Page 185 of Dark Heart

“You think?” he sneers.

“I was. I had never been with a boy, let alone a man before him. I was untouched. Not even a kiss. I was stupid. Curious. That night, we were the only two people in the house. Half of the staff was on vacation, and the rest of them were in their quarters...” I say in one breath.

“Go on,” he says.

I slide my eyes to the flames.

“My sisters were supposed to come back from a trip. They were on their way home, but they had to stop at a hotel because of the weather. It was bad outside. I didn’t think much of anything that evening. We dined together before he left for his room. Minutes later, I followed him. Don’t ask me why. I’ve asked myself that very question so many times. I couldn’t find an answer. As I said before, a lot of it was sheer curiosity. Perhaps it was something else as well. Deep down in my heart, I knew it was against the rules to be alone with him in the same room. That’s what stirred up the rebel in me. I was not supposed to be anywhere close to a man, let alone him, and I saw an opportunity to misbehave. So, I took the stairs, and moments later, I knocked on his door. He wasn’t surprised when he saw me, as if he was expecting me. In the beginning, we talked about books and paintings. He told me stories from when he was a teenager. I listened to him, entranced. To this day, I have no idea how much time we spent talking. And then he came closer to me, brought his hand to my face, and ran his fingers over my lips. The lines began to blur that very moment, and that’s how everything got started.”

I sense his stare on my face, but I can’t make myself meet his eyes.

I keep talking.

“That night, he touched me for the first time. He knew why I was there. And when he laid his hands on me, my body was already his.”

Tense, Jaden shifts in his chair.

