Like the cool feeling of her walking past me like I don’t exist.
I get to my feet and walk behind her. I love the way her ass moves in her tight jeans and the way it looks like it’s begging for me to reach out and bite it.
And I will, because she belongs to me. Not to the man who’s arm she’s clinging to. Not to the men she takes her clothes off for night after night while she swings on a pole slicked with sin and sweat.
I follow them into the bar and take my seat in the back, watching as she kisses his lips gently and the way he smacks her ass before he turns to leave.
I’ll find him soon enough, but first I’ll see what else she has to offer me.
Half an hour later, the lights in the bar dim, the music begins blaring and she struts out onto the stage, dressed like a common whore.
She begins by licking as much of the length of the pole as she can before she begins to remove her clothing seductively, paying special attention to the men throwing money at her.
I chuckle.
Clearly she believes her body will get her where she needs to go, but she doesn’t understand that I don’t care about things like that.
It’s because she doesn’t see me.
She doesn’t know that I exist.
She doesn’t care and it makes my heart flutter slightly when her eyes land on me because it’s much like me.
I don’t see her for what she’s presenting, but what she is.
I don’t care what she thinks about me because I know she’s meant to be mine.
My own personal whore, I think with a small grin as her eyes turn away from me. To use and destroy if she doesn’t pass the test.
But of course, there’s only one way that I will ever know if she’s worthy to stand by my side or be crushed beneath my heel.
Reaching down for my backpack, I unzip it, fish my hand around inside, my eyes never leaving her almost naked body as my fingers finally graze what I’m looking for.
I pull the hard, black plastic mask out of the bag and fix it over my face. Pressing the button on the side, I lean back in my chair when I see that now I have her undivided attention.
Today, I’m white.
Like the clouds in the sky, like the color of her porcelain flesh that I will happily mar if she’s not everything I hope she is.
I stand up, backpack in my hand, and walk toward the back rooms. Her eyes never left me as I disappeared into the private dance areas, and I know she’ll find me before some unworthy whore does.
And that’s when she’ll know.
That’s when she’ll see.
I’ll make her understand that she will always have a choice with me. We’ll play a game when the moment presents itself and if she fails, she’ll die knowing to never have another god before me. She’ll see that I was always meant to be hers and she was meant to be mine.
Why?
Because I am a jealous, merciful, and angry god.
Midnight In The City Of Lights
Midnight in the City of Lights
Never Before Released
1
My hands are weak to the task that must be done, but I’ve given him my word and have pledged my life to this promise. An end that one would never willingly agree to is what I’ve resigned myself to, however, a wounded heart sounds the loudest battle cry and I know that some scars will never heal. Not now—not ever, and that’s why I’ve decided to stand by his side rather than be the voice of reason, whispering in his ear.
I’ve lived my entire life knowing that it’s better to be the devil’s apprentice rather than just another soul to use and discard, and I’m sure this is why he chose me.
He speaks to me as if he’s known me my entire life, and perhaps he has. The past years have been a blur of overindulging in alcohol and debauchery, so it’s quite possible that I’ve indulged in him as well at one point and simply don’t remember our first encounter.
Monsieur Henri de San Martin is how he introduced himself to me when we first exchanged words and Mademoiselle Chloe Dubois is how I responded in kind. It was very proper, our first meeting, but we address each other now simply as Henri and Chloe, like the grand adults we are.
Tonight isn’t the first time I’ve laid in bed waiting for him to return to my arms, but because he’s my elder by ten years, I respect him and do not ask questions when he brings someone home.
We’ve shared one or two, but mostly he wants me to watch—to gain experience and learn how a woman is “supposed to fuck”. It may seem cruel to some, but they don’t know Henri like I do, and they don’t see what he does with them when he’s finished. To pass judgement against him—against us—would be unfounded.
Streetwalkers, whores, even vagrants with no one to claim them missing have met their end here after he’s had his fill of them, and then he comes to me—open armed and bloody faced. I’ve taken him to the warmth between my thighs many nights after his displays because I know that his heart belongs to me alone. He may not have declared it yet, but the way he looks at me tells me as much.
The night air is cool and tickles my bare legs as I lie on the silk sheets in our home, made of cobblestones and wooden shades. It would not seem grand to anyone other than us, and that’s okay. We’ve made this simple house our own and because of that, I will stay here until he decides I’m no longer welcome.
I can smell the faint scent of the ivy that’s crept up the side of the stones and I yawn. It always makes me tired in the best way possible—it means I feel safe for the first time in my life and that’s because I am.
Henri is my heart; my safe place, my home. La Campagne à Paris is where he planted his roots and this is where mine will also grow. I’m not used to the country life because my parents are very grand in society, which put the spotlight on all three of their children. It did not take me long to tire of the ‘high life’ and begin my spiral when I was only fourteen years old. Alcohol was always accessible to me because of the fucking society standards they found themselves in and due to this, I found myself in rehab at seventeen.
It didn’t work, but then again, nothing ever really did until I met Henri. His insatiable lust for the things we were told were wrong and deviant mirror mine, which we quickly found out on our first night together.
