The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  “Do you?”

  A blink of surprise, a battle inside her.

  Pride or truth.

  Past or present.

  Her answer meant everything.

  “Yes.”

  “All of me? Every part?”

  Another blink, my questions cornering her, smothering her, confusing her.

  “Yes.”

  I closed my eyes to savor that answer, to experience a moment I’d wanted for so many years. How long had I chased after it? How long had I’d endured her abuse with the belief that, one day, she might change her mind and watch me like I watched her.

  Opening my eyes again, I couldn’t stop the darkness from crawling out. The insults. The whispers. The doubts.

  “Even my cruelty?”

  Her truth bled out on three delectable words. “It scares me.”

  “I scare you?”

  Silence, one beat and then two. “Yes.”

  A wave of desire roared through me with such delicious violence that my body felt impossibly hard, my breath rattling over my lips.

  “Good. I want you to fear me.”

  She shook against me, her body trapped. “So I won’t fall in love?”

  It was the only emotion we could never have, the only one that would destroy us both.

  “No,” I answered as I lowered my mouth to her ear.

  “I want you to know what I felt my entire life. I want you to experience everything you made me feel when I was a foolish little boy in love with you.”

  Her breath caught again, tears glimmering in her eyes when I raised my head to look down at her. She wanted to say something, it was obvious in her face, but only silence met my ears, harsh and loud.

  But then, her eyes gained focus, determination lining her jaw.

  “I shouldn’t be here, Callan. We’re not good for each other.”

  I laughed, one deep bark of sound. “Don’t you think I know that?”

  The sound of ripping fabric grabbed her attention, my hand balling the lace of her panties against my palm before I tossed them to the ground.

  “Yet, here we are.”

  I didn’t let her respond before I sunk down and wrapped her legs over my shoulders. The instant her taste met my lips, I breathed in her scent, a growl rattling in my chest, a beast intent on possession.

  My tongue danced out to spear her, invade her, my teeth catching her clit after I lapped up the slick arousal. Lisbeth cried out above me, but I was too engrossed to give a damn. I could hear the straps slap the headboard as she struggled to break free, but that wasn’t enough for me to show her mercy.

  Never for this woman. Never for her.

  She would ride my face by the time I was done with her, and I’d ride her body. Use it. Adore it. Hate it. Crave it. And then I’d hate myself again in the morning.

  Waiting to bury myself deep was the sweetest of tortures.

  “Callan, please,” she breathed out, her body spasming because my tongue, my mouth, my hand and teeth would push her just to that point where her pretty little cunt responded before I pulled away again.

  I didn’t serve her needs any longer. I served my own. And there wasn’t any way she could tempt me into giving up this game before I’d dragged what I wanted from her.

  Tears.

  Moans.

  Screaming.

  Not some sweet little sloppy fuck that would be unmemorable and forgotten.

  I wanted my name etched on every one of her bones.

  This shouldn’t be happening before a fight. I should remain set and focused, but fuck if she didn’t grab onto me with her whispered questions and delicate touch, with a haunting presence I’d never been able to ignore.

  And now I had her trapped, at my mercy. I could do anything I wanted.

  My tongue flicked out for one last taste before I caught her clit between my lips to lap at it and suck.

  Lisbeth’s mouth opened on a moan that alone could make me come, just that sound enough to turn my pulse into a war drum. Her knees squeezed the sides of my head, her body shaking as she came apart on an orgasm that had the power to rattle me as much as her. The taste flooded my tongue with a decadence that should have been illegal.

  I breathed her in one last time before glancing up her body. Running my hand up her stomach and between her breasts, I wrapped my fingers around a throat I’d wanted to strangle more times than I could count.

  Pushing up until I was hovering above her, I stared at her face while she was still coming down, her breath a bare rasp over parted lips that I sealed closed with mine.

  My fingers squeezed, and I stole the air from her, an idle threat, a wicked promise.

  Her skin would bruise again. I knew that. It was too fair not to carry my mark. But I couldn’t care. Couldn’t stop. I released her mouth to bite her shoulder. Her chest arched up as her lips parted to steal a breath.

  I released her throat when panic flooded her body, shoved my pants down with one hand and grabbed her breast with another. And while she coughed to finally have air fill her lungs again, I drove myself inside her, her cunt clutching me, desperate to be filled, greedy.

  She surprised me with her raspy words. “Again. Do it again.”

  My head snapped up, and I met her sultry stare, my hips going still while my cocked remained sheathed inside her.

  I spoke carefully in response.

  “You like that edge, don’t you? The one between life and death.”

  Lisbeth nodded, insanity behind her eyes.

  In that we were the same. I loved it, too. A little too much.

  My hand closed over her throat tenderly, my hips moving in slow circles that shoved her body up with each thrust. It took restraint to tease her, to push deep and pull away again.

  Thumb sweeping down the center of her neck, I tempted her with death as well.

  Fuck, the way she shivered made my cock throb, the beat of her panting breath forced my teeth together.

  “I would have thought a spoiled brat would fear losing control.”

  She smiled, the expression brilliant, surprising.

