Dark Descent into Desire

by J. J. Sorel

  I turned and recognized a woman from the last ball, who’d taken me into the Dark Room for a little dirty playtime. Her name had slipped my memory. Leaning in, she whispered, “I’m still waiting for you to return the favor.”

  “I’m with someone.” My cool response hopefully said it all.

  Her mouth turned down, and her eyes cooled as she floated off.

  James smirked. “Ghosts of past dalliances all over the place.”

  “Why are we here again?” I asked.

  “Because it’s tradition. And let’s face it—just seeing our girls dressed up makes it worthwhile.” He lifted his glass. “And they always serve top champagne. And let’s not forget the Dark Room.”

  The Dark Room was a secret chamber for hedonists, a leftover tradition from the days of rakes. The more conservative guests had no idea of its existence. Only those keen on debauchery knew of its location, which was somewhere in the bowels of that castle.

  “Not tonight. I’m not parading my girl in that den of wolves.”

  James laughed. “What, not even a threesome?” He lifted a brow.

  “I’m not as kinky as you.”

  “Says Mr. Voyeur.”

  “I haven’t done that for a while.”

  “Penelope’s really gotten to you,” said James.

  “Does Lilly know of your penchant for threesomes?”

  He nodded sheepishly. “She doesn’t mind the idea of being tongued by a girl. She just doesn’t want me to fuck the other girl. I can live with that. Lilly’s enough for me.”

  “So why do you need to watch her with another girl?”

  “There’s something tantalizingly erotic watching two girls at it.” James’s brow arched.

  That came as no surprise. The guy was more sordid than I could ever be. “I’m a vanilla man myself.”

  “To each his own. And as long as everyone’s having fun. There’s Emma over there. She’s rather partial to bit of cunt sucking.” James nodded subtly toward a woman dressed in a man’s suit.

  “You’re licentious and wanton,” I said, thinking of the previous ball. when I’d entered the Dark Room and had two girls perform lewd acts on my cock.

  As that murky little image played out in my mind, Penelope glided toward me, and my heart warmed. The pull she had on me worried me. I wondered if I shouldn’t seek another appointment with the therapist to discuss my addiction to Penelope. The first appointment had gone poorly, unsurprisingly. I’d ended up leaving with a script for sleeping pills, after my reluctance to apprise the therapist of my soap-operatic past.

  I held out my hand to Penelope. “Let’s go into the ballroom.”

  “Yes. Lets.” She smiled, brimming with excitement.

  The music suited the florid surroundings, as the waltzing guests swirled around. Most of the younger women wore fitted gowns revealing as much flesh as possible.

  “I think I’m wearing the most fabric,” said Penelope.

  I noticed men’s heads turning toward her. “You’re dazzling. Mystery tantalizes.”

  Accentuated by the lace mask, her eyes had a teasing smile. “Then that explains my attraction to you, Blake, because you’re the very personification of mystery.”

  “Let’s keep it that way. You might tire of me otherwise.”

  She studied me closely. “You don’t like the person you’re hiding?”

  I paused to think. “That’s a big question and probably best suited to midnight after a few Scotches.”

  She took my hand. “One day, you’ll tell my about your family, I hope.”

  “It’s not that interesting.”

  “I disagree. It’s sounds fascinating. I prefer that to someone who’s had a boring life, when every Sunday’s scones and jam.”

  “I’m rather partial to scones and jam.” I grinned.

  Penelope smiled and, to my relief, abstained from further questions.

  “Come. Let’s dance.”

  “Waltz?” Her pretty lips twisted.

  “Just let me lead. I’m dying to feel you against me.”

  32

  * * *

  PENELOPE

  BEING SWIRLED AROUND felt like a dream. I’d never heard classical music played live. Lifted by the ethereal music, I glided along as though my feet floated in the air.

  Blake held onto me steadily. When I managed to leave his magnetic blue eyes, I observed those around us. The older guests painted dramatic figures in white masks, capes, and three-cornered hats, in what looked like a macabre version of Disneyland.

