Sordid Empire

by Julie Johnson

  “Carter isn’t in love with her!” Ava snaps, ignoring her friend’s assurances. “Stop saying that, Harriet! It’s ridiculous. He’d never touch her. He’d never even consider it.”

  Carter’s nose skims the pulse point at my neck, a direct contradiction to her venomous words. It would almost be funny, if I could feel anything resembling humor at the moment. With Carter pressed against me, dominating me in the dark, mere feet from detection by my mortal enemy…

  The last thing I feel is amusement.

  “Don’t,” I breathe, the word hardly audible over my thundering heartbeat.

  He doesn’t say a word, but his nose disappears from my neck. For a foolish moment, I think I’m safe… until I feel the tip of his tongue tracing my jugular vein, tasting my obvious desire like an appetizer for the meal yet to arrive.

  Fuck.

  His mouth sucks the sensitive hollow beneath my ear and I nearly come apart at the seams — back arching involuntarily, lips clamping down to contain a gasp. My every sense is singing, oversaturated with sudden, unquenchable hunger. To be held. To be touched. To be ruined — by him, for him, beneath him. Up against this stone column, under the stars, uncaring that anyone might stumble upon us.

  The smallest touch from him is enough to make me reckless. As though I’m under the influence of a drug too powerful to resist. Each inhale I pull through my nose smells distinctly like Carter — crisp and male, smoke and spice. His own ragged exhales echo in my ears, a drumbeat to mark his own stirring desire. I know, from that sound alone, that he’s just as caught up in this stolen moment as I am. The steely length of his erection pressing into my back, turning my bones to water, merely serves as further confirmation.

  Double fuck.

  I don’t try to pull away from him. There’s nowhere to go, even if I wanted to. And the truth is, I don’t want to. Being this close to Carter is something I’ve been denying myself for far too long. An ache, pounding in time to my stuttering pulse, is spreading through me, from the apex of my thighs out through my every limb.

  A world away, Ava’s still talking. Telling her friend how ridiculous it is to even suggest Carter Thorne might crave someone like me in his arms, in his bed. I can barely hear her, anymore. My mind has short-circuited. Because Carter’s hand, still threaded with mine, is moving — from my back, along my side, across my stomach. He skims downward, over my navel, past my hipbones, leaving a path of fire behind even through the thin fabric of my dress.

  “I heard Westley Egerton, the Baron of Frenberg, was courting her as well,” Harriet says, her voice muffled by the roar of blood between my ears. “Would serve her right to end up with him — he’s a total bore between the sheets, according to a girl I play tennis with at the club…”

  Carter makes slow work of dragging my skirt up — inch by inch, breath by breath, until I’m unsteady on my feet. My free hand finds the stone column, a pathetic attempt to ground myself in reality. My knees seem to have gone weak. It doesn’t matter; he’s holding me up now, gripping me so hard, there’s not a molecule of space between our bodies. One hand on mine, the other banded beneath my ribs so tight, it’s difficult to take a proper breath.

  I’ll have bruises tomorrow, but I don’t care. I like the feel of his hands too much to ever protest. That hint of pain mixed with passion brewing inside me is building to a dangerous storm. One that threatens to level everything in its path.

  “Westley is a bore. I slept with him three summers ago,” Ava says flatly.

  Harriet giggles. “Maybe she’ll wind up with that Scandinavian prince. The one who can’t get it up at all, if rumors from the north are to be believed…”

  Our joined hands move beneath the rucked hem of my dress, finding the whisper-thin lace of my underwear. I should be mortified by what’s happening; scandalized at myself for allowing him to touch me like this in public. But mortification and scandal are sensible emotions. And I am so far past sensible, I barely remember what the word means.

  All I feel in this moment is need. Bolts of pure, unadulterated lust are shooting through me as I hover breathlessly on the precipice, waiting for Carter to push aside that thin lace barrier and touch me.

  Please, for the love of god, touch me.

