The Vanity of Roses

by Lily White

  If not for her, I’d be the same as these women, only I wouldn’t have made the choice, and I wouldn’t be looking forward to a retirement where I could strike out on my own path in life.

  Between my friendship with Holly, and now my friendship with them, I was beginning to see that pride and vanity weren’t reserved for those who could afford it. And in many ways, the wealthy had less of a claim to it than the people they assumed were beneath them.

  I think if I had the choice, I would be like them, that I would take pride in walking my own path rather than having the demands of wealth and polite society box me in.

  “So, tell me what it’s like to have Callan Rose gunning for you?”

  Leaning back against the wall, Haley sat with her legs straight in front of her on my bed, her eyes rolling my direction like a minx, a smile stretching across her pretty face.

  Near us stood Isabelle, a scowl firmly set in place, eyes watching me warily. Two other women were seated in chairs near the door to my room, laughter bubbling up their throats in response to Haley’s request.

  Meanwhile, I was at the head of the bed, still in the short nightgown I’d been given to wear instead of the maid uniform I had when brought down.

  My legs were bent in front of my chest, my arms wrapped around my shins. Resting my chin on my knees, I met Haley’s stare while trying to ignore the eye daggers from Isabelle’s direction.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Haley cocked a perfectly shaped brow. “Sure you don’t. Meanwhile your neck is still a little yellow from fading bruises. It takes a lot to drive a man to violence like that.”

  Her gaze drifted to Isabelle. “She’s never been marked.”

  Uncomfortable with the direction our conversation was taking, I tightened my arms around my legs as if that could make me smaller or invisible.

  Haley’s eyes found mine again. “What did you do to him?”

  “She exists in my space.”

  All our heads snapped toward the door at the sound of Callan’s deep voice. How he’d snuck up on us, I didn’t know. Normally I felt his presence, the cold brush of shadow.

  Haley’s eyes widened, her body straightening over the bed. The other women left, their bodies brushing past him quickly. All except Isabelle.

  But while Isabelle stared at Callan like he hung the moon, his gaze locked on me.

  I felt trapped in that dark stare, consumed once again by a man that didn’t just make my heart flutter like a panicked bird, but burned me from the inside out with every word he said and every act he committed against me.

  Without looking away from me, his voice rolled like thunder.

  “If you ladies don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Lisbeth alone.”

  “Awe, but we’re just getting to the good part.”

  Despite Haley’s teasing, Callan’s eyes never left mine. It was a silent challenge. One I wasn’t sure I could take on.

  “Now.”

  His deep voiced response was obeyed finally.

  Haley was quick to jump to her feet and wave goodbye to me as she walked off. Isabelle, on the other hand, made a point of pushing away from the wall with an angry jerk of her body.

  Hips moving with pure seduction, she approached Callan as if to pass him by, but then her palm pressed to his chest, a loving touch.

  He gripped her wrist and pulled her hand from his body, his eyes finally releasing mine to stare at her face.

  Isabelle went still beneath that look, raw pain flashing across her expression.

  Uncurling his fingers from her wrist, he stepped aside giving her wide berth to pass without touching him again.

  I won’t lie and claim I didn’t have to hide a smile of triumph.

  And how fucked up was that?

  I should hate him for what he’d done. I did hate him. But there was still warmth that bloomed all over my body every time he was near. A touch of victory for being the only woman he allowed to lay a hand on him.

  After Isabelle left, Callan nudged the door closed with his foot, broad shoulders leaning back against the wood as he stared at me.

  Neither of us spoke at first, yet it was a conversation so full of our past and present that my mind scrambled with all the emotions and thoughts.

  In him, I saw a servant boy who took the abuse. And in him, I saw the man who had fought his way to the top and would never be abused again.

  What he didn’t know was that, in him, I also saw two hearts that had been broken by cruel circumstance. I saw lies. I saw games. And I saw an opponent who had no idea how he’d hurt me more when we were young than he could ever hurt me now.

  “Are you enjoying your stay down here?”

  My eyes blinked at the question, my body shifting over the mattress to loosen the muscles that were locking in place from lack of movement.

  “I am. Thank you. It’s been nice.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked, amber eyes assessing me for any chink in my stubborn armor.

  His grin stretched.

  “I heard you’ve made friends.”

  Tilting my chin, I refused to return the smile.

  “Your spies are correct. Hope that doesn’t disappoint you too much.”

  A muscle in his jaw jumped, my attention locking on the small movement.

  Callan’s eyes closed and opened, the thick, inky black wash of his lashes dusting over his skin before the piercing whiskey color of his stare bore inside me with the subtlety of a jackhammer. His arrogant grin faded before he spoke again.

  “Why did you run?”

  Caught off guard by the question, I chewed the inside of my cheek. Why did I run? I’d been asking myself the same thing over the past three days. And rather than tossing out some random lie to appease the situation, I settled on giving him the truth instead.

  “So I could tell myself I’d at least tried to escape another prison that was being built around me.”

  He pushed away from the door and approached me on slow steps, his hands slipping into the pockets of his black slacks, the shirt he wore doing nothing to hide the fantasy of masculine strength beneath.