  The younger women, whose eyes were on Blake for most of the time, wore their red-carpet glamor effortlessly as they sashayed about, well- practiced at working the room.

  Dressed in a black tuxedo that looked as though it had been sewn onto him, Blake looked like that sophisticated class of man one saw in Hollywood movies. His combed-back dark hair revealed a face that bore so many shades of handsome that I couldn’t stop looking at him. His sultry eyes gleamed back at mine, hijacking reality.

  “I have to sit down. These shoes are killing me,” I said.

  Blake led me to a silk-covered chair. “I’ll go and get us another drink.” He looked around and then back at me. “Will you be okay here for a moment?”

  “Of course. I’ll do my best to fight off the suitors.” I giggled.

  Blake returned a faint smile. “I won’t be long.”

  He strode off, leaving in his wake an audience of salivating women. Blake’s animal magnetism was on fine display with that tall and upright bearing, which, although dignified, radiated the promise of something wild and untamed. Or maybe that was just my oversexed mind?

  Lilly came over and plonked herself down. “There you are,” she said, breathlessly.

  “Have you been running?” I asked.

  She shook her head with a smile. “No. James took me for a roam around. There’s this Dark Room.” She fanned her face. “Oh my God.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She cupped her mouth. “It’s more of an orgy room, I think.”

  “Really?” I recalled art history lessons about the wanton behavior of the upper classes as depicted in erotic Victorian art. I pictured masked guests with bare asses and women with their bodices ripped open, bosoms spilling out, and their stocking-clad legs apart. No detail spared.

  “Apparently, it’s a secret. There’s a dungeon. And getting there is kind of creepy in that haunted-house way.” She grimaced. “It was like something out of a movie. It even had a bookshelf that turned into a secret doorway.”

  My mouth gaped with wonder. “I’m dying to see it.” I looked for Blake but couldn’t spot him. “I’d better wait for Blake.”

  James handed Lilly a glass of champagne and whispered something in her ear. Lilly, who was already tipsy, giggled.

  After they wandered off, I went looking for Blake. I spied him in conversation with a man, who pointed rather aggressively into his face.

  Blake pushed him against the wall, and the other man sneered in return.

  Having noticed me there, Blake turned his back to the creepy man and left him alone.

  Rubbing his neck, Blake said, “I haven’t managed to get that drink.”

  “Who was that guy? That didn’t look friendly. Is something the matter?”

  “Forget about him. Come.” He led me away.

  As questions mounted, Blake managed to distract me by taking me on a tour of the fascinating castle and its endless chambers.

  Designed in different themes, each room boasted a luxury of detail, from tapestries depicting historical events, to walls painted in rich colors and fringed with scrolled gold leaf. There was plenty to see, not least the fireplaces the size of small rooms, which were flanked by statues of goddesses.

  With phone in hand, I photographed as much as I could. The detailed cornices of angels and griffins were my primary focus.

  Blake, who had a fine eye for detail, enjoyed pointing out subtle elements. All that earlier cloak-and-dagger shit had
vanished, and we sauntered from room to room as one would in a gallery. I loved discussing art with Blake. He was so attentive, informed, and deeply involved.

  We finally settled in a room I chose for its fine fresco of Narcissus gazing into a pond. Reclining on a chaise lounge, I said, “Lilly mentioned a Dark Room in a dungeon.”

  Standing by the fireplace, Blake’s face darkened. “That room’s not for you.”

  “And it’s okay for you?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s a secret chamber for deviants to get their rocks off.”

  “An orgy, you mean?”

  “Penelope, let’s just enjoy being here and leave the dirty bits out.”

  “Even later?” I raised a brow.

  He came to me and lowered himself close. His hand slid over my naked arm. “No.”

  “Who was that guy?”

  “A nasty, rotten piece of work, who I once knew.”

  “From Raven Abbey?” I asked.

  He nodded mechanically.

  “I’d love to know about your life there,” I said.

