Lina
The nightmares are less frequent now, but I have a particularly bad one that night. It’s so terrifying, I wake not only myself, but also Zane who comes charging into the room in pajama bottoms, looking like a bull fuming from the nose. Handcuffed to the bed, I’m unable to escape his fury.
He shakes me until my teeth chatters. “Shut the fuck up. You’re waking the whole damn house.”
Meaning him. Jana doesn’t stay on site.
I refuse to apologize. I can’t help my dreams, and even if I could, I’ll never say sorry to him.
“You’re high maintenance, you know that?” Mumbling, “Stupid, rich bitch,” under his breath, he walks from the room to return with a glass of water and a pill, which he holds out at me.
“Take this.”
I turn my face sideways. “No. What is it?”
“If you don’t drink it, I’ll shove a suppository up your ass. You choose.”
He grips my face and turns it back, applying enough pressure to force my jaw open. When my lips part, he pushes the pill onto my tongue with his thumb, making me gag. I have no choice but to dry swallow. The pill gets stuck in my throat, the bitterness lingering, but he doesn’t offer me the water.
“What did you give me?”
“A sleeping pill.”
“I don’t take sleeping pills.”
“You do now.”
“I could be allergic.”
“I know you’re not allergic to food or medicine and that you get a rash from cheap brands of sun cream. I know you don’t have STDs and that your period is irregular. I know all of this because Dami left me with a medical file the size of an encyclopedia.”
Oh, God. He read the file. I feel the blood drain from my face, because it’s hard to act tough when your enemy knows your worst humiliations.
“Yes, Lina. I know about your eating disorders and suicide attempt. I know about your exhibitionist tendencies and persecution syndrome. I know you married your ex-husband for money and kept it all to yourself after driving him to suicide. I know everything there is to know about you, so don’t you forget that.”
“You know nothing about me.” It’s a cliché, and it sounds flat, but it’s the truth.
“Dami deserves better than you.”
“I’m not the one who forced him to marry me.”
“He didn’t have a choice. He needed the money to get back his mine, and the only way was marrying you.”
Damian didn’t tell him money isn’t the only reason. Sex is apparently also high on his list. “Are you justifying what he did?”
“He’s a good man, the best I know. You don’t know how lucky you are.”
I snort.
His face contorts with fresh anger. “No one knows Dami like I do. Now put a cork in it, or I’ll gag you.”
There’s nothing more to say. I keep quiet as he leaves the room. I’m left with only my will not to succumb to claustrophobic panic, and my newly discovered insight.
I could never have guessed the depth of Zane’s hatred for me, which reflects the intensity of his feelings for Damian. Unknowingly, he gave away his secret when he showed me how much he cares. The caring goes deeper than friendship or loyalty.
He’s in love with Damian.
Damian
Zane’s message jars me. In the back of the car on the way home from the airport, I read it again. Lina has met with her father. She’s already disobeyed me. I’m furious, but I’m not surprised. I can’t say I didn’t expect it. I stare at the dark factories on the side of the highway as we approach Pretoria, contemplating an appropriate punishment, but my body and mind are tired, refusing to cling to the anger and tipping toward excitement at the thought of finally spending time with my disobedient little wife.
I rub my burning eyes. It’s close to midnight. Ellis agreed to my terms. The meeting to sort out the logistics took forever. Despite my fatigue, my chest buzzes with a warm sense of contentedness. I’m high on my accomplishment.
Zane greets me at the door. At least he takes my jacket and asks about the trip before rubbing in Lina’s defiance.
“I told you marrying her was a bad idea. She’s already undermining your authority. They did you in once. They’ll do it again. She did it on purpose, humiliating you by marrying you in a funeral dress, which the whole city is talking about, oh, and don’t read the tabloids because it’s all over the gossip pages, and she ignored a direct order, in front of the guards. You can’t let this go, Dami.”
I roll up my shirtsleeves, accepting the drink he pours. “You shouldn’t have waited up.”
“Are you kidding?”
“It’s late.” I go toward the stairs, eager to see my wife.