  I should have hated the arrogance that was as natural to him as breathing. Should have rejected the cruelty that ran as a silver striation through his veins. An intelligent woman would have constructed every defense imaginable against the carnal violence that shone behind whiskey eyes whenever he looked my direction.

  But instead, I melted in place, frozen solid while burning so hot, the flames licked at every feminine part of my body.

  When I looked at Callan, I didn’t just see a man. I saw the epitome of masculine power. Raw on the surface, brutal in its delivery and utterly mind-bending when the strength of him was positioned between my legs.

  My hands itched to reach out and grab hold of the one person who I knew was the worst thing for me.

  Stopping when he stood at the side of the bed, Callan reached down to tip a finger beneath my chin and lift my gaze to his.

  And while that touch was a tender feather of sensation, it still carried the most harrowing of threats.

  “You can never leave,” he said, his voice soft, his tone that of a forgone conclusion I should know already.

  He spoke more truth in that simple statement than he would ever know.

  Still, a vein of rebellion shot through me, even if that simple touch spread liquid heat between my thighs.

  “Why not?”

  His lips tilted in a smirk, such raw arrogance pouring out of the expression that I swallowed down the knot threatening to choke me. That look was utter possession, pure victory, undiluted by any fight I might put up against it.

  I was beginning to believe he liked it when I fought.

  And I’d already accepted that every challenge he tossed at me, I would happily take up whatever sword I had and battle him with the knowledge I would lose.

  For some reason, it was the way he defeated me that made me want him more.

  “Because I don’t wan
t you to.”

  My breath caught at the admission.

  Callan’s eyes dropped to my mouth and I shivered beneath the heat behind his stare, the sensual promise.

  “And because you don’t want to either.”

  His gaze lifted to mine.

  “At some point, you’ll have to climb down from your pedestal and admit you love the servant boy.”

  Barely able to manage a whisper, I asked, “Then what should I do instead of running?”

  The pad of his thumb rubbed softly up the line of my throat, but then he moved his hands so fast I trembled at the speed of it.

  Palm locked over my chin, he trapped my cheeks with his fingers and thumb and lifted me up until I was on my knees in front of him.

  Squeezing until my mouth fell open, Callan leaned down to brush his mouth against my bottom lip.

  “You could do what I’ve done so many times,” he whispered, his eyes pinning mine.

  I couldn’t answer him with my mouth held open like it was.

  His voice so soft, it was somehow a wicked roar inside me.

  “You could surrender.”

  Callan’s mouth crashed on mine, tongue driving in to taste and lick, his kiss so slow it was infuriating. And I was helpless to it, his hand still holding me in place, his will dominating mine.

  I whimpered beneath the power of it, became lost as his other hand gripped my breast in seductive possession.

  I was his, he didn’t have to say as his tongue slid across mine.

  I would obey, he didn’t have to tell me as his fingers pinched the tip of my breast sending waves of need down to my core.

  We have always been this to each other, he didn’t have to remind me as I surrendered to the passionate fire he could stoke so easily.

  Callan’s fingers released my mouth, and I fell back to the mattress, my lips parted on heavy breath, my eyes hooded with the absolute need to be consumed by this man.

  Dragging his gaze down my body, he gave a command that was spoken with soul gripping authority.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  I wanted to argue. It was instinct in me to fight. But even my own body betrayed me in that battle, my arms shaking as I reached to grip the hem of my nightgown to pull it off.

  His eyes flared with want as I tossed the cotton aside and reached to curl my thumbs beneath the sides of my panties and strip them off.

  In this, I dominated him.

  Trapped him.

  Reminded him of how he’d watched me from the shadows as a boy, but didn’t have to hide his desire as a man.

  Kicking the panties from my feet, I stayed in place, breath leaking out of me as his eyes ran a slow path down my body.

  When our stare locked again, I trembled in place.

  “Stand up.”

  Callan stepped back so I could do as he said.

  It made me feel more exposed to be naked while he was fully dressed, my legs weak and heart hammering, my damn pulse a beat beneath every inch of my flesh.

  “So obedient,” he mused, a renewed wash of heat behind sultry eyes. “Can I expect this of you from now on?”

  “Fat chance,” I answered, even if my body said different.

  He glanced up. “That’s a shame.”

  Callan’s hand slid gently over my throat, his steps solid as he led me back to hold me against a wall. Head dipping down, the top of his tongue caught my ear, and as a soft moan lifted from my lungs, I felt his other hand come up, heard the quiet click of metal snapping around my neck.

  My eyes flew open, and I glanced down to see a thin chain leading from the collar he’d locked around me.

  I looked back up to see a grin stretching the corner of his mouth.

  “What-“

  He pressed a finger against my lips to quiet me, a gentle tug on the chain pulling me forward.

  Fear chased down my spine, but I followed him, my feet moving forward as he crept backwards to keep his stare locked with mine.

  Callan opened the door to my room, and my eyes rounded, my head shaking in refusal.

  “There are people out there.”

  Although, that wasn’t my only worry. I knew the devices Colton kept in the main room. Every one of them gave me nightmares.

