The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  His mouth fell to my breast again, teeth nipping at the flesh, tongue circling the top that was tight and sensitive. My body writhed beneath the way he toyed with it, my skin flushed and hot.

  Breathless, I asked, “Don’t you think this is a bad time to have this discussion?”

  I could feel him smile against my skin. “I think this is the best time, actually.”

  Notching the tip of his cock at my entrance, he lifted his head to lock eyes with mine.

  “Why’s that?”

  One long thrust and he filled me completely, his cock so deep that I swore I could taste him in my throat. His hand locked on my thigh to push my legs open wider, his hips so frustratingly still that I thought I might scream.

  Leaning down, his mouth brushed mine as he answered, “So that neither of us make the mistake of forgetting what we’ve done to each other and fall in love.”

  “I won’t fall in love.”

  Callan shifted his weight suddenly, pushed his body up to lift my hips and swirl his so that his cock drove impossibly deeper, filling every part of me, rubbing against every nerve ending that screamed with pleasure. His thumb found my clit, and my back arched off the bed, my head falling back as my hips thrust toward him demanding more.

  “I might,” he whispered. “This pussy is just as pretty as I imagined it. Just as fucking wet.”

  Another hard thrust and my body was shoved up the mattress. He fucked like he fought. Brutal. Aggressive. Carnal and raw.

  He drove me to a point where I couldn’t breathe, and it only made me want to beg for mercy.

  Already an orgasm was teasing my body, the vibrations like cords inside me connecting every erogenous inch of flesh. I felt him everywhere, his name etched into my bones and burned on my skin. I loved how he took without asking, without apology, without concern that he would destroy me.

  He pulled out and my eyes shot open, my mouth falling open on a complaint because I’d been right there, right at that place that would make me scream his fucking name without caring that he was the cruelest bastard in my life.

  Dark laughter filtered into my ears.

  “Not yet, brat. This is my dance, remember?”

  “Fuck, I hate you,” I growled.

  “We’ve already established that. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  Hands gripping my hips, Callan flipped me to my stomach, the sudden movement surprising me because it had taken him no effort at all. And then his chest was against my back, his hands pulled my ass to his hips and he thrust inside me again, driving deep, and so incredibly hard that my forehead dropped to the bed as his other hand took rough possession of my breast.

  “Oh my God,” I mumbled into the mattress, my body completely taken hostage by every hard thrust, every nip of his teeth against my skin, every brush of his fingers and the wet heat of his tongue.

  His mouth pressed to my ear as his hips continued moving. “Sorry, brat. It’s not God doing this to you. It’s the servant boy you couldn’t stand.”

  His cock thrust inside me again, pulled out.

  “The boy you abused.”

  Another thrust, this one so hard that both our bodies inched forward.

  “The one you demanded drop to the floor every time you felt the need to control another.”

  Callan’s hand released my breast to wrap in my hair. Tugging, he pulled me up and held me in place with one hand on my breast and the other fisting my hair. “Who’s controlling who now?”

  He wasn’t exaggerating. Not at that moment. Not when I was a prisoner to every sensation he forced through me with such exquisite ruthlessness that I wasn’t sure there would be a way to recover.

  And hell, I should have cared. Should have questioned my judgment, my decision not to stop him, my sanity for allowing this to happen after everything he’d done. I just couldn’t summon the ability to care.

  Not now.

  Not when it would only drive me insane if he were to stop.

  Our bodies slapped together again, the orgasm I’d been chasing finally igniting inside me until my body shook against his, my mouth opening on a silent scream as pleasure flooded every cell.

  Callan’s hand slid from my breast to my throat, his teeth sinking down, the scruff on his jaw so rough on my skin that it competed against the hard planes of his body claiming mine.

  He held me there while wave after wave of the orgasm broke me to pieces, the release shattering me, the tremors as violent as him.

  I was floating by the time the orgasm stopped, my body a tool for his pleasure, my thoughts stolen and as difficult to grasp as it was for my lungs to pull in a breath.

  Sweat slipped between our skin, and my tongue ached to taste him, my thoughts going back to watching his liquid movement in the ring when he fought.

  Knowing the brutal strength of the man who held me in place while taking everything I could give only made me want to leave my body so I could watch him move again, could admire the beauty of his body as it sought pleasure instead of pain.

  My body went limp, but his hands held me in place, a low chuckle against my skin. “Oh, not yet. I’m not even close to done.”

  I was flipped on my back again, my eyes wide and appreciative of watching every ripple of his abdomen, the flex of his pecs and biceps, every roll of his hips as he forced three more mind-bending orgasms through me before finding his own.

  Callan’s fierce gaze trapped mine as he pulled out to come on my stomach, a challenge in the expression, a dare for me to say another word to him as he marked me with his release, his body jerking once as the last hot spurt met my skin.

  Running his finger through it, he smirked when he brought the taste to my mouth, and I gladly lapped it with my tongue, a slave to sensation, a woman trapped, a girl who was secretly happy that the boy she thought was dead had risen from the ashes.

  I would never tell him that.

  And I knew I would regret this decision.

  But damn if he didn’t push every button inside me that demanded I abandon intelligent thought and give in to sensation.