  “Like I ever had control in the first place. But you’re fighting back for once. It’s all I ever wanted.”

  My hips stopped, confusion tugging my brows together. My hand was a feather touch over her throat.

  “What did you say?” My voice was a razor’s edge, too controlled, too soft.

  Her lips slammed together, eyes wide. A shake of her head was her only answer.

  My thumb pressed down on her pulse. It was a dangerous place, that artery. Press hard enough and you can stop the flow of oxygen to someone’s brain.

  My mouth dropped to hers as I teased that spot.

  “Tell me what you said before I knock your ass out and carry you down to the dungeon.”

  Her eyes locked on mine, terror rolling through them. And then she swallowed, the muscles working beneath my hand.

  “When we were kids, when I was so mean to you. I wanted you to fight.”

  Rage flooded my veins, pure and undiluted. She’d tortured me as some stupid game? She’d threatened my mother’s job because she wanted me to do something I couldn’t?

  I wasn’t sure she knew the significance of what she told me, but it had been a serious mistake.

  “You shouldn’t have told me that.”

  Lisbeth trembled. She was smart to fear me, but so fucking stupid for thinking her cutesy, brat intentions would make me forgive her for what she’d done.

  What was a game to her had been torture for me.

  Releasing her throat, I pulled my cock free of her body, stood from the bed and stormed into my bathroom. Slamming the door shut while she fought against her restraints and called out for me, I punched a wall and stepped into the shower.

  Hot water soothed me, my cock deflating as anger danced in to replace the lust.

  The fucking bitch.

  My palm slammed against the tile as my forehead came down against the cool stone, my lips parting on an ex
hale that carried with it all the pain of a tortured childhood, my mother’s worry of losing her job, her frustration that she couldn’t help me ... the loss of her life.

  All for games?

  All for her amusement.

  Hell, maybe keeping the brat around was a good idea after all. I needed to kill someone more than ever, needed to unleash this violence before it ate me up inside.

  Slamming down the handle to turn off the water, I grabbed a towel and stormed into my closet to grab some clothes. The brat was still calling for me, still struggling to free herself.

  I didn’t bother answering. Didn’t trust myself not to kill her if I got anywhere near the bed.

  “Callan! Please talk to me!”

  I laughed. Talk? I was too close to the edge. Too near that precipice where I might make good on my threats. I could hurt her in so many ways, and she had no idea where my head was at the moment.

  Stepping out of the closet, I watched her struggle. Enjoyed it. Maybe just a little too much.

  “I’m sorry,” she cried.

  Again with the apologies. I’d let her think on that for a while.

  Snatching my phone from a table near the door, I left the room on aggravated steps. I hit speed dial to call the only person I trusted to deal with this situation.

  “Callan. Please tell me you’re done beating my ass for the night. I just got in bed.”

  “Well, get out of it. I need you up in the family suites.”

  Unsure if it was my lethal tone of voice or the cryptic request, I swore I could hear Jacob shove up on the mattress, his exhaustion giving way to intense focus.

  “Did you kill her? Are we burying a body? How bloody is it? I might need to change my clothes.”

  My teeth gnashed together. “Just get the fuck up here.”

  Hitting the button to end the call, I slipped my phone in the pocket of my athletic shorts and paced the floors until Jacob walked through the door, his expression hard, his stance ready to go to war.

  “I need you to keep everybody out of my room. Whoever comes up here. Franklin, any of the fighters. Physically remove them if they try to get through my door.”

  His brows tugged together, the usual humor in his eyes gone. “What did you do to her?”

  “She’s tied up at the moment. A little ... exposed. Nobody can go in there. Not even you.”

  “Damn it, Callan! Let me go!”

  At the sound of her voice, Jacob’s posture relaxed, the thin line of his mouth curling up at the corners.

  “So, wait, you’re telling me there’s a naked, and apparently pissed off, woman tied to your bed and you’re leaving me to watch her. Me?”

  I shot him a look that promised pain. His smile slipped, but not by much.

  “You’re the only person I trust not to go through that door.”

  The comment sobered his humor. “I’ve got you, man. Go do what you need to. Nobody will get anywhere near her.”

  And he would guard her. With his life. Jacob was a solid wall when he needed to be.

  Nodding my head, I left the suite, my steps a heavy beat down the empty hall.

  I had no idea where I was going or what I would do when I got there, but I knew I couldn’t be trusted around Lisbeth at that moment.

  Not before a fight.

  Not after what she told me.

  Lisbeth

  There was no light when my eyes cracked open. Just shadows on top of shadows, regrets swimming beneath them.

  Still in the same position he’d left me, I attempted to shift my body, to make the sting on my wrists less painful. Everything I did only made it worse, the leather straps cinching tighter, a cold chill rushing over my naked skin that I had no means to protect.

  I kicked at the mattress hoping it would shove me higher, but my heel only slipped on the silken bedding.

  It was pathetic that even a comforter had the ability to defeat me.

  My eyes flicked to the bedroom door.

  For hours, a shadow had paced by it. I didn’t know if it was Callan or one of his guards, but the presence never left.