  “Surrender,” Callan reminded me with a grin that spoke of sexual malice.

  My head shook again, feet locking in place.

  “I’m scared.”

  His eyes darkened. “You should be.”

  Another tug and he had me moving despite my hesitancy, the hallways empty, the main room devoid of another living soul.

  Chrome and leather gleamed beneath the lights above our head, the benches and other devices polished.

  I scanned every one with healthy fear of what they could be used for to deliver pain.

  My feet tripped over themselves as he led me to a bench of thick dark leather over wood. There were several movable parts that my mind couldn’t comprehend, the fear gripping so hard that my knees almost gave out.

  Catching me around the waist, Callan lifted me to sit on the leather, his hips moving between my knees as his palm slid gently over my cheek.

  Mouth against my ear, he exhaled, the heat of his breath a wash across cold skin.

  “Are you still scared?”

  My heart shuddered. “Terrified.”

  His hand dove between us to cup me between the legs, a single fingertip sliding up until he pressed over my clit.

  “Your body’s not,” he whispered, amusement clear in his voice.

  My body was a traitor, primed and ready, wet and so fucking needy for him despite the unsteady gallop of my pulse.

  “What will you do to me?”

  “The same thing you did to me.”

  He caught my wrists before I could pull away, pulled them above my head, his body shifting so he could force mine back, stretch me over the bench and trap my hands in shackles at the other end.

  Dragging fingertips down the center of me, a tease against the inside of my breasts, a soft taunt over my stomach and between my legs, he captured my ankles next to lock them down.

  I heard the flip of metal and the bench moved so that my legs would part, my bottom hanging off the side, my core open and exposed to him.

  A tear escaped my eye, the fear leaking out of me.

  Callan moved away, made a point to stay within my sight as he tapped a finger against his lips and ran his hand beneath the instruments of torture displayed on the wall.

  Whips.

  Floggers.

  Belts.

  Straps.

  Canes.

  But rather than choosing one, he turned his back to me, the fabric of his shirt loosening from top to bottom as he unbuttoned it, the skin and muscle beneath exposed as he pulled it from his shoulders and arms to drop to the floor.

  His scars, those silvery white lines that told the story of his life, were in plain view, the meaning of his words slamming into my thoughts.

  The same thing you did to me...

  Electric fear sparked through me, a whimper escaping my throat as my hands and feet tugged at the shackles holding me in place.

  The sound attracted his attention. Turning just enough to glance at me over a broad shoulder, he cocked a brow.

  “Do you have a preference for what I use?”

  My head rolled over the leather until I was staring up at the ceiling instead of him.

  “Nothing. I prefer if you use nothing.”

  A masculine chuckle, deep and disturbing.

  “Flogger it is.”

  My eyes clenched shut.

  I was hyperaware of everything. The leather becoming warm beneath my back, the stunted breath I fought to drag in, the pounding of my heart.

  Around me, Callan moved with purposeful steps, the sound traveling down the length of my body and stopping when he stood at my spread legs.

  Daring to open my eyes, I peered down to see him staring at me, his head cocked to the side, his body so utterly beautiful, it was
a fantasy brought to life. Hard muscle flexed beneath tight skin, broad shoulders and a strong chest tapered down to a defined abdomen and slim hips.

  He still wore his pants, but they were molded to him in a way, the fabric fighting the stretch of muscular thighs.

  From where I laid, I could see how excited he was, the outline of his erection obvious beneath black linen.

  I jumped when his bicep bulged and the leather straps of the flogger slapped against the palm of his hand.

  “Please...”

  The word whispered over my lips.

  “Please what?”

  My mouth parted to pull in a shaky breath.

  “Don’t hurt me.”

  He grinned.

  “Don’t you deserve it for what you did to me?”

  Slowly, he dragged the straps of the flogger up the inside of my thighs. I shivered, barely able to think with the threat of that gentle touch.

  “Will you ever let that go?”

  “Answer me why? That’s all I need at this point. To know why you hated me so much.”

  A gentle slap of leather against the left cheek of my ass, my body jumping in place as my heart sped more.

  He was toying with me.

  Honesty spilled out.

  “I never hated you. But you refused to talk to me. Refused to look at me. It was you that hated me. And I struck out because it made me so mad.”

  My eyes opened, and I looked down to see Callan watching me, the skin crinkled between his eyes.

  “That’s because I wasn’t allowed. There were rules in place. You know that”

  The leather softly struck the right cheek of my ass just before his finger explored between my legs, a single tip circling the tight opening, teasing me with sensation.

  Surprise at what he said collided against the pleasure his touch gave me.

  He wasn’t allowed? All that time and he never told me.

  “I didn’t know.”

  His finger slid inside me, and my back arched, shivers coursing down my spine because his touch was so aggravatingly slow.

  “You’re being honest, aren’t you?”

  With my head back and eyes clenched tight, all I could feel was the way he teased my body. A touch here, a hint of pain there, the leather straps of the flogger falling across the skin of my chest to drag down beneath my breasts and over my stomach.

  “Yes,” I finally answered, metal chains clamoring softly as my wrists pulled at the cuffs.