  Staring down at me, his teeth brushed his bottom lip, his eyes so focused on me that the intensity frightened me.

  Leaning down, he kissed me, the taste of his release flooding our mouths, the scent of sex intoxicating.

  “I hope you don’t think this is the end of it. I haven’t finished destroying you yet. Not even close after years of wanting to.”

  A smile parted my lips, part bliss, part insanity.

  “What more could you possibly do?” I asked.

  He only grinned, the expression a mockery of the exhaustion evident in my voice.

  Speaking with a low rumble, he ran his eyes down my body, setting my skin on fire.

  “Dumb question,” he answered. “Seriously fucking stupid.”

  Callan dropped down to push my legs over his shoulders, his mouth closing over my pussy as his tongue explored the sensitive skin.

  My hands reached for his head. Fingers curling into the midnight black strands. My body writhing as he devoured me.

  All night.

  For so many hours.

  Over and over again.

  I would hate myself in the morning.

  Hate him.

  But I couldn’t find it in me to hate what he could do to me, to hate what he made my body feel while we both learned what it meant to finally give up and give in.

  Callan

  This was a mistake.

  She was a mistake.

  In twenty-five years, I’d never lost my self-control. Never lost myself. Never failed to stop and think of what my actions could cause.

  Until last night.

  Until her.

  Until temptation reached up to grab me by the throat and squeeze until I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight, couldn’t remember why I should walk away from a moment that would cost me everything.

  I’d shot up in bed the instant my mind returned to consciousness, had pushed myself to sit on the edge, had
ground my teeth to breathe in the scent of sex that flooded my awareness, made me hard again, tempted me with grabbing Lisbeth to lose myself in her body without concern for what it would do to me. To her. To anybody in this fucked up family because all that could matter was the high of touching her, tasting her, dominating her will while watching her fall.

  Not even fighting gave me that. Not even the promise of pain that came with the punches I allowed before destroying my opponent.

  I almost laughed to realize I had a slight problem on my hands, and that one touch, one taste, one experience would never be enough.

  But it had to be.

  Ours was a dance of self-destruction, of complication, of compromising situations.

  But still, I fisted my hand with the need to retake her, to smother her, to claim her body with mine because fucking her hadn’t cast her from my system like everyone promised, it hadn’t scratched some simple itch. All it had done was make me want her more, driving the demon of obsession through every vein, every bone, every organ.

  Turning, I traced the shape of her sleeping body, the bend of her knee, the curve of her ass, the languid line of her spine as she slept in my bed.

  In that, I’d been nicer. In that, she’d already won. And although I’d told myself I wouldn’t let this happen, here I was.

  I wanted more of it. But I pushed myself to my feet in a battle against myself. I dragged ass to the shower where I washed her from my skin, I rolled my neck over weary shoulders before gripping my cock to punish it for thinking for me.

  A breath poured out of me as violent as the hot water doused my head, my eyes clenched shut, images of her trapped beneath me an intrusion I couldn’t escape.

  Fucking hell...

  What have I done?

  There was only one place I could work out this frustration, and thankfully the jackass who’d engineered this situation was the one who’d be on the receiving end of my fist.

  I turned off the water and stepped out, toweling myself off as I walked into the bedroom to see that Lisbeth was awake, her wide blue eyes dedicating every inch of my body to memory.

  When her gaze finally lifted to my face, there was hesitation. Confusion. Regret. Fear.

  Everything I was feeling reflected back to me.

  “You should get a shower and get dressed. Nothing’s changed with us.”

  Except it had, in ways I refused to admit.

  The sheet slipped down her body as she moved, bruises from where my hands had held her, where my teeth had taken hold. I should have felt sorry for putting those marks on her skin, but all I wanted was to brand the other places that were pale flesh and uninjured, wanted to write my fucking name on a woman I’d watched since we were kids.

  Lisbeth did as she was told while I got dressed and walked into the living room, drops of her dried blood marring the white marble, a seriously pissed off asshole staring at me from where he was seated on the leather couch.

  Franklin’s lips were a razor thin line, anger bleeding through his typically blank expression.

  “You’re not fighting tomorrow night.”

  I laughed. Apparently Jacob had made good on his threat.

  “Try stopping me,” I answered, the tone of my voice final.

  Sitting up so that he was balanced on the edge of the seat with his elbows rested on his knees, Franklin gave me a look I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. Years ago, that expression would have scared me. Now, it only made me more determined to get my way.

  “Where is Lisbeth?”

  “In my room.”

  “And where did that bruise on your face come from?”

  “It was a lucky punch. I gave Jacob three just like it seconds later.”

  “And I assume the scratch marks on your neck are from somewhere else. Unless, of course, Jacob has started fighting like a bitch. Did he pull your hair as well?”

  Another laugh, humorless and deep. “Those would be from somewhere else.”

  He cursed beneath his breath, disapproval flashing behind grey eyes that were locked on me. “And now what?”

  Lisbeth walked into the room. I turned to watch her hesitate at the door, unsure what she’d walked into. You could cut the tension with a knife.

  “Now, I’m getting ready for tomorrow’s fight.”