  He doesn’t though; instead, he manipulates my hand so I’m stroking myself, guiding me without contributing to the cause. The feeling of my own fingers at my core, in place of the ones I actually want there, touching me, dizzying me, sending me over the edge…

  It’s a pale imitation of what I yearn for. A shadow of the thing I crave so badly. It does nothing to sate the hurricane of need swirling through my veins. If anything, it worsens the ache inside me to the point of pain.

  I need more.

  I need him.

  Still, he holds back — sparking the fire but not stoking it to full potential. He is an expert puppeteer torturing the paper doll at his mercy, pulling my strings in the precise way he knows will unravel all my self-restraint. As the minutes drag on, my fingers move beneath his ministrations until they are slick with evidence of my own unspooling.

  I grind my ass against his erection, wishing it was somehow enough to sate the hollow feeling within me. That irrepressible urge to be made whole. Complete. Passion tugs at me in a restless tide, rising to the brink but retreating from the shore before it can ever truly crest; a climax dancing just out of reach.

  It is the most exquisite torture.

  Swallowing my own moans rapid-fire, I’m seconds from abandoning all dignity and begging him for release from this piercing madness. My fingernails dig into the stone wall, knuckles gone white in the darkness. My face turns over my shoulder, seeking his. I need his mouth on mine or I’m going to scream.

  I feel the heat of his breath against my lips, scant inches away, and crane my neck to close that distance. I’m desperate… but he’s ruthless. He keeps his lips from mine, unwilling to give me the kiss I desire.

  “I bet innocent little Emilia wouldn’t know good sex if it slapped her in the face.” Ava laughs scornfully. “Carter Thorne’s skills would be utterly wasted on her.”

  The man in question chuckles with dark amusement.

  “Carter,” I whisper brokenly.

  A plea.

  His hand stills beneath my dress, withholding my orgasm yet again.

  A torment.

  He’s not going to let me come. That much is obvious. I see the flash of white teeth in the shadows — the grin of a big bad wolf about to devour me whole — and realize he’s enjoying this. Immensely. The sight of me turned to putty in his uncompromising hands is exactly what he wanted.

  He’s taking his pleasure in denying me mine. Reveling in every almost-scream he conjures up inside me. Toying with me until I’m half-shattered from unfulfilled wanting.

  Vengeful bastard.

  With a vicious shove, I push his hand from between my legs and yank my dress down, anger overriding passion so fast, it’s hard to keep my bearings. My head is spinning. I can’t quite catch my breath, torn between the urge to spin around and kiss him or kick him in the crotch. I try to wiggle out of his grasp, but his arm is still banded around my midsection, holding me captive against him. My teeth grit with frustration when I feel he’s still hard; that delicious length pressed against me like a tangible reminder of all the things I can’t have.

  Breathe, Emilia.

  Just breathe.

  I try to focus on the two women tearing me apart on the terrace. Frankly, it’s preferable to the acute misery of being in Carter Thorne’s arms.

  “I suppose it’s proper karma if the queen does end up marrying your brother, then!” Harriet giggles, her tongue loosened by champagne. “No sex for her!”

  Ava’s voice is suddenly ice cold. “Why would you say that?”

  “Oh. Well. He’s…” Harriet seems to be fumbling for words. “Alden isn’t exactly a ladies man, that’s all I meant. He’s never been preoccupied chasing women. Even though he could! He’s totally gorgeous. I just
always wondered if…”

  “Harriet.” Ava sounds like she’s about to commit homicide with one of her stiletto heels. “Why don’t you try keeping your mouth shut for a change?”

  “Ava, I’m sorry if something I said—”

  “This conversation is over.”

  “Ava—”

  “I suggest your disappear. Now. Before I decide to ruin your life.”

  The sound of high heels clicking rapidly against the stone terrace fades from earshot as Harriet heads back inside.

  Refreshing to know I’m not the only one she treats like dirt. Even her so-called friends aren’t exempt from her venom.

  Once alone, I hear Ava heave a deep sigh. I hope she’s going to follow after Harriet sooner than later; I’m not sure how much longer I’ll survive hiding behind this damn column, pressed up against a man who’s driving me mad.