  “It’s not a pretty story. Not for here and now.”

  “But I will want to know.”

  His gaze went beyond my eyes piercing my soul. “I’m all for the present. The past doesn’t interest me.”

  “But why this shroud of mystery?”

  “A shroud of mystery? You should write poetry, Penelope.” He ran his hand over my arm again. “This past month with you has changed me. I’m not sure who I am anymore.”

  “That doesn’t sound good, does it?” I asked, wishing he’d remove his mask, my eyes flitting between his eyes and that mouth that my lips hankered after.

  “My past is dirty. And you’re a pure soul, Penelope.”

  I sat up, turning to face him square on. “Hey. I don’t even know who my father was. For all I know, he was a junkie or a pimp or a dealer. My mother can’t remember.” An ironic laugh grated my throat. “She probably can’t even remember having me.”

  Blake removed his mask. A sheen of pity darkened his eyes.

  “Once, I found her slouched on the couch with a needle stuck in her vein. I couldn’t tell if she was dead or alive.” My voice trembled.

  “I want to help,” said Blake.

  I removed my mask to wipe my eyes. The room and its splendor, which earlier had warmed my spirit now reminded me of the stark contrast between Blake and me.

  “So now that you know all about my crappy past, surely yours can’t be worse. I feel naked, while you hide yourself in those expensive designer suits.”

  “Penelope, it’s not a competition on who’s had the most fucked-up life, because if it were, I’d win hands down.” He combed back his hair, and boy, I craved him more. The darker he became, the more my body seethed with desire.

  “That wasn’t what I meant. I know it’s not a fucking competition. Hell, Blake. Don’t you get it?” I stood up. “I need some air.”

  He followed me out. Frustration with Blake’s inability to let me in fueled me along. I couldn’t stop thinking of that man who’d cornered Blake. His rigid, unsettling body language pestered me like a thorn digging into my skin.

  33

  * * *

  BLAKE

  I’D BEEN ATTENDING THE masked ball at Annerley Castle for eight years, and I’d never seen Dylan Fox there before. Even with the passing of time, those beady, perpetually sniggering eyes still made my skin crawl.

  Penelope was right: one couldn’t escape one’s past. The fact that her mother was a junkie hadn’t changed the way I felt for Penelope. In many ways, Penelope’s shame kept my shame company. And the more naked her soul, the more attached I became.

  I followed Penelope out, and seeing her clutching her arms, I removed my jacket and placed it over her shoulders.

  “Penelope, let’s do this some other time. You’ll be the first to know.”

  She turned around, and her eyes looked so large under the moonlight that I knew I couldn’t hide anything from her. “The first to know about your past?” Her lips parted. “Is this real?”

  I took her into my arms and drew energy from her heartbeat against my ribcage. “It’s real for me.”

  “And it’s real for me. I’m in love with you, Blake.” Her trembling voice echoed through my body.

  An aching pause followed. I’d never uttered that foreign word to anyone. Ever. And no one, not even my mother, had ever said that word to me. I couldn’t hold that against her though—my mother was that riddled with emotional pain—her heart was probably buried in ice.

  Penelope left my arms and stared up at me.

  Expectation pierced the air.

  If aching for her was love, then I loved her, all right. I grappled with that, wondering if it was my cock, my heart, or even my soul that ached for her.

  Maybe all three.

  “Have I frightened you?” she asked.

  I shook my head and held her close. I kissed her tenderly. Her lips, cool from the night air, tasted like pure honey. It was a new flavor. Normally, her lips were musky like her cunt after I’d ravaged her.

  “Why don’t we go inside?” I asked with the brightest smile I’d worn all night. For some reason, I felt light. I’d almost forgotten about Dylan Fox.

  Penelope agreed and took my hand. “Can you at least call me Penny?”

  I turned to look at her. “I love the way ‘Penelope’ dances on my tongue. But Penny it is.” I brushed her cheek.

  She smiled gently.

  “I wonder what happened to Lilly and James?”

  “Knowing James, they’re in the Dark Room.”