  Ignoring what I knew he’d meant, I strode toward the door to the main hallways, knowing damn well that Lisbeth would follow behind me.

  “If you need me, I’ll be in the gym.”

  I was halfway through the door when he called out, “And will you allow your new pet to see exactly what you go through to get ready? It might enlighten her to just how much influence she’s had on your life.”

  Turning, I met his stare, Lisbeth’s body heat brushing over my back with how close she stood. Franklin grinned like he had me cornered, his comment intended to remind me what made me violent.

  “She doesn’t need to see that.”

  He rolled his eyes and grabbed his newspaper, dismissing me to go about my day. I wasn’t sure what the hell his problem was when it came to Lisbeth. He’d brought her back for me, demanded I do what I wanted. Apparently, what I’d chosen to do didn’t appease whatever hopes he had.

  Leading Lisbeth down to the kitchens, I sat at my usual table, my eyes glancing up at where she stood.

  “Take a seat,” I growled in frustration.

  What the hell was I going to do now that my head was filled with images of what she looked like when she orgasmed, the sounds of her whimpers and screams still lodged in my head?

  Ellen came to the table, her eyes flicking to Lisbeth before settling on me. “One plate again?”

  “Two,” I answered, hating the disapproval I saw in her eyes. Apparently I was pissing off everybody in this place.

  “Right away,” Ellen said, the tone clipped and hostile. She was the last person I wanted to disappoint, but I didn’t have it in me today to figure out what to do with Lisbeth.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  Lifting my head to lock eyes with Lisbeth, I scratched my jaw and exhaled heavily.

  “Do what?”

  “Be nice. It was you who said things wouldn’t change. Don’t get my hopes up if you plan on ripping the floor out from under me.”

  The corner of my lip curled.

  “If letting you eat at a servant’s table in the kitchen is what you consider nice, then your life has been far more tragic than mine.”

  She blinked, her gaze dropping to her hands because she knew her life had been a fairy tale in comparison.

  I studied the new bandage she’d put on her chin after showering, then reached over to pull it off.

  Her stare shot up to mine.

  Uncaring that she hadn’t given me permission to touch her, I grabbed her chin and turned her face so I could examine the cut.

  “It’s closed up. Leave the bandage off. You want to let a wound breathe to heal.”

  Pulling away from me, she touched her chin with soft fingers.

  “I take it you know that from experience. From fighting?”

  More like from the punishments I received daily because of her. “Something like that.”

  Ellen set down our plates, lingered in place for a bit, every thought in her head screaming in mine.

  Giving her my best scolded boy look, I had a silent conversation with her.

  You’re an idiot, she didn’t say.

  I know, but you still love me, I didn’t answer.

  She huffed out a breath. “Can I get you anything else?”

  Nodding, I wrapped my hand around the warmth of my coffee mug.

  “If you could have someone grab Gretchen for me, that would be helpful.”

  Another huff, her eyes narrowing on Lisbeth for only a second before she marched off to do as I’d asked. Knowing I would have to make it up to her, I ate as quickly as I could, paying as little attention to the woman beside me as possible.

  It was an awkward companionship, neither of us knowing wha
t to think of the other now that we’d allowed lust to take over and set us on course to an impossible future.

  I was a Rose in name only, but she was the rightful heir to the family, even if she didn’t understand that fact. And maybe that’s why Franklin took such issue with what we were doing. He was afraid I’d slip and tell her.

  “Mr. Rose.”

  Thankful to hear Gretchen’s voice, I checked to make sure Lisbeth had finished eating before lifting my eyes.

  “Can you take Lisbeth for the day? I have a fight to prepare for.”

  “Of course. I’ll assign her to tag along with Holly.”

  “Keep her away from the gym. At least until I call for her.”

  Lisbeth’s head turned my direction, her eyes burning holes in the side of my face.

  I didn’t bother to meet that stare, didn’t trust myself not to tell her she would only be a distraction I couldn’t risk.

  I couldn’t afford to focus on anything but the fight that was coming.

  Gretchen looked at Lisbeth, her eyes locking on the subtle marks and bruises that peeked up above the neckline of Lisbeth’s dress. I sat back, silently daring her to say a word about it.

  But like the professional she was, Gretchen merely squared her shoulders and cleared her throat.

  “Are you finished with your breakfast, Lisbeth? We should get going.”

  Lisbeth pushed to her feet, her eyes seeking mine. And while I could feel the way she looked at me, I didn’t acknowledge her effort by looking back.

  Nothing could change.

  Not after last night.

  Never.

  To say her disappointment was palpable was an understatement. I’d worn it like a shroud as she walked away and I finished my coffee, had carried it with me to the gym where Jacob was waiting, had clutched it in greedy fingers as I walked up to stare at his knowing smirk, and had wrapped my fist around it while punching him in the face.

  “Fuck!”

  Blood burst from his nose and his hand flew up to staunch the flow. Crimson dripped through his fingers, but I hadn’t hit him hard enough to break bone.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  Stepping over the towel rack, I grabbed a fresh one and tossed it his way. He caught it with one hand, his eyes narrowing on me over the space between us.