  Except it wasn’t there now, the sentry gone, a familiar feeling creeping over my skin, causing goosebumps to prickle and my breath to catch in my lungs.

  I always knew when Callan was watching.

  Turning my head, I searched the room to finally spot his broad shoulders in a corner. He reclined in a chair, his feet kicked up on an ottoman. I couldn’t see his expression due to the darkness, but I knew he stared.

  I could feel him.

  “Will you talk to me now?”

  He didn’t startle at the sound of my voice, didn’t shift his posture or do anything that would indicate he’d heard me. It was just like when we were kids.

  The silent specter.

  A stalker that hid in the shadows when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.

  I always knew.

  Always.

  Minutes passed before I was reduced to begging.

  “Please, Callan, talk to me.”

  Silence.

  Such heavy, unbearable silence.

  Just like years ago.

  But while I couldn’t see his face, my body could feel his eyes. His gaze left a cold trail over my naked skin. My breasts felt tight, my thighs squeezed together, the friction only reminding me of what we were doing when he left.

  I wanted to open for him, to give him a show. To seduce him like I’d always done when I knew he was watching.

  My knees parted, legs hesitant, but I summoned the courage to seduce him from his trance.

  A low rumble of laughter whispered across the room.

  “Is that meant to entice me?”

  He paused, his voice a blade that cut when he spoke. “Am I good enough for you now?”

  My legs snapped together so hard and fast that pain shot through my knees. It was nothing compared to the way my heart clenched at the bitter tone in his voice.

  It was never that Callan wasn’t good enough for me.

  He was brave while I was a coward.

  He was a survivor while I was weak.

  He was a boy I was never allowed to know beyond his role as my servant.

  Callan was the one thing I couldn’t have because I was too afraid of pissing off my father. But he had tried to know me, even if he thought I never saw him.

  He had tried, and I’d crushed him for the effort.

  “You’ve always been good enough,” I confessed.

  He laughed again, the sound disbelieving and exhausted. “Is that so?”

  He pushed up from the seat, a shadow that was somehow larger than the room. He swallowed the space around us, consumed it, made it his own.

  On slow steps he approached me to tower over where I was bound to his bed. I could barely see his eyes now, the whiskey color lost to darkness, only a glimmer of light allowing me to watch how he took every part of me in.

  “Is that why you treated me like a dog?” he asked, his voice far too tender for the question.

  “Is that why you had me beaten every chance you could get? Is that why you toyed with my mother’s job? With our life here?”

  He leaned down, his hands planted on the mattress on either side of my head, the tip of his nose brushing mine. “Is that why your little game was so fucking amusing? All because I wouldn’t fight back?”

  Silence as his eyes pinned mine.

  “Did my life mean so little to you?”

  Tears pricked my eyes, an apology caught in my throat that I couldn’t speak or swallow down. He was too close. Too angry. Too hurt.

  Callan was tortured.

  The two sides of him warring.

  There was goodness there. I saw it. It was in his face every time he talked to the cook when he ate breakfast. It was in the rules he’d changed to make the lives of the servants easier.

  Even when it came to me, his cruelty was eclipsed by his guilt for the vengeance he was taking.

  I’d done this to him. Franklin wasn’t wrong
.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally said because there was nothing else I could say. If I could change the past, I would, but it was a stupid offer. An impossibility.

  “Always with the apologies,” he murmured. “As if they could fix anything. As if they’re worth the breath used to speak them.”

  “I don’t know what else to say.”

  His face dropped closer, his fingers closing over my jaw in a threatening hold. “Why don’t you try being honest with me for once?”

  My voice was feather soft. “I can’t change what I’ve done. But I’m not lying. You were always good enough.”

  He didn’t respond, the only sound between us the rapid beat of my heart, a damn hammer that knocked at my chest, begging to leap out. I realized then just how much I’d hated Callan’s silence.

  Just say something.

  Just be honest.

  Just tell me you want me as much as I want you.

  That is what I should have been saying in the years I’d hurt him, but I’d been too afraid. Too ashamed. Too bound by vanity to admit what I felt.

  His thumb swept down my cheek and he was so disturbingly still that it scared me, fucking terrified me.

  My body was shaking, and I tried to convince myself it was the cold air in the room, but I knew - I knew - it was him.

  How was that possible? How could a man that was powerful enough to consume every room he occupied also be able to be as translucent as a ghost? As insubstantial as a shadow?

  “You’ll have to prove it,” he finally answered, his palm brushing down my face to threaten my neck.

  Tilting my chin up, I offered him that spot, every place, the air that I needed to breathe, the blood that pumped through my veins. He could have all of it if that would be proof enough.

  The man could read my thoughts, apparently.

  “You’ll give me everything? Even if I abuse it? Even if it hurts?”

  A nod of my head, a squirm of my body over his mattress. The straps cut into my wrists, but I ignored the pain. It wasn’t worse than the whippings he’d endured as a kid, wasn’t worse than the way he tortured himself now. I deserved a little bit of pain if only to somehow relieve him of what he carried.

  If I could soothe away his scars I would. If I could strip them off and mark my skin with them, I wouldn’t hesitate. I deserved them more than he ever would.