Pandora's Pleasure: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance

by Vanessa Fewings

  “That’s the point.”

  “It looks like we’re crazy for each other.”

  “I agree, it does.”

  She pulled off her glasses and looked at me. “Why can’t this be us for real?”

  “You like this?” I inserted my little finger into her ass, just a bit, and penetrated her pussy with my thumb at the same time.

  “Oh, you’re putting your…”

  “You’ve been wearing your ass jewel?”

  “Didn’t bring it because of…s…s…security.” She was breathless.

  “My finger will have to do for now, then.”

  She nodded frantically. “Why can’t you always treat me like this?”

  My touch stilled.

  “Don’t stop,” she pleaded.

  I resumed my probing of both her orifices with my right hand and flicked her clit with my left. “We can’t be more, Pandora. You hate me.”

  Her neck tilted back as she neared orgasm. My firm fingers pounded her faster as I strummed her clit furiously. She was soaking my hands, causing my dick to harden.

  She arched her back, her thighs shuddering, toes curling, her body going rigid—her climax was a thing of beauty.

  She found her breath again. “I’m in love with…the way you touch me.”

  “Not with me?”

  “You wouldn’t want that.” Her eyes softened with confusion. “Would you?”

  Looking away and then finding her eyes again, I tried to convey that I could never love her. My throat constricted at the lie. She was infuriating, and totally spoiled, but she was the first woman I had ever agreed to marry when my father had broached the idea to elevate our status.

  I wiped my hands on the towel and tossed it on the ground.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked softly.

  Pandora was pretty and sweet, and pliable, and should she prove as kinky as me and be willing to explore the depravity I craved, I could see us becoming more. Not just as a token to please society but with a relationship that went deeper—maybe even leading to love.

  She was reading me and for the first time since I’d known her, I sensed she could see through me like glass, my soul bared for her.

  “Did you enjoy me fingering you?” I asked huskily.

  She sat up on the lounger. “Can we continue this conversation in private?”

  “We can discuss it here.”

  Her eyes widened with insistence. “Inside.”

  Here it comes, the first argument of our trip.

  Pushing to my feet I said, “Tell me what you want.”

  She glanced at my cock. “I’m ready.”

  “For what?”

  “To be taught how to be your submissive.” She licked her lower lip sensually. “I’m done with foreplay. Prepare me for Vanguard.”

  She wrapped a towel around herself and stood up and padded toward the villa.

  When she reached the door, she glanced back at me with a sultry look, her hair blowing in the wind, her face flushed and lips pouty.

  And here I was, captured completely in the snare of Pandora Bardot’s aura—my life interwoven with hers as though we’d always been destined to be together.

  She’d left a trail of her flowery perfume in the air. My soul yearned for the endless ocean between us to disappear, wanting nothing more than to plunder the treasure that was her.

  The fact she wanted this, too, felt surreal—like all my expectations for her as a sub might come true.

  I headed inside after Pandora, finding her in the luxurious sitting room.

  She sat on the edge of an armchair. “Where do you want me?”

  “Talking is good,” I began.

  Her brow knitted together.

  “Look, when I introduced you to my dungeon, we were in a different place.”

  She shot to her feet. “You’re talking about optics?”

  I sighed. “I only want a submissive in the bedroom. Other than that, I want my partner to be equal in all things.”

  “So only submissive in the dungeon?”

  “Correct.”

  “Okay, I like that.”

  “Yes, but the fact is, should you become my submissive, you’d fall deeply in love with me.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “You will, Pandora. It’s inevitable.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  My silence was her answer. Our future was never destined to happen.

  She stormed past me.

  I grabbed her arm to stop her from leaving. She pulled away, then came at me and shoved my chest.

  My hand snapped to her throat and I walked her backwards towards the wall and pressed her against it, my lips close to hers, but not kissing her.

  “Go to your room,” I said sternly.

  She looked devastated.

  “When you are willing to obey me you may come out,” I said. “And perhaps we’ll discuss this further.”

  I released her and walked away.

  Stirring from sleep, it took me a few seconds to orientate. That’s right. I’m in a cottage, miles from home…with him.

  And I’d just woken up from an afternoon nap, after being scolded by Damien as if I were a schoolgirl. I wiped my mouth, hoping he hadn’t seen me like this—my makeup smudged and my hair a tangled mess.

  I wanted Damien, but staying with him meant I’d be willingly closing the cage on my life. He’d all but admitted he didn’t love me, that we were over in every sense other than a pretend show for the public.

  Earlier, I’d almost blurted out my love for him.

  Almost.

  Caressing my chest, I tried to decipher these swirling emotions around my heart.

  This wasn’t a bad place to hide out from the world—even with the threat of the paparazzi looming. There seemed to be areas in the garden I could hide.

  I climbed out of bed and spent a few minutes in the bathroom to freshen up and deal with my smudged mascara and messy hair. I looked like I was strung out from a sexcapade.

  I put on my yellow Fendi floral mini sundress and gold sandals and went looking for Damien. He wasn’t anywhere in the cottage.