“He didn’t waste any time. Why would he?” I continue, smiling bitterly. “His hand traveled from my face to my neck and then to my shoulder, his fingers no longer touching the fabric of my dress but running straight onto my skin. My eyes couldn’t pull away from his as I was flooded with a mysterious sensation for the first time in my life. So powerful and sinful. So irresistible that I was shackled to his touch. Heat exploded in my blood. And all I did, was watch him change my life, witnessing my own surrender. He slipped his hand over my breast. I felt a pulse between my legs. He held my eyes and cupped that breast, and pleasure stormed my insides. I couldn’t move. I barely breathed. He cupped the other breast and skillfully pushed my dress down. The fabric fell to the floor, leaving me almost naked. His gaze ran slowly over my body, his lips curving into a knowing smile as he noticed my beaded nipples and arousal-soaked panties. One hand followed the trail of his gaze, his index finger tracing down to my lower stomach until it reached the edge of my panties. All that time, my eyes stayed glued on him, my heart beating madly. He glanced at me once, briefly taking in my parted lips and registering my clipped breaths and eyes reflecting pleasure and panic. He ignored my angst and focused on the pleasure, knowing full well that it was the way to get to me. It took one soft touch of his finger, tracing my slit through the fabric of my panties, and my fate was sealed... That small gesture shaped my life for years to come. What I felt at that moment was something I had never experienced before. He took his time, indulging in my pleasure. His finger was joined by a second one. Not only that he brushed my folds but dipped his fingers into my softness, pressing gently on my clit. I didn’t pull back. I only looked at him, unable to react. He felt compelled to continue, so he curled his arm around my waist and pulled me closer. His manly scent drugged me. Still, I didn’t put up a fight. Grinning, he slid his palm down my stomach, spurring pleasure in his wake, and then he slipped his hand beneath the fabric, pushing the panties lower to my hips. There was nothing between us to prevent his touch. A cloud of tension started swirling around us. I stood there, frozen, as he ran his fingers over my flesh. Once. Twice. Many times. I could tell how wet I was from the way his fingers slipped. Turning to stone, I couldn't say a word while fire moved through my veins. He gently grabbed my mound, and I could’ve easily come in his hand. And then he asked me if I liked it. I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. He brought his free hand to my chest, cupped a breast, and kneaded it while he kept playing with my clit. I didn’t know much about men then, but one thing was clear to me. He was way beyond aroused. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his breathing getting progressively heavy. He was getting tense as I was slowly falling into his trap. His whole stance clued me in. I could see his erection bulging against the expensive fabric of his pants. He caught the direction of my gaze and peeled his hand from my chest to palm his cock. To give me an idea... of what he had for me. He asked me to touch him. I didn’t. I was too scared. He didn’t mind it, or perhaps he did, but he didn’t complain. My panties were still hanging low, crumpled between my thighs as he stroked my clit, smoothly moving his fingers lower. I closed my eyes. Even now, I remember that sensation as if I relive it. As if it flares through my senses. It was way more than I could resist. ‘It feels good, doesn’t it?’ he asked. I didn’t answer. His finger was slowly probing my entrance, his thumb sliding up and down my clit. My flesh was melting at that point. I think he knew. That’s why he didn’t really need my answer. He slowly pushed his finger inside me. A storm of tingles swirled between my thighs, building tension in my belly, fueling my need for more. I think I licked my lips. His touch became stronger, more demanding, accompanied by a quiet growl. He pulled his zipper down, and then, instead of his fingers, I felt a different touch trailing my clit. It was something hard and warm and throbbing. Something wet at the tip. I flicked my eyes open and met his stare. He waited. I knew it was wrong, and yet I couldn’t help it. He wrapped his hand around my neck and brought me close to him to feel his breath on my lips while he rubbed my clit with his erection. The heat coming from his shaft threw me into a pool of pleasure. He finally took my hand and guided it to his cock. Reluctantly, I curled my fingers around it. It didn’t spoil his pleasure. He moved my hand with his, and soon I started stroking him on my own. For a moment, I was stunned by his expression. His eyes burned wild, his lips glistening, bloody red, crushed beneath his teeth. He looked at me as if he could barely hold himself back from fucking me. That was not far from the truth. Smoothly, he pushed me against the closest wall. Not even when he pressed my back against that wall did I fully understand what was happening. He rolled my panties down and slid his hand between my thighs. At that point, I was so turned on that all I wanted was to grind against his fingers. He must’ve known. He grabbed my sex, slid his fingers to my entrance, and eagerly pushed them into me, and that’s when my blood exploded. The pain I felt couldn’t curtail the pleasure. His breaths sped up, and so did mine. And then, in a final moment of lucidity, I realized what he was doing. His hard cock was trailing my sex, getting closer to my entrance. That was my moment of clarity when it dawned on me how wrong it was. It was also the moment to stop everything. I tried. I pushed him back. He didn’t budge. I told him I was a virgin. He laughed and looked at me incredulously. He said it was hard to believe since I got so turned on by his touch. The more we argued, the more I panicked. I fought him, and then he crashed with me against that wall, stopping me from leaving. The more we wrestled, the more turned on we got. I wanted to scream, yet he cupped my mouth, wrapped me in his arm, and twirled me away from that wall, crashing with me on a couch. I was nothing for a muscular man like him who was already on top of me. His fly was already open, and his erection was jutting in the air, heavy with blood. He speared through me in one long, hard motion that left me breathless and made me only see the light for a moment. He buried me in his arms and ran his cock into me again, tearing through me, opening me for him and life, not caring that he left a scar on me or my heart.”

I pause, catching up my breath.

“That was my first experience,” I say softly. “It was nothing but lust, confusion, and guilt. I regretted every moment of it. And also felt guilty for all the pleasure that I felt. That night changed my life. From that point on, I knew I couldn’t be romanced. I couldn’t taste something else or someone who would handle me differently. I couldn’t offer romance either. I couldn’t grasp how normal people fell in love. Up to this day, I still don’t. So, anyway... He fucked me that night. He didn’t kiss me, show me tenderness, or try to talk me into it. He just fucked me until, despite all the pain and guilt, I came hard. And I did more than once. Despite hating him because he forced my hand.”

I stop and shift my eyes to the window, his gaze moving over my face.

