands seem to be everywhere at once, cupping her breasts, caressing her thighs. It’s a dizzying torrent of sensations.
His mouth is on hers again, his kiss now fierce and wholly consuming. It’s so disorienting, that she’s only vaguely aware of the hands that are now roaming under her dress. She feels his fingers brush over her tummy to caress the swell of her hip. Their counterparts suddenly join in, and before Belle knows what’s happening, she feels her panties being yanked off.
She tears her mouth from Judas’ as his urgent kisses stray to be lavished on her throat and shoulders. The hasty removal of her panties is cause enough for alarm, as is the fact that she’s on her back, on a table with an incensed Judas on top of her.
"Wh-What are you doing?" Her skin begins to prickle and it becomes harder to breathe.
Nudging her knees apart, and positioning himself between them, Judas captures her mouth again, just as she feels his fingers intimately pleasuring her relentlessly in answer. She reels at the pulse of pleasure as he breaks the kiss and breathes in a ragged, untamed voice, "I can't bear anymore, Belle. We finish this now."
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“SO?”
"Only just got here, sir."
"Get it done, Roman. Look for anything suspicious."
"Yes, sir."
"Call back the second you're done." Vladimir ends the call before Roman can say another word.
He ignores the woman who moves a little quicker than necessary, crossing the street as he makes his way up to the house. It's easy to guess why Roman sticks out like a sore thumb in his heavy black dress coat, his over-processed muscles, and the tattoo of a naked woman creeping down his neck.
To the people that pass him on the streets, Roman may appear cool, calm and officially collected, but the mirage is present and set for a reason, belying his very traceable purpose.
Usually sent to kill.
He walks past the strips of leftover police tape that lay stranded on the lawn, and enters the house, immediately drawing his gun.
Someone else is in the house.
The noise is coming from upstairs. Slowly and quietly, he takes one step at a time. It's been a few months since he last killed for his boss. He licks his lips. He loves a good kill.
When he peers into the bedroom with the door wide open, he sees the back of a man who seems to be going through a drawer. Clearing his throat, loudly enough for Roman to inject his presence, the fair-haired man jumps before turning around.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"Who're you?" Roman replies calmly, pointing his gun in one swift movement.
The stranger puts his hands up, his eyes bulging out. "I-I—don't shoot! I'm a friend of the Dela Cruzes!"
"What's your name?"
"Doctor Irving. Are you a detective?"
Roman lowers his gun. Maybe this ‘friend of the family’ will have information his boss will want. Roman is almost annoyed he isn't going to spill blood tonight.
Well, maybe...
"Yeah..." Roman replies, placing the gun into the back of his trousers. "Yeah, I'm here to investigate what happened to the Dela Cruzes. Have a few questions for you." The doctor fails miserably at hiding the suspicion that creeps into his eyes and shoulders. “So. How you know the Cruzes?"
“Me and Spencer, we're friends. Close friends. That's, uh, why, I'm here... to see if there are any clues."
“They were robbed, right?” Roman steps forward, crossing his thick arms and staring directly at this Doctor Irving like he’s salivating for an answer.
“Supposedly... I don’t know... Wait, shouldn't you know all this?”
"Just answer the question," Roman says, in a voice that warns not to ask too many questions.
The doctor hesitates a bit, shuffling his feet as though contemplating his next words. Roman narrows his eyes.
You’re hiding something…
And Roman will do anything to find it. Maybe he’ll get the chance to have a little fun, after all. Torture is Roman's second favorite pass time. First being murder, of course.
“Isabelle—Spencer's daughter—we're pretty tight. She got mixed up with this guy. He was bad news, Detective. Think he might’ve had something to do with it. He was there the morning it happened."
“Really? You know him?"
“Not really… but from what I saw of him he’s a real punk. Isabelle deserves better. She's a good friend. I just want her to be okay. I mean, t
hat's why I called the cops."
Roman's shoulders stiffen under his big black dress-coat. Neither Tate or Luis had mentioned that the cops had been called out.
Boss ain't gonna be happy about this.
“Really...” Roman drawls out, slowly.
“Yeah. I saw him there. I knew he was nothing but trouble. Her father didn't approve so I did what I thought was right, you know? And I guess I was because that bastard did something to them—I just know it. I don't know if they're dead or not but he has something to do with their disappearance, Detective. I'd bet my life on it."
Roman twists his head to the side to hide his annoyance. He really hates snitches. And this fuck in front of him is a rat who Roman would be more than happy to pay to kill. Fortunately for the doctor, Roman doesn’t call the shots.
"Know the name of this man?"
“No. It's almost like they vanished into thin air.” Doctor Irving shakes his head. “I wish I could have killed that bastard when I had the chance."
Roman cocks a brow, feigning interest. The man opposite is completely unaware of the blood simmering at a steady tempo under the reserved exterior of the man standing opposite him.
“Yeah, he beat me up, broke my nose. Bastard told me to stay away from her like he was her fucking keeper. I tell you, Detective, you think you know people and they totally blindside you. Isabelle… I never would have thought she’d go for some degenerate goon like that."
Roman shrugs his shoulders, lifting his hand up in a gesture that tells the other man he understands. “Proves you can never really trust people," Roman adds. "No-one really is who they say they are."
“Yeah, I guess so,” Doctor Irving mutters.
Roman straightens, extending his hand out to the man. “Thanks for your time. Appreciate it."
“No problem.” The pathetic weasel shakes his offered hand and his stare travels the length of Roman’s suit, inspecting it like he's never witnessed a well-dressed man with ink before. “I'm sorry, I didn't get your name."
“That's cause I didn't give it." Roman looks serious for a second before stunning the man with a wide view of his teeth.