  He’s still holding me tightly. Our breaths are synced to the same rhythm — twice as fast as they should be. We’re panting like we’ve just crossed the finish line of a marathon. The realization makes my cheeks flush even redder. I’m quite grateful for the cloaking shadows.

  Making an effort to slow my breathing, I press my eyes closed and pretend Carter’s not there. I try to, at least. It’s futile. Ignoring his presence is like trying not to see sunshine; even if you aren’t looking directly at the sky overhead, you can’t escape its rays.

  Ava sighs again. Clearly, she’s in no rush to move back indoors. I wonder what she’d do if I stepped out from this hiding spot. If she realized I’ve heard every evil word she’s said in the past ten minutes.

  Throw a fit?

  Curse me out?

  Pretend not to see me at all?

  I’m half-tempted to find out; this close proximity is more painful than any altercation with the Sterling family.

  Shit! My eyes snap open. Alden.

  Guilt pangs through me. I’d forgotten all about him. I sent him for a glass of water ages ago. He’s likely wandering around looking for me. Poor guy. First I shut down his proposal, then I disappear on him completely.

  Really sweet of you, Emilia.

  As if the thought has conjured him, my eyes widen as I hear Alden’s voice. His soles snap in measured strides as he crosses the terrace toward his sister.

  “Ava? Is that you? What are you doing out here?”

  “Getting some air before the auction — though I’m not sure why it matters to you.” She pauses pointedly. “Two glasses of water? Who’s the other for? Our beloved queen, perhaps?”

  “Stay out of my affairs, Ava.”

  “Oh, brother.” She laughs, but there’s no joy in the sound. “I think we both know we’re long past the point of that being an option. Or have you already forgotten our little arrangement in just a few short months?”

  “Enough.”

  “Such rudeness! Is that really the thanks I get, after everything I’ve done to keep your secrets hidden away? After all my years of being an accomplice in your charade?”

  Charade?

  What charade?

  “I mean it, Ava. That’s enough.”

  There’s ice in Alden’s voice — the kind I’ve never heard from him before. My brows lift, curious what could possibly make him so angry. Behind me, I feel Carter shift from foot to foot, uneasy at the turn this conversation has taken. We’re both strangely on edge, eavesdropping on a conversation we were never intended to hear.

  “Or what?” Ava goads.

  Alden is silent.

  “That’s what I thought.” She scoffs, a frigid sound. “I own you, big brother. Never forget it.”

  The sound of Ava’s heels clicking away announces her departure from the terrace. In the heavy silence that follows, I think Alden must’ve left as well. I open my mouth to ask Carter if it’s all clear, but the words never make it past my lips. A pained roar splits the sky, ringing out like the tolling of a bell. A sound so full of anguish, it tears at my very soul.

  Alden.

  I actually flinch like I’ve been struck, nearly stumbling; Carter instantly steadies me, his arm tightening like corded steel. My thoughts are zinging in a zillion directions. Half-formed theories are warring with muddled facts, spinning round and round until I’m dizzy from the effort of keeping them all contained. I’ve never wanted answers about anything so badly.

  What could possibly make Alden so upset?

  What horrible secret is Ava holding over him?

  Alden’s scream tapers off into a devastated sob that makes my eyes water with sympathy. I’m half-ready to step out from behind the column, to offer him whatever comfort I can — repercussions be damned — when another sound rocks the night.

  Crash!

  The water glass explodes in a shower of shards, hurled with brute force against a nearby wall. Carter automatically pulls me tighter, his hands coming up to protect my face, his shoulders broadening to shield my body. Thankfully, the marble pillar deflects the worst of the damage.

  We huddle close together, barely breathing as we listen to the sound of Alden’s designer dress shoes retreating, the crunch of glass beneath his soles the only remnant of his sudden violence.

  For a moment, neither of us moves. We are two intertwined statues, so still we might be carved from the same marble of the column protecting us from view. I take a deep gulp of air, letting the scent of him fill my lungs one last time, then pull away. This time, he lets me go without resistance.

  We step out onto the empty terrace, stilted silence surrounding us like fog. Neither of us quite knows what to say to the other. My anger at him — for toying with both my emotions and my body, for tangling me up into a mess of desire only to cut me loose at the last moment — is strangely absent in the wake of all that we’ve just overheard.