“Dami.”
Irritation at his persistence simmers under my skin, but Zane is like a brother. We had each other’s backs in jail, and I swore I’d never let him down, which is why I squash the annoyance and pause to look at him.
“Tell me about the meeting. Tell me how they took it. I wish I could’ve seen their fucking faces when you dropped the bomb.”
“Tomorrow.”
His face falls, but he knows when to stop pushing me. I leave the drink on the table with the ridiculously oversized bunch of flowers and make my way up the stairs. On the threshold of my room, I stop to look at Lina. My wife. In the light that comes from the bathroom, I can make out her features. She looks peaceful in her sleep. One arm is raised above her head, cuffed to the bedpost. The other lies over her stomach. The sheets are a knotted mess at her feet, almost as messy as the crow’s nest of hair spread over my pillow. She must’ve tossed quite a bit to work that golden mass into such a tangle. Her plump lips are slightly parted, and her chest rises and falls with an even rhythm that’s soothing to watch.
Quietly, I walk to the edge of the bed. The long nightdress would normally cover everything from her neckline to her ankles, but the silk has hitched up around her legs, exposing a slender calf. Her feet are narrow and small, her toes perfectly proportioned from the big toe that’s the longest to the little toe that’s the shortest. Who the hell has perfect toes? Who in fuck’s name has sexy little toenails with moon-shaped cuticles and baby-pink nails?
The neckline of the hideous, black nightdress sits askew. The upper curve of her right breast shows. I own her, but not in a way that permits touching her in her sleep. Not yet. I do it, anyway, brushing my knuckles over that curve. Underneath the fabric, her bare nipple tightens. Fuck, I can’t stop myself. I drag my index finger over that hard, little tip. It pebbles further. She doesn’t stir. Testing my willpower, pushing my luck, I feel the full weight of her tit in my palm. She fits my hand like she was made for me. I move lower, smoothing my palm over her abdomen. Gently, I place her free arm next to her body. Like a doll. In her sleep, she lets me arrange her. It’s in her sleep, goddamn, but I tell myself she lets me, because I can drag my hand lower over her sex and between her thighs. She sighs. Her lashes flutter, but she doesn’t wake. I take my exploration farther, the silk gliding under my greedy palm like the slickness of cum over a sweaty skin, and all I can think about is ejaculating everywhere on that skin.
Wake up, Lina. Tell me the fuck to stop.
But she sleeps, and I reverse the direction of my hand, pushing the inky blackness up her pale legs until there’s a balloon of fabric around her waist. I torture myself with playing a guessing game of how slick her slit is underneath the matching black silk.
After years of fantasizing about touching her, it’s as much as I can take. I pride myself on being strong when it matters, but when it comes to her, I’m weak. I’ve always been weak for her. It’s my weakness that’s put us in this fucked-up situation, but as long as I have her in my bed, messy in my sheets, I can’t make myself care. I can’t even summon guilt. I’ve lost my conscience a long time ago in a cold cell behind bars. The only thing I can focus on is the hardness of my cock and the need to get off.
Pulling off my clothes, I get down on the bed beside her. I
press my side against her breast and hipbone. Gently, I run my fingers over her arm, down and up, over her breasts. Her nipple turns hard for me, every time. Good girl. There are plenty more games we’re going to play where she’ll give me her body, and I’ll learn how to read it. I’ll learn how to please her until she screams. My hand moves over her stomach and between her legs where her skin is warmer, damper. Fuck. Down her thigh and knee to her ankle. With every stroke my cock thickens more. Christ, does she know what she does to me?
The high of having her here, like this, of doing to her whatever my heart desires, is like a drug. I could punish her because she conspired with her father and gave her virginity to my enemy. I should punish her for defying the most important rule I laid down when I brought her to my house. Most of all, I want to punish her because she turns me into a weak man for wanting her. Or, I can admit the truth, that I’m a broken man who doesn’t need a reason. I want to punish her because it makes me hard. I’m a bastard and a devil, because I’m going to use her.