  Popping on my sunglasses, I left the cozy setting and strolled down the pathway toward a garden surrounded by lush foliage and tall palm trees. An opening revealed another sparkling pool with lounge chairs and a table set for a late lunch beneath a sunshade.

  Damien was swimming laps in the pool, cutting through the water with his back muscles bulging and his toned arms propelling him along. This man had endless endurance. It was easy to stand here and enjoy the impressive display.

  Eventually, he swam to the tile steps and rose up out of the water, his muscular form covered with shimmering droplets across his sun-kissed flesh. His dark hair turned sable when wet, highlighting his deep brown eyes. His blue swimming trunks did nothing to hide his major asset.

  “You look nice.” It was all I could think of to say.

  Looking amused, he whipped a towel off the back of a lounger. “Yellow looks pretty on you.” He studied me for a beat and then dried his face off. “We’ll shop later. You need shorts and T-shirts.”

  I shrugged. “That’s fine.”

  “You dress like a princess.”

  I smirked back. “An American princess.”

  His expression softened. “How are you feeling?”

  It was hard to know what he was referring to—the finger fucking earlier by the pool or our argument. He continued assessing how I felt about everything we’d done he’d done.

  I shrugged. “Okay.”

  He tossed the damp towel on a chair and pointed to the table. “Hungry?”

  Ambling up to him, I whispered, “I suppose us eating a late lunch together is expected—another photo-op.”

  He loomed over me. “They’ll possibly have a body language expert break down each photo. Be mindful of the way you behave around me. No more slapping allowed. Unless it’s my hand on your ass.” His lips hovered close to
mine.

  “Then conduct yourself appropriately, Mr. Godman.”

  He smiled. “You do realize I’m your ‘get out of jail free card’.”

  “How?”

  “With me there are no rules. Anything you want is yours.”

  “Except my independence.”

  “You’re living in the free, privileged world. You’ll never go hungry. You’ll never know what it feels like to be homeless, or sick with no access to medicine. And you can walk around here naked if you want with no fear of having your human rights removed.”

  My throat tightened with shame.

  “Too much?” His lip twitched in amusement.

  I couldn’t think of a response.

  “It’s not your fault. You’ve been protected from what goes on out there.”

  “There can’t be that many people out there like you described, though, right?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me, Pandora?” He reached out and grabbed my head and shook it. “Earth calling Planet Privilege.”

  “Well, I’ve been kept away from the real world.”

  “You don’t watch the news?”

  “We were discouraged. I mean, I was.”

  He pressed a fingertip between my breasts. “You’ve been protected so as not to ruin your sensibilities.”

  “Is that why you hate me?” My mouth went dry with the realization.

  He sighed. “I’m a moody bastard. I get that. But my blinders are off and I see the world for what it is. That way, I know what I need to do to make it a better place.”

  “I’ll work on myself.” I breathed through my humiliation.

  His shoulders dropped. “Once you see the truth it can’t be unseen.”

  The thought of anyone lacking the basic necessities of life made my heart sink. I was the living definition of spoiled.

  “Come on, Marie Antoinette.” He reached for a strand of my hair and ran it through his fingers. “We should kiss now.”

  “If you think it will help.”

  “For the photogs.”

  “Right.”

  He reached behind my head and dragged me in, our mouths locking in bondage as our tongues fought with one another, my moans escaping as urgent wanton desires sparked inside my core. The memory of what he’d done to me by the pool filled me with delicious sensations.

  He bit down on my lip and made me wince, leaving me breathless and panting when he pulled away.

  “I imagine that looked…convincing.” Damien followed that up with a dashing smile.

  I felt giddy and ashamed at how easily his suaveness had bypassed my defenses. His kisses were like arrows of unrequited love right into my heart.

  Breaking away, I feigned the kiss had not affected me at all. “Oh, a shrimp salad. My favorite.” I moved over to the table, glancing back to see him still focused on me. “Thank you for this.”

  “Allow me.” Damien pulled out my seat.

  After sitting down, I felt the brush of his lips on my neck, firm and affectionate, trailing along my shoulder and causing me to shudder.

  Please, let this be real…

  His warm hand pressed against my nape. “Thank you for playing along.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Of course.”

  He put his sunglasses on and sat opposite me. His laptop rested on another chair to his right.

  Pointing to it, I said, “You were doing some work?”

  “While you slept.” He reached for a napkin. “I find it hard not to keep busy.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Research on why someone might want the land meant for the Fairfield Project.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Maybe later.”

  This man was never going to let me get close. All that could be done was surrender to the inevitable.

  I was still up for playing nice. “This place is lovely.”

  “We needed a location that was understated. Not too flashy. That never looks good. A hotel that would accommodate a long angle lens but prevent the reach of listening devices.”

  “They’re going to an awful lot of trouble.”

  “The Oval Office rules the world. Trust me, you’re worth it.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Settle in. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  “Speaking of bumpy rides, you need to work on landing planes.”

  “It was a flawless landing.”