  Plans for a power coup.

  A Sterling-Thorne wedding.

  Siblings’ secrets and lies.

  “Do you know what they were talking about?” I ask, unable to meet Carter’s eyes. I stare instead at the museum’s elaborate network of gardens, wondering whether anything grows this time of year, when the world seems utterly encased in ice. “Alden and Ava?”

  Carter sighs. “No. But that’s par for the course with the Sterling family. They’ve always kept their cards rather close to the vest. Especially when it comes to the game of politics.”

  “This didn’t seem like a political strategy, though.” I shake my head. “This seemed… personal.”

  He steps up beside me, leaning back against the railing with deceptive casualness. We aren’t touching, but his proximity still makes me nervous. I don’t trust him. More, I don’t trust myself.

  Every time his hands are on me, all my senses fail.

  “What’s wrong, Emilia?” His half-grin is more smirk than smile. “Worried your future husband has secrets to hide?”

  I stiffen. “He isn’t my future husband.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard.” Carter’s voice is carefully empty. “In fact, I’ve heard a wedding is imminent. Alden practically proposed to you earlier.”

  Was he eavesdropping on us?

  My head snaps toward him. My words are biting. “Then perhaps we’ll end up in-laws, since you’re supposedly marrying Ava.”

  He scoffs. “Funny.”

  “Is it? The thought makes me rather ill, actually.”

  Carter’s eyes narrow. “Why? Afraid of what might happen if you and I were to spend a lifetime legally bound by familial ties, unable to ever truly escape each other?”

  My teeth grit. “Of course not.”

  “You’re lying. I think it terrifies you. The thought of enduring decades of stuffy ballrooms and cloistered dance floors, standing next to a husband you don’t want… Sitting across from me at dinner tables full of people you can’t stand… Wishing all the while we were hidden away in some dark corner together…”

  I jerk my chin away, so he can’t see my face, refusing to grant him an answer.

  His voice drops lower. “You know, n
ow that you mention it… I think I might rather enjoy a lifetime of torturing you with all the things you can’t have. Watching you yawn your way through a marriage with Sterling will be everlasting entertainment. Perhaps I should accept Ava’s proposition for our own impending nuptials, just to ensure I get a front row seat.”

  “You’re such an asshole!” I snap, eyes suddenly wet. “I hope you do go to Switzerland! I hope I never have to see you again! I’d rather not have you in my life at all than have you like… like this! Some bitter fucking shell of the man I fell in lo—”

  I bite down on the words, trembling from head to toe. I can’t believe I almost said that out loud. I must’ve lost my mind; a momentary seizure, stealing all sense of reason. Carter’s eyes are pinning me to the spot, full of dark thoughts I don’t dare decipher. Thoughts that, if spoken, would no doubt destroy us both.

  Before I can say something else to jeopardize both our futures, I whirl away from him and start walking. I need space. I need distance. I need to clear my head and remember why being alone with Carter Thorne is such a devastatingly bad idea.

  I make it about three steps before he grabs me, hauling me back against his chest. I struggle but it’s no use — his hold is unbreakable, his arms caging me in with strength far surpassing my own.

  “People will see,” I snap, paranoid despite the empty terrace. The auction’s drawn everyone to their seats by now, leaving us totally alone.

  “I don’t give a fuck if they see.” Carter’s mouth hits the bare skin where my neck meets my shoulder. He’s breathing hard. His hands are viciously tight. I get the sense he’s teetering on the edge of self-control, a whisper away from losing it completely. “Emilia. God, Emilia. You’re fucking killing me.”

  “Is that why you’re so hellbent on hurting me? You want me to suffer too?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you!” His hands tighten further, a vise-like contradiction. “Fuck, that’s the last thing I want. I’d never hurt you.”

  “You want to punish me, then. To get even. To constantly remind me of everything I can’t have.” My voice breaks as the first tear streaks from the corner of my eye. “Congratulations, Carter. I’m suffering. Is that what you need to hear? That you’re breaking me? That not being with you is tearing me apart?”