Grabbing my cock in my fist, I drag the head over her naked hip. The contact with her skin makes me hiss. In one of the most defining moments of my life, she sleeps soundly, unconscious to the madness of my lust. It’s been six years since I laid my hands on a woman’s body, six years since I buried my cock in the velvet fist of a pussy. My load is about to blow, and still, she doesn’t move. I’m a shipwrecking storm, and she’s the welcoming quiet of the ignorant beach.
It takes everything I’ve got and some more to pull away from her unconscious body and pump into my fist. I groan, none too softly. If she’s going to wake up it’s now, but she sighs again. I thrust faster, squeezing the base until the pain becomes a trigger for the pleasure. I fuck her black-clad body so hard with my eyes, I shoot within seconds like a horny teenager watching his first porn. My breathing is heavy. Her panties are soaked with my cum, the slickness wasted on silk instead of skin. The sheets are soiled too, and it’s not enough, not by far, but I fucking promised myself it wouldn’t be like this. All I can do is pull her against my softening cock and close my eyes.
If I didn’t touch her, it doesn’t matter.
It’s a lie, because in my head, it’s the same.
Still, on a demented level, I’m happy. She’s here, and she’s mine. I love her in silk, but I prefer her naked. If she has to be dressed, I’ll take any color over black. She’s my wife, not a widow. I keep on telling myself that until my body slows down enough for my lust to take a secondary place to filling my lungs with oxygen, to simply living. Slowly, our breathing falls into sync as if it has always been one.
The time on my wristwatch shows it’s past five in the morning. I have to get up for my work out and run. I’ve been out cold for over four hours, the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep I’ve had in six years. I take a moment to enjoy the warmth of Lina’s body. I’ve fucked a lot of women before I laid eyes on her, but I’ve never slept next to one. It’s a first, and I like it. I like that it’s her. I like the way we fit. My hand seems to find its way all by itself to the delicate column of her neck, always drawn to her body, always needing to touch. Pushing the nightdress off her shoulder, I press my lips against the exposed skin.
“Lina.”
Goddamn, I want to fuck her so badly. Need is both a physical and mental torture. My dick is so hard it hurts, but the images in my head are worse. The things I imagine doing to her are the ultimate sins.
Letting my lips barely touch her skin, I drag them over her neck up to her ear. I can’t bear to leave without saying good morning. It pains me to disturb her sleep, but it pains me more not to see her pretty eyes, so I start waking her gently.
“Lina.”
Nothing. Well, hell. She’s a deep sleeper. Nipping her earlobe, I repeat her name, this time giving her shoulder a soft shake. Not a stir. An alarm goes off in my mind, shrill and fearful. Bolting upright, I shake her harder.
My voice comes out angry, like a cold command. “Angelina, wake up.”
She’s still the ragdoll I used from last night, beautiful but unconscious of my actions.
Fuck. Shit. Fear is cold and hot and every temperature in between. I just married her. I couldn’t have fucked it up already. I’m in my pants before I’ve finished yelling for Zane. I’ve just covered her body with the sheet when he storms into the room, wearing boxer shorts and rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“What in God’s name, Dami?”
“Keys.” I flick my fingers at him. “Handcuffs.”
He looks between confused and grumpy. “On the nightstand.”
“Do it.”
My instructions are cryptic, but I’m too frantic to think, let alone speak. She has suicidal tendencies, and I allowed Zane to leave her alone.
Straddling Lina, I slap her cheeks. “Wake up, angel.”
She groans in protest, and something inside me gives, something I didn’t know I had. It’s a needle at the bottom of a haystack of emotions, but I don’t pause to dissect it. I’m too busy pulling Lina to consciousness.
Zane fiddles with the key, at last managing to free her arm. She whimpers as he lowers it.
“That’s it,” I coo, not only nursing this small, too frail woman, but also my nerves. “Open your eyes.”