  “Is he sleazy?”

  I chose my words carefully. “James likes experimenting. But he’s honest and a good person, I believe. He wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do.”

  “Lilly’s impressionable. I hope he’s not into orgies,” she said.

  “They’re both grown-ups, Penny.”

  We were just about to enter the ball when she said, “I think I prefer Penelope.” She stopped walking. “But only from you.”

  “Good. I prefer it too.”

  We shared a smile, and spying a passing waiter, I grabbed two glasses of champagne.

  As bubbles chased away the bitterness of seeing Dylan Fox earlier, he entered my space again. Before I could even process his ugly presence, a girl came over and hugged me.

  “Oh, Blake. It’s you. Why didn’t you call me like you promised?”

  I stared at the young girl, who looked familiar. She held a stick mask, which she removed from her face. I instantly recognized Tatiana from the photos Barnes had shown me.

  Maintaining a cool facade, I replied, “I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do. We met at the Cherry Orchard. Three years ago.”

  I looked at Dylan Fox, who’d just taken photos of Tatiana embracing me with his phone.

  Penelope, meanwhile, stood by and watched. Her attention flitted from me to the young girl, who I knew was only seventeen. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asked.

  “I don’t know this girl.”

  I took Penelope’s hand gently and led her away.

  “Ah, ah… not so quickly, Sinclair.” Dylan looked Penelope up and down, wearing a sleazy smirk. “You’re very pretty.”

  “Fuck off, Dylan.” I clenched my fists.

  “We have to talk. Call me tomorrow.” He handed me a card. “This is not going away. Tatiana and you. Three years ago.” He arched an eyebrow.

  I looked at Penelope. “We have to leave. Now.”

  Her brow crumpled. “Who’s that young girl? Is that right… you were with her at the Cherry Orchard three years ago?”

  “No. It’s fucking bullshit.”

  “What’s going on?” Penelope demanded.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “He mentioned the Cherry Orchard. You were there that night. Are you into buying virgins? Underage ones?”

  “I’m not, Penelope. I’m be
ing set up.”

  I held onto her. I wasn’t going to let her run, even though I felt her body tighten against mine as she followed along.

  * * *

  PENELOPE SAT IN THE armchair in my bedroom, watching me pace about liked a trapped tiger. “I’ve never met that girl.”

  I told Penelope all about Barnes and how I’d been approached to protect Tatiana from Fox. “Fox is setting me up,” I concluded.

  “So you keep saying. What’s his connection to you?”

  “We grew up together. He tried to kill Sir William, his father, and I ended up saving the man. Twice. Dylan’s father left me everything and wrote Dylan out of the will. There were court hearings. It was a fucking circus. But Sir William had an ironclad clause, making the will uncontestable. He had evidence that Dylan had tried to murder him.”

  “But how?”

  “The cook said it was poisonous mushrooms. He’d seen Dylan sneaking into the kitchen.”

  “Then why didn’t he stop Sir William from eating them?”

  “Because Dylan strangled the cook.”

  Penelope grimaced. “I take it the cook survived.”

  I nodded. I was the one who felt the breath under his nose.

  “You mentioned Dylan tried to kill his father twice.”

  “The second time was opportunistic, given that Sir William was choking on a chicken bone. Luckily, I’d entered the room when I did. I found him frothing at the mouth while his son watched on.”

  “How was he saved from eating the mushrooms?” Penelope asked.

  “The cook revived in time to warn me. And just as Sir William held the fork to his mouth, I burst in to warn him.”

  “Where was your mother in all of this?”

  “She was his personal maid. They were very close.”

  “In that way?”

  “Probably.” I took a deep breath.

  “Didn’t that concern you? I mean, where was your father?”

  “In jail for killing someone in a drunken brawl.” I exhaled tightly. “It didn’t worry me knowing that my mother was close to Sir William because for one, my father was a sadistic brute, and for two, Lady Catherine, Dylan’s mother, had been having an affair with the gardener for years.”