He saved me from that hell I lived in when I was twenty years old, and in return, I’ve helped him feed his dangerous appetite for the past five years.
I come from money and he knows it, though he tells me that he’s sure my parents have disinherited me at this point in my life for running away with him.
C'est la vie. I do not care, nor would I shed a tear if I never heard from any of them ever again. A family that does not look for you when you leave them in anger and despair is no family at all.
The moon rises higher in the sky, as the breeze lazily continues its assault on me. Tonight I’m wearing Henri’s favorite black see-through chemise, hoping that when he finally arrives, if he has company with him, he’ll see them to the door and we can spend tonight alone.
I yawn once more, glancing out at the country sky. It’s beautiful here—the darker the heavens become, the brighter the stars shine.
Just like us.
A small smile begins to play across my lips as I can feel my body yearning for sleep. Perhaps I’ll give in, perhaps I won’t. I don’t like to sleep alone when my beloved is out in the city, but time gets away from him and I know that if he doesn’t return within the hour, I’ll give up the fight and surrender to the world of dreams.
A lone pair of headlights illuminates the walls in our bedroom, but they’re not his. They burn too brightly and Henri knows that the things we do must be hidden in the darkest of shadows.
He won’t come home tonight; not while I’m awake.
I yawn for the last time as I pull the sheets up over Henri’s favorite nightie and close my eyes. Sleep has come for me and I will not deny it again.
Perhaps tomorrow he’ll come back, and if he doesn’t, then I can always hope for the day afte
r.
2
“Réveillez-vous,” comes a soft, sweet whisper. The hand that trails gently down my arm is meant to rouse me awake, but it only makes me smile and fall deeper into the world of dreams. “Chloe, it’s time wake up,” the voice gently insists again.
I blink tiredly a couple of times, then stretch my arms over my head. I know the sound of Henri’s voice, and yet I’m in no rush to heed his command. He did leave me alone all night after all, and I feel that making him wait a few moments longer for the pleasure of my attention is more than a fair trade.
“I missed you,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed. Leaning down he places a gentle kiss on my forehead, before taking my hand in his and waiting for me to open my eyes completely.
I smile lazily.
He knows that I’m upset with him for not coming home last night and it’s in these times that he’s at his sweetest.
Sugary words from the serpent’s mouth; my favorite kind.
“Did you?” I ask, finally opening my eyes to meet his.
Henri smiles and chuckles as he interlaces his fingers with mine. I’ve always been able to appreciate what an amazing specimen he is. Shiny black hair that falls below his ears which is always neatly combed as he takes great care in his appearance. A seemingly permanent five o’clock shadow that lines his strong face, the black now battling the white hairs that are now slowly starting to sprout in their place. A constant battle of youth and wisdom playing out on a face that can only be described as one belonging to a god of old.
But his eyes. Oh, his glorious eyes. They are absolutely my favorite thing about him—a vibrant teal shade that reminds me of some of the finest pieces of art I’ve seen on trips to The Louvre. Just like Monet’s Waterlilies, I think as I raise a hand to my mouth to stifle another yawn.
“Get up; get into your prettiest dress and meet me outside in the garden. If you hurry, you’ll find out what I’ve brought back for you,” he says with a mischievous gleam dancing in his eyes before he gets up and walks out of the room leaving me alone again.
My imagination runs wild at the prospect of what Henri could possibly have found for me. Surely, he would never bring home another prospect and let them wander the grounds of his property unattended, so this must mean it to be something of a more materialistic nature.
Diamonds, perhaps? I had made mention on more than one occasion that I had always wanted diamonds like my mother draped herself in at her social gatherings, but he would always tell me that diamonds would never shine as brightly as I do.
Or maybe a car? Not that we would need more than one between us and besides, Henri isn’t keen on letting me go into the city alone. He tells me that there are too many ways to corrupt one such as myself, though he’s not opposed to taking me there to wander freely as he follows a block or two behind.
A Dapple Grey? I’ve never wanted anything more in my life, besides Henri, than a mare of that kind and he promised me that one day if I proved to be good enough, he would get me one.
Excitement runs through me as I get out of bed and rush toward the large armoire made of white oak and pull out my favorite sundress. It’s black with a small smattering of dandelions printed along the hem and bust line. I’ve never worn it because I’ve been saving it for a special occasion and Henri is leading me to believe that today would be the best day to don the garment.
I pull my negligee off and toss it onto the bed. I won’t put it away yet because Henri will remember that I was wearing it and he’ll want to see me in it again when the mood befalls him.
As I slide my bare feet into my black sandals and make my way toward the salle de bains to freshen up, I decide not to attempt to guess anymore, because even though I’m not entirely sure why so much excitement is gripping me when I know not what he has for me, I do know that Henri has only ever given me the very best that he can manage.
He should remember that I’m not fond of surprises, though.
No matter; I’m ready now and after running my comb quickly through my hair, giving a final primp with my hands, I’m heading down the stairs and toward the back of the house. Once I’m outside, I can hear him laughing and speaking with someone I can’t see yet which causes me to stop in my tracks.