“I was a mess when I left his room. No words were spoken between us. No questions were asked. There was no understanding. And there I was. Confined to jail. Sentenced to permanent silence. What happened that night became my deepest secret. My family came back the next day. No one suspected anything. I did my best to act normally, and so did he. I avoided them as much as I could, and him in particular. I lived in hiding for the next few days, blaming it on a sudden sickness. And then, as things started to settle down, I ran into him again. It was a Saturday evening, and most of my family was invited to a party. Isabel, my little sister, and I were the only ones at home. And staff members, of course. Isabel was sleeping in her room. He came home earlier than everybody else, planning on seeing me again. That second time, there was no introduction. He grabbed me, nudged me into the guest house, locked the door, and fucked me. I could tell something had been stirred inside him. Something that couldn’t let him forget me. It fed his hunger for me. As soon as he locked that door and had me for himself, my clothes were torn open under his fingers. He was far from gentle. And I didn’t protest. He also knew I liked it. There was no kiss, romance, or sweet-talking of any kind. He grabbed me by the hair, spun me against a wall, arched my body, and rooted himself deep in me. The moment I started to whimper, he covered my mouth with his hand and increased the force and pace of his pounding. All I felt was intense pleasure and unstoppable arousal. I started to hate myself. From that day on, I had to live with that big rift inside me. Suddenly, there were two people inside me. One blaming the other. One suffering because of the other. The evil side of me was bullying the good side of me into submission, and it was all because of that guilty pleasure I needed and couldn’t say no to. It took a long time until I garnered enough power to tell them both to shut up. To push the innocent version of me out of my sight and to feed the beast in me without screwing anyone else’s life. That’s how I got broken. And that’s why I never dated anyone. Or tell anyone else my story. For the longest time, I had a hard time accepting who I was, and it became my most guarded secret. Despite all that, I went back to him whenever I could. Or rather whenever it was possible. There were always people in the house–– staff and guests. Even so, we’d find the opportunity. Whether it was the study room or the backyard. Whether it was early in the morning when everybody was asleep or late at night. Whether it was his room, the farthest corner of the backyard, or the darkest cranny in the house. We’d find the place. And he’d always made himself available. We didn’t talk much about what was going on between us, and whenever we found ourselves at a family function, we’d keep our distance, offering no clues to the others. Outside his room, I was nothing but a shy, soft-spoken girl, delicate and feminine, but I knew it was a lie. My mom started to introduce me to the young men who had been purposely brought to our house to meet me. I was nineteen and the next in line to find a suitor. I refused to meet with them, and everybody blamed it on my shyness. It went on like that for a few more weeks. I started college, but I was still living at home. The sex got dirtier and dirtier, and my guilt grew exponentially. I realized there was no way to end it other than to do something dramatic. And that’s exactly what I did. In the end, I told my mom about him, me, and the women I had caught him with. She didn’t believe a thing. She told Evelyne, my older sister, and they laughed at me. They thought it was an invention, a way to get back at him and screw with his life. Some sort of jealousy they couldn’t squarely explain. I couldn’t argue with them. When confronted, he negated everything, of course. They didn’t doubt him. Not even for a second. In all fairness, everything they saw from the exterior supported his words and their beliefs, dismissing my accusations. He and I rarely spoke to each other. They had no reason to believe me. So after I confessed, my family quickly found an explanation. They thought I was nothing but a sick liar craving some sort of twisted attention, dragging innocent people into my salacious stories. They eventually started to despise me, and that was the end of it. So, I left.”

A long breath escapes my lips.

Relief is all I feel.

“That’s the truth,” I murmur.

He tears his gaze away from me, slowly shaking his head.

“Why couldn’t you tell this story from the beginning?”

I shrug.

“I didn’t think it would make a difference to you.”

He huffs.

“You didn’t think?”

He shoots his hand up, disappointment flashing through his gaze.

“You wanted me to feel bad about you. And I did. I don’t regret it. But you also played on my feelings and used this story to nudge me in the right direction.”

We lock eyes.

“That’s not...” I say, quickly running out of words.

It only takes him a couple of seconds to register my hesitation. He leaps out of the chair and dashes out of the door.

I push to my feet.

“Jaden?”

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