by Lexi Hart
BLAIRE
Saturday 9.34pm
I came to bed an hour ago. But I can’t sleep. My addled mind is revisiting what happened and I’m positive I have him figured out.
It’s to do with his scars, with his nightmares. It must be me. I’ve gone over it a million times. He kissed me. He wanted to. But something stopped him from taking it further.
Since he’s not the type to be intimidated by me, either he wasn’t as aroused as I was, or he had a good reason for stopping when he did.
I’ve been wandering around in a stupor all afternoon. I can’t write. I can’t eat. I’m teetering towards making an irrational decision based purely on unsatiated lust.
The only thing preventing me from going looking for him is my already battered ego and the possibility there is no good reason other than he isn’t interested.
I don’t think I could take more rejection. Even on a purely physical level. If I really thought I could just leave this at a weekend fling, maybe I’d be okay with sacrificing my self-respect, but right now, my pride is keeping things in place that otherwise wouldn’t be.
I roll over and stare at the light I don’t want to switch out. I haven’t taken a sleeping pill, and since he’s not above me, I should get a good night’s sleep.
But that’s not what I want. What I want is a bad night’s sleep that will release the pent up tension.
I give up trying to sleep and throw the covers off me. The stone flooring is cool beneath my bare toes as I step across the room to grab my robe.
My cell buzzes on the dresser where I left it, so I pick it up expecting it to be Chloe but it’s a text message from Mary.
Just checking in on you. Hope everything is going well?
What on earth can I say to that? With a frown, I tap out a non-committal reply. Everything is fine. Thanks for checking up on me.
Her reply comes in immediately. Glad to hear it. Luther isn’t the easiest of people to be around. But he has a good heart.
I snort aloud. A good heart? Really, is that why he kissed me then sent me packing?
With a muttered curse, I leave the phone where it is, stomach flipping about as I contemplate what to tell her about Luther’s behavior.
I stare at my reflection for a moment, mouth twisting into a frown as I disregard the tangle my hair is in before I leave my room.
I’m not even sure what I’m planning on doing, but when I find myself heading towards the kitchen, I decide I may as well make a hot chocolate or warm milk to help me sleep.
Like everywhere else in the castle, the kitchen is dimmed, so when I notice light coming from outside, I know I just located Luther.
Heart speeding, I look out the closest window to the boathouse I’ve yet to see.
I stand watching the light flickering before working up enough reasons to go and confront him about what happened.
When I’ve convinced myself he owes me either an apology or an explanation, I walk out of the kitchen, and without thought, go to the front door.
I step outside, barely registering the icy rain as I run towards the boathouse. I must be insane. That’s the only plausible reason for doing something as crazy as this.
I come to a stop directly outside the door, bare feet sliding on the muddied grass.
I’m not about to invite myself in, so I stand, getting saturated as I wait for him to hear me.
When he still hasn’t opened the door, and rain is running down my face, so I’m forced to bang my fists on the door.
I wrap my arms around myself, and at the stomping footsteps, step back.
A crack of light illuminates his face, then his bare chest as he takes a step back.
Dressed in cut-off jeans, his mouth slackens as he steps through the doorway.
The rain is pelting so heavy he has to raise his voice to compete with it. “What the hell are you doing?”
I yell back at him. “I don’t know!”
He stares at me, rain pouring off his face, down his cheeks and lips. “Are you crazy?”
I nearly laugh. “Maybe.”
A crack of thunder comes from overhead and Luther gestures for me to come inside. I’m highly aware of how magnificent he looks standing out here, flashes of lightning highlighting his muscles.
My chest starts to rise and fall, pulse speeding as he steps closer and grabs my arm. “Get inside before you get fried.”
I yank back, but he’s too strong, and the ground too slippery, so I slide forward awkwardly until I’m flush against him.
In a heartbeat he pulls me inside. I don’t have time to look around the boathouse before he slams the door shut and pushes me against the wall.
His mouth crushes against mine, and I kiss him with an appetite I didn’t know I possessed.
I slide my hands over his chest, his abs, and unbutton his jeans. I slide my hands inside and groan as I feel how hard his cock already is.
He tugs the tie around my waist and slides my robe off so I’m standing in my wet nightgown.
I’m so aroused, so turned on, my entire body is burning up. When he kisses me again, my knees give out.
He picks me up like he did in the pool house, and I link my arms around his neck again.
This time he walks backward, carrying me, kissing me until we crash into a solid object I’m vaguely aware is a boat.
He pulls back just so I can see the lust on his face. “Come with me. There’s—"
I don’t even give him time to finish, I slide down him, and look in the direction he’s pointing.
I nod weakly, I know nothing about boats, but right now all I care about is that it has a bed.
I clamber up the steps, and the instant I step foot on the deck, he’s in front of me and tugging me through a galley, and into a tiny bedroom.
We fall onto the mattress, wet skin against skin as he climbs on top of me kissing me as though he might never get the chance to again.
I push his cutoffs carefully down his hips, leaving him to wriggle out of them. In the dim light of the boat, I don’t get the full effect of how incredible his physique is.
