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“I hope Mr. and Mrs. Sorbaine don’t come into this room anytime soon. It’s gonna smell of sex for days, even if we crack that small round window open.” He licks the side of my face from jaw to temple like a predator wiping off the last drops of blood off its prey, and gets up to his feet. He stares down at me for a moment before he fishes something from a side pocket of his pants.
His phone.
He flashes pictures of me stranded on the floor, utterly used and discarded.
Just like in my fantasy.
When he’s done, he hunkers down.
“Now we can have this moment forever.” He looks down at his display, the screen casting light on the strong contour of his jaw, on that sensuous mouth that turned me into goo just moments ago. “I’m gonna help myself to your picture, little poet. So you can stay here and rest for a couple of days, but no more. I want you back on campus, and back living at the mansion by Monday.”
The wicked spark is back in his voice, but there’s something else now joining it. He’s not just a man who’s satiated for the moment, but one who’s hell bent on feasting on me again.
“And know that soon I’ll come for your ass. I’m gonna make sure you understand that every hole in your body is mine,” he decrees.
A thrill raises the goose bumps all over my body.
“Till next time, pretty poet. I’ll miss you like Lucifer misses hell when he’s away. I already know that.”
He takes one last long look at me, as if getting an eyeful for the road before he quietly unzips my sore ankles, and rolls me onto my back. Then he closes the sides of my robe and ties the cordon, planting a single soft kiss on my lips before he opens the trap door, and lifts me in his arms.
His steps are as light as feathers as he walks down to the first floor with me, to my room. He keeps close to the walls, like a shadow, which is utterly fascinating. His ease of movement and sleekness are out of this world, and I see how they can be deadly. I imagine him emerging from the shadows, a thin blade sliding cleanly across a target’s throat.
The door to my room opens at a simple push of his foot, making it seem like the most natural thing. He’s clearly done this before. He lays me down on the bed like a sleeping princess, and I’m nothing but a compliant mess as he slides the cover over me. When his eyes trail to the desk where I’ve been feverishly working for days, straining to get him out of my system, I realize this is what I needed all along. Everything he did with me up in that attic, I’ve been craving it for a long time, but it was all too crazy for me to admit it to myself. Now, in retrospect, it all makes sense.
The nightmares I had, they started onlyafterI met Sade. At first, I didn’t know who the masked man from my dreams was. Then, in time, the shadow took the shape of his body, and its distorted voice took up more of his inflections. Soon, there was nothing but him permeating every corner of my mind, owning every wet dream.
“I hope that your desires are now sufficiently satiated,” he says before he pulls the mask back down over his lips. I mumble in protest at being parted from the sight of that beautiful mouth, and I even reach for it with a weak hand. He catches it in his tattooed hand, his palm criss-crossed by the cuts he inflicted on himself to write verses for me in his own blood.
A confession of his twisted needs, and punishment for what he did to me at the party.
A declaration of feelings neither of us understands.
“Be a slut for another man but me again, and I swear to all demons that I’ll skin him alive in front of you.” Those are the last words he says to me before he lays my hand down, and gets up to his feet.
Then, like a breeze, he disappears.
I am sure that it’s no point dwelling on how. The faster I understand that Sade’s ways are going to remain as elusive to me as his heart, the better. He made me his tonight, he secured his ownership over me, but that doesn’t mean that rapport is ever going to be mutual. I’m going to love him, and he’s going to own and protect me until he grows sick of me, but that will be that. He remains a billionaire of royal name, a future Duke and a warlord, and he’s going to marry his heiress. A pure-blood.
Me? I’m going to write poems for him and pray that I’ll one day meet someone whose love is going to purge him from my system.