Has he finally gone mad from nights of blood and indulgence, or is he really speaking to another person? I won’t know until I fully approach him, but it worries me that there’s a possibility that Henri has lost his mind.
“Hello?” I call out curiously, announcing my presence to him.
“Ah, Chloe! Come, come,” Henri says excitedly, holding out a hand toward me.
And that’s when I see the other man. Tall, beautifully pale skin, chestnut brown hair tousled wildly on top of his head. He smiles at me with the kindest, fullest lips I’ve ever seen as he peers directly into my soul with big, light blue eyes. He’s in black dress robes and he’s clutching something firmly in his hands. I raise an eyebrow as soon as I notice the clerical collar around his neck and stop walking again.
“What is this?” I ask, tearing my eyes away from the young man to looking at Henri.
“This is Prêtre Leon and he will be marrying us today,” he says softly, coming over and taking my hands into his. “If you’ll have me as your husband, that is.”
The world begins to spin beneath my feet and Henri chuckles as I fall against him. Of all the things I had imagined, I had not dared to hope for something such as this. In any lifetime, I never would have thought that Henri would find me worthy to be his wife.
“Is that a yes or a no?” he teases, helping me to become steady on my feet.
“Yes!” I finally squeal. “A thousand times yes!”
Henri laughs and walks me toward Prêtre Leon who is patiently waiting for us, and I can finally see that what he’s been holding in his hands is a large leather Bible.
“Then let’s begin,” the young priest says in a pleasant tone. He’s much closer to my age than Henri and I can’t help but feel a modicum of sadness for this man. He’s clearly a person that’s never known the touch of a woman and has resigned himself to a long, lonely life of abstinence.
I turn to face Henri as Prêtre Leon opens his Bible and begins the ceremony. The last time I had ever felt such happiness was the day that I ran away from my family into his open arms. I never knew that a feeling like that could be surpassed, and yet here we stand—hand in hand, committing our lives to each other.
Til death do us part, I think with a small smile as I look up into my beloved’s eyes and sigh.
3
They’ve spent most of the day outside. Henri thanked Prêtre Leon for his services and invited him to stay for dinner. I thought it was rather odd at the time, however, I see how well they get along, and I can’t help but feel that they know each other.
Henri never talks about religion or what he does or doesn’t believe in, yet it seems they have some common ground to stand on. I busy myself in the kitchen preparing a meal for three as the two men sit and talk on the patio, sharing laughs every now and again.
It pains me to say it, but I can’t remember another time I’ve seen him so carefree. Whatever they’re talking about seems to have them both in good spirits and I guess that’s all I should really care about.
I check the roast and see it could still use a bit more time in the oven, so I go to the refrigerator and retrieve two cool amber bottles of beer. I’m not sure if a priest is allowed to drink, but if he declines it, I’ll drink it myself. Not that Henri will approve of it as he feels that it’s unladylike.
Staying out all night with no explanation so far is unhusbandlike, I think as I close the door to the fridge and make my way out back.
“Gentleman, I’ve brought you something to drink,” I exclaim cheerfully as I hand a bottle to Henri who smiles up at me in thanks and hold the other out to Prêtre Leon. He looks at it uneasily for a moment, but then relents and reaches for the bottle.
“Between us?” he asks, glancing up at me, then
toward Henri.
“Who would we tell? Drink Prêtre, drink!” Henri says happily as he twists the cap off of his own bottle and takes a healthy swig. “The food smells wonderful, Chloe.” Henri wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me down to sit next to him. I blush lightly as I always do when he praises me for the slightest of things.
“Thank you,” I reply shyly. “It will be ready soon.”
Henri nods as I sneak a glance at Prêtre Leon. I don’t mean to look at him as much as I do, but he really is a sight to behold. His body is not as strong as Henri’s—I can tell that much because his dress robes seem to be swimming on him, yet he’s beautiful in his own way. His face is one of innocence untouched and I find myself holding back a shiver when I see his eyes are trained on me as well.
When he sees that I’ve caught him, his face turns crimson and he brings the bottle up to his lips, takes a sip of his beer, and finally tears his stare away.
I shift next to Henri and reach down for his bottle. He pulls it away at first, giving me a questioning look, but when I give him the doe-eyed look that I know he cannot resist, he chuckles and allows me to take the bottle from him.
“I’ll be back in a moment. Excuse me,” he says suddenly, as he gets to his feet and places a gentle kiss on my forehead.
I move to sit in the chair he has been occupying and hold the beer between my legs, stealing another glance at Prêtre Leon who looks extremely uncomfortable at being left alone with me.
“So, do you know Henri? Outside of today, I mean?” I ask him conversationally. I don’t mind his eyes on me, but I know that my new husband will not care for it. If I can break him out of this newly formed habit quickly, then all will be well for the remainder of the evening.
Prêtre Leon clears his throat and wipes the sweat off his left hand on his robes. “Ah, no. I met him yesterday when he was in the city. He came to my church and asked if I’d be willing to come to his home today and perform this ceremony for the two of you.”
The Immoral Ones- a Sinister Set Page 11