  “If you’re fine with your passengers feeling like they’re on a roller coaster.”

  He looked amused. “You’ve regained your feistiness after your nap. Maybe we should make that a regular occurrence.”

  “When I’m asleep I’m not thinking of my situation.”

  He lifted his fork and skewered a shrimp. “Your father is still part of the same political party as ours. He stands to gain a tremendous amount from us winning the election. You and me, we’re playing our part.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m doing my best to make this situation easier on you.”

  Having him show his true feelings was what my heart yearned for. Still, to be reminded I was merely an asset stung. I reached for my knife and fork and cut through the leafy greens.

  He pulled up his laptop and typed away as he ate dinner. It made me wish I’d brought my Smartphone or a book to read.

  Usually, when my glass was empty, a hovering staff member would quickly fill it. Here, it was Damien who reached for the water to refill our glasses, preferring a more relaxed dining experience.

  I pushed to my feet, rounding the table to stand before him.

  “Yes?” he said, curious.

  “At first, I thought you were wrong in so many ways. To break with tradition all the time. Ignoring etiquette. But I like it. Your ways are different.”

  He sat back and studied me. “I’m waiting.”

  “For?”

  “Your caustic criticism.”

  “For as long as I can remember, I was told ‘this is the only way,’ but it was from centuries of regulated rules. A legacy as one of America’s most celebrated families. And yet all along, I was destined to be sold off to the highest bidder.”

  He pulled me onto his lap. “Tell me what I can do to make you happy.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered, “You have to ask?” Surely, he knew.

  “You’re a very complicated young lady.”

  “Have a guess, Damien Godman.”

  “You used my full name.” His lips curled at the edges. “Now I’m in trouble.”

  “I’ve told you about me…”

  He gave a nod and drew in a breath. “Unlike you, who comes from old money and old traditions, my family are considered nouveau riche. We’re bankers, as you know. My great-great grandfather, Charles Godman, lived in India. He opened a bank in Mumbai.” Damien’s smile widened. “He met my great-great grandmother, Adhira, there and married her. She came from Indian royalty. Charles brought his young bride back to London. In that thriving city he set up a financial establishment that set my family on a path to become the dynasty it is today.”

  “And your family moved to Tennessee?”

  “Yes. Where we continue to grow the empire.”

  “You reject your privilege.”

  “I learned early on that it wasn’t the things that were handed to me that made me happy.”

  “I don’t care for money either.”

  “That’s because you’ve always had it.”

  “Earlier, you accused me of hating you.”

  He leaned in, his lips hovering close to mine. “If this is hate, I’m all in.”

  Frantic, I searched the garden for Pandora.

  This wasn’t how I wanted to spend my Sunday morning—heart pounding, phone in hand and ready to make that call—searching for the woman I wasn’t meant to care about. The fear of losing her ripped at my heart. My mind kept seeing the horrifying highlights of what might have happened.

  Last night, we’d slept in separ
ate rooms. That was the last time we would ever do that—from now on, we’d be sleeping together.

  When I’d gone to check on her this morning, she wasn’t in her bed or anywhere else in the cottage. We were supposed to be having breakfast together, lounging by the pool, swimming and spending time together.

  If anything happened to her, I’d have to explain to the world how I’d let their beloved princess out of my sight just long enough for her to succumb to harm. I’d have her blood on my hands…two weeks before the damn election.

  The thought of her suffering threatened to break me.

  Yes, we had security, but we’d been dodging them the last seventy-two hours and they were probably used to our bullshit.

  Pandora had breached my defenses and lately I’d seen her in a new light, peeled back the layers she hid behind to see the sweet girl beneath that high-class shell. Fucking her had felt like a spiritual practice I couldn’t be without.

  I’d been selfishly pursuing the one goal my family had chased after for decades, unwittingly forgetting what had been important to me all along: people. I’d gone through the motions of serving the public but deep down I’d felt like I was fighting a losing battle.

  I’d lost my way.

  Through Pandora I’d found it again.

  Pressing my phone to my ear, I resigned myself to suffering the consequences of alerting our security team. It would, of course, trigger an alert that would be sent back, the fallout monumental. Not ready to call that number yet and bring hell down upon us, I put the phone back in my pocket and kept going, willing Pandora to be okay.

  Hurrying out of our private garden, I made it to the pathway that led along the ocean front, hoping to see her walking along the beach.

  Farther down, a gardener was shoving some exotic plant into the dirt, his tan-weathered face a testament to the sun.

  “Did you see a young lady come this way?” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “Probably wearing a sundress.”

  “Is she blonde?” he asked.

  My heart rate took off. “Yes.”

  “A young lady, a blonde, headed off in that direction about ten minutes ago.” He pointed. “There’s boutiques down there.” He gave me a knowing smile.

  “Thank you!”

  Sprinting, I rounded another cottage and saw a luxury line of stores. Starting at an ice-cream shop, I kept peering through the windows, moving rapidly from one store to another until I’d gotten all the way down the boulevard to a jewelry shop.