Her lashes flutter as she fights to obey. I know the feeling. I fought my way back to pain from the mercy of unconsciousness on a concrete floor more times than I care to recall. Finally, she breaks through. Her eyelids lift and her freaky blue eyes stare at me. There’s incomprehension as she tries to focus and remember where she is. Prying first the left then the right eye open, I study the blood vessels in the white of her eyes and the size of her pupils.
“What did she take?” I ask Zane who stands by quietly.
“A sleeping pill.”
I want to knock his head into the bedpost for being so careless, but I tamp down my anger. Information first. “Only one?”
“As far as I know.”
“Bring me the bottle.”
“I took it away. I’ll have to go get it in my room.”
First clever thing he did. “Get it.”
He jumps at my barked command, almost running for the door.
Her voice is hoarse. “Damian?”
“I’m here.”
Her body tenses as she fully surfaces from her chemically induced sleep. Her eyes settle on my face. She takes in our positions. “What are you doing?”
“What did you take?”
She pushes at my shoulders, the grogginess gone and the fight back. “Get off me.”
I probably should. My belt is hanging open, the button of my pants undone, and even under the circumstances, I’m hard for her. Zane returns as I get off the bed. He pushes a bottle of pills into my hand. I read the label. I’m not a medical expert, but the brand is a household name. The dose is way too strong for her weight. I fix my gaze on Zane. I don’t have to speak for him to know I’m fucking furious.
Flustering, he blabbers, “She said she needs it to sleep. She begged me. How was I supposed to know?”
God knows I owe Zane, but I’m in his face. “Fucking common sense.” I shake the bottle. Pills rattle. Zane flinches. “This is too strong for her.”
“Am I supposed to contradict her doctor?”
“If this happens again…” I can’t finish the sentence, because I’ll have to give the one man who has my back a threat. Instead, I let it hang, let him get where I’m going, and he does.
He hangs his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Get me a glass of water.”
He rushes to the bathroom. The faucet turns on. It’s only then that I turn my attention back to Lina. She’s not only watching me, she’s looking into my soul with the keenness of a practiced observer. My worry over her leaves me wide open, but I can’t make myself care. I’m too relieved she’s here, present, in her scrunched-up nightdress and cum-crusted panties.
Zane returns with the water. I don’t thank him. He doesn’t deserve my gratitude. When
I support her head and bring the glass to her lips with a command to drink, he’s still standing at the bedside with his hands clasped together.
I turn my head and catch him watching me feed Lina the water.
“Leave us.”
His green puppy eyes plead with me. “Let me help. Tell me what you want me to do. I can take care of her. You go for your run.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. My silence, quietly explosive, says it all. His shoulders slouch as he turns and leaves. It’s irrational, but I don’t like him seeing Lina with her sleep-tussled hair and eye-fucked body. This feels too private. She feels private. It’s crazy. Zane isn’t a threat. Still, my cum is on her underwear, and I feel her warmth in all the places I am cold.
Lina regards me warily as she pushes up against the headboard. “What happened?”
There’s no easy way of explaining, so I walk to the bathroom and ransack her cosmetic bag. I take out every bottle of pills. There’s stuff for headaches and nausea and menstrual cramps, but it’s over-the-counter medicine. Satisfied that there’s nothing life-threateningly dangerous, something she can overdose on, I pack everything into the overhead cabinet.
“Happy?” she snipes when I walk back into the room.
There’s something in her eyes, something like hurt, as if I’m at fault for not trusting her when she can’t be trusted. Even then, even if trust isn’t something I can give her, I want her. I have a feeling I’ll want her forever. No, I know with the kind of clarity that comes once in a scary lifetime. Lina is my obsession, now that I have her even more than before, if such a thing is possible. Nothing can ever happen to her.
I cross my arms. “You’ll take no more medication without my approval.”
No answer. I only get her defiant look, an expression that’s going to cost her later, turn me hard, and make us both come.
“I didn’t ask for the pill,” she says. “Zane forced me to take it.”
Zane is many things, certainly not a good person, at least not in the traditional sense, but I trust him with my life.
Beauty in the Broken: A Diamond Magnate Novel Page 6