I pull my soaking nightgown over my head and toss it over his shoulder before I pull him towards me.
His tongue meshes with mine, as my hands wander over his back, his ass, his arms.
I gently caress the scars worried about hurting him, but if my touch causes him discomfort, he says nothing.
He shifts his weight so his lips are on my neck, my breasts, stopping to lick and gently suckle my nipples.
He peppers me with kisses, slowly moving down my body until I’m whimpering and trembling with anticipation.
In one delicious move, his tongue is between my legs, and I’m riding a wave of exhilaration as he brings me to an explosive orgasm.
I’m shaking, almost delirious with need when he slides inside me. I wrap my legs around him, clinging to his back, panting in his ear as he starts to pump me.
We rock slowly, finding our rhythm as our bodies become fluid. With every movement of his hips, every thrust, delicious ripples of pleasure run like electricity through my body.
It surges through me, intoxicating, fulfilling and sheer carnal hedonistic lust in its purest form.
By the time I’m reaching the summit of my second climax, he’s joining me, pounding me harder, and faster, bodies colliding as we satiate each other’s craving for release.
When he rolls off me, breathing heavy, and I’m floating on a cloud of bliss, he releases a sigh that lets me know he’s already thinking of the consequences of this little tryst.
I turn my head and even though his face is shadowed, from the way he’s already searching for his clothes, it’s unlikely he’s thinking the same thing I am.
This won’t continue past this weekend. His continued silence is making that abundantly clear.
To save any further embarrassment, I pull myself out of bed and go searching for my nightgown.
He’s so silent when I tug my nightgown over my head, I jump. “This
is for the best,” he says.
I freeze. Uncertainty making me doubt what he means. But there can be no mistaking his meaning when he clears his throat. “You can’t stay here.”
A lump descends from my throat to my stomach. Heat rushes over my face as swallow thickly.
I don’t even acknowledge him. I just blink back hot tears and find my way off the boat.
I run across the boathouse, out the door, slipping on muddied grass, half-blinded by the rain, towards the front door.
My fingers are slick with water when I twist the door to open it. Just like the faucet in the pool house, it won’t budge.
I stand, crying, getting colder and more panicked by the second. Water is streaming down my face as I desperately try to open the antiquated door.
When it’s obvious it’s not going to open, and I have no alternative, I turn and stare in the direction of the boathouse.
As if the depth of my humiliation couldn’t get any deeper, I don’t have any choice but to go back and ask for his help.
Luther just provided the most sensual experience of my life, then he asked me to leave.
What kind of a twisted asshole does that?
Chapter 4.
LUTHER
Saturday 10.13pm
I stare at the empty space in the bed and can’t muster the energy to leave to do a final round of security checks.
It’s like all my worst nightmares have merged with my fantasies and are now converging on me in one incredible roll in the sack.
A deep pit is growing in my stomach as I finally climb off the boat, ready to switch the lights off.
Her robe is still lying on the floor from where I ripped it off her. Like an animal with nothing on his mind but satisfying a primal urge to claim a mate and to tame her.
I scoop up the robe, feeling the damp silk that clung to her, making my brain turn to putty and my cock start to harden.
I drape the robe over my arm, ready to take it to the main house when the door opens and my lungs seize up.
Out in the light, wearing nothing but my pants, I’m as exposed as I would be if she’d slept in bed with me.
I know she felt them, but I don’t know if she saw them in the poolhouse. Whatever reason she’s come back, I can’t let her stay.
She steps inside the door, saturated, silk covering her skin, clinging to the swell of her breasts and her nipples.
Under the lights her lips are blue and she’s shivering. “The front door was locked,” she stutters.
She looks so miserable; I almost relent and apologize. Instead I just nod. “It sticks sometimes. Stay here. I’ll go fix it for you.”
Her mouth opens and closes like she wants to say something, but her eyes are on her robe.
I extend my arm, and she gingerly accepts it. I step backward, trying to hide my scars as she shrugs the robe back on.
Her eyes light on my face, and her blue-tinged lips press tightly together before she pulls her shoulders back. “About this...that was....”
Blaire’s eyes glisten and it's clear she’s pissed off. “Shitty. That was a shitty thing to do. I just wanted you to know that.”
I work my jaw, still unwilling to move in case she starts an entirely different conversation.
Being a jerk is easier than admitting why I needed her to leave.
“You came looking for sex. Not me. Sex.”
Anger flashes across her face, and I know she’s mad enough to slap me. If I thought it would diffuse the situation, I’d let her.
Her voice comes out a shaky hiss. “You bastard. You started it!”
She’s right. I did. “Yeah, well. I’m ending it.”
When she just gapes at me, a furious expression on her face, I know she’s not going to move.
I gesture to the boat and try for a relaxed tone. “Go get yourself something hot to drink. I’ll fix the door while you dry off.”
She still doesn’t move but jabs a finger at my chest. “You know what I think? I think you wanted me to come here. I think you’re tired of hiding from whatever it is you’re hiding from.”
It’s too close to the truth, so I force an edge to my voice. “I don’t give a shit what you think of me. Just because I fucked you doesn’t mean I have to listen to you.”
This time she does slap me. Hard. But it doesn’t sting as much as the look on her face.
Her voice is almost a whisper when she finally steps away from the door. “I guess I was wrong about you. But you’re wrong about me too.”
She turns to leave and my body seems to react of its own accord.
I take a step forward, my fingers curl into her arm as the words come out in a rush. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Her eyes widen and I hastily rephrase in case she thinks I’m threatening her. “That’s not what I mean. I can’t sleep with you. I can’t sleep with anyone.”
She blows out a breath of air as she frowns. But instead of condemnation, she steps closer to me, inviting my touch, not pushing me away like I expected.
Her eyes search my face and trail to my shoulders where the top of one of the worst scars are visible.
She smiles sadly but doesn’t push any further just sighs deeply. “I’m sorry you think this is the way it has to be. But you have hurt me, Luther. Just not in the way you were worried about.”
Before I can say a word in my defense, she pushes up on her toes and kisses me softly. “If you need them, I have sleeping pills in my room.”
She steps back, still shivering as she walks toward the boat like she didn’t just rip my scars wide open all open again.
It takes me a second to collect my scattered thoughts before I grab my tools and head for the front door.
BLAIRE
Saturday 10.58pm
I’m sitting in the tiny living space, in a comfy chair, and on my second cup of hot chocolate and wrapped in a blanket when he finally returns.
One look at his face and I know he’s shut himself up tight. Whatever progress I made with him, it’s not enough to get him to open up to me.
He leans against the doorway and folds his arms across his chest. “We have a problem. The door isn’t stuck. It’s another new addition Jake failed to mention. It’s possibly on a timer. If I try to open it’ll trip the alarm.”
The words escape in a choked rush. “What?”
He exhales slowly. “Jake told me he installed the alarm, but the code he gave me isn’t working. If I try to force the door, the alarm will send him a text. He’ll call me and...”
His voice trails off and I realize what he’s saying. If Mary and Jake get a message, he’ll have to explain why I was out of the house.
“What do we do?”
He runs a hand over his face. “Nothing we can do. I wasn’t supposed to be in here. You weren’t supposed to be out of the castle.”
I groan. So much for writing. So much for anything. Mild panic starts to grow as I consider where I’ll have to try to sleep tonight if I can’t get to my room.
I’m not even dressed.
“Can’t you just call and tell them I locked both of us out?”
His eyes trail over me as he slowly shakes his head. “There’s no plausible reason for you being out of the house this late. I’ve thought this through. The only thing I can do is call him first thing and get the correct code.”
My heart leaps to my throat. “And what happens tonight?”
He looks around the living quarters. “You stay here. I’ll stay busy until morning.”
My eyes pop. “That’s your solution? You just stay awake all night?”
He shrugs. “It’s that or sleep in shifts. And that’s riskier. You aren’t trained for it.”
An exasperated sigh rushes out of my lungs. “Of for goodness sake. I’m not letting you stay awake all night. This is my fault, Mary warned me not to leave the house after ten and I completely forgot.”
He just reaches for a shirt he must have left in here and tugs it over his head. “It’s not a
big deal. And it’s not entirely your fault.”
Luther’s eyes meet mine and a faint smile appears. “You look tired. Get some sleep. I’ll stay busy until morning.”
He turns, and without another word of discussion, he starts to head back the way he came.
Before he reaches the deck, I’m out of my chair and standing in front of him. I block his way and he frowns at me. “This isn’t up for discussion.”
I glare back at him. “Actually, it is. I can’t sleep without a pill these days. So whether you like it or not, I’m going to be awake. You may as well get some sleep because I won’t be.”
A puzzled expression crosses his face. “You don’t sleep well?”
Damn it. I’m not going to open up that can of worms.
Instead of even contemplating telling him about my messed-up childhood, I raise an eyebrow. “Not since I was a kid. I’m perfectly accustomed to surviving on a few hours of sleep. If I had my laptop, I’d just keep writing. Since I don’t, I’ll have to find another way of filling the time.”
He tilts his head, a flickering of doubt showing as he frowns. “What happened when you were a kid?”
That’s nothing I want to talk to him or anyone else about so I narrow my eyes. “What happened to your back?”
He jerks as though I struck him. But he just looks at me as if he’s trying to decide whether I’m telling the truth about my insomnia.
Finally, he raises his hands. “Fine. I’ll get some sleep.”
He steps closer and his tone leaves no room for argument. “No matter what you hear, you do not come in. Are we clear?”
A momentary spike of panic rushes through me. Is he really that dangerous?
One look at the intensity of his gaze gives me the answer. “Crystal.”
And it is crystal clear.
His desire to shut me out is quite possibly the only thing about Luther that is clear.
LUTHER
2.34am Sunday.
I’m tied to a chair. Hot pain tears through me. Blood splatters on the ground. Bone crunching, sweat, filth, and darkness.
He leans closer. Eyes that I’ll never forget. Cold, calculating. Blood drips down the blade in his hand. “Where are the rest of your company?”
