Dark Descent into Desire

by J. J. Sorel

  Penelope’s face turned sharply to mine, a sparkle of surprise in her eyes.

  How else can I describe myself? “A rich lover who’s so addicted to your daughter he needs to see her, taste her, fuck her every night?”

  Penelope’s mother lifted her slouched spine, appearing more like a frail sixty-year-old than someone in her mid-forties. “Oh.” She studied me and then gave me her hand, which was small, cold, and shaky.

  Her green eyes reflected back a life of sadness and bad choices. I struggled to look at her, because she didn’t even try to hide behind a screen of pleasantries.

  “I’m Sandy.” Her uncertain stare flitted between Penelope and me. “Please sit.” She pointed to a chair buried in clothes.

  Penelope quickly removed them and then headed to the untidy kitchen, where the bench tops were scattered with used packaging.

  She opened the fridge. “There’s beer but no food, again.”

  “I’m okay, Penny. Please don’t make a fuss.” Sandy cast me a tight smile.

  She had the guarded expression of a person so broken that she wasn’t going to let anyone in. I recognized it because my mother had often put up that same wall. But instead of drugs, she drank, mostly with Sir William, who also loved to drink. I’d often find them sharing a bottle, and laughing at ridiculously childish things.

  “Is there anything you need?” I asked, reaching for my cellphone.

  She studied me. “I could use some smokes. And there’s my script.”

  Penelope removed the prescription from her mother’s hand. “This is for your methadone?”

  Sandy nodded and scratched her arms. “Yes, love.” She smiled at me meekly.

  It was so sad. I understood the hopelessness of it all. I could see that this woman didn’t want to wake up. Hell stood at her doorstep, and she’d buried herself in drugs to ward it off.

  “How about food?” I looked over at Penelope, who nodded, biting a nail. “I can arrange for Patrick to pick up that script if you like. And buy some food.”

  Penelope shook her head. “No. She’s had her quota.” She looked at her mother. “How about a pizza?”

  Sandy nodded with resignation. I could see the disappointment etched on her face at the lost opportunity to feed her desperate habit. “One with pineapple and ham.”

  Penelope removed a sticker from the fridge and took out her phone. “Do you feel like some pizza?” she asked me.

  “No, I’m good,” I replied. “But if you want to stay and eat, I’m okay with that.”

  Penelope read me like a book, and I hated myself for being so transparent. “I’m not hungry.” She looked at her mother. “We just popped in to see how you are, and Blake …”

  I interjected, “I asked Penelope to introduce us.”

  Probably due to being stoned, Sandy seemed more relaxed than the two of us. “It’s nice of you to drop in, love. Don’t fuss about.” She winced at the noise Penelope made as she tossed out bottles and cleaned the kitchen.

  I rose from the chair and entered the kitchen.

  “Don’t come in here,” said Penelope. “It’s disgusting.”

  “I removed my jacket. I can help.”

  Her eyes grew wide and teary again. Having me witness the squalor that was once her life was understandably difficult for her. Even if my body hadn’t been so addicted to hers and I hadn’t fallen under the spell of her beauty, knowing Penelope as one human knew another, I would have done everything in my power to help her flourish and succeed.

  “No, please don’t,” she implored.

  “I’ll order a cleaner for tomorrow. I’ll request they come every week.” I removed the decrepit dishcloth from her hand.

  She gulped back emotion staring at her feet. I lifted her chin. I wanted to tell her it was okay, that I understood, and that I’d lived in a similar hovel before moving to Raven Abbey.

  Penelope lowered the volume on the TV, telling her mother, “Just for a minute while I order that pizza.”

  Sandy nodded before staring blankly at the screen again. I’d almost become invisible, which was fine. Questions were never my thing.

  After Penny finished the call, she lowered herself down on the couch and sat next to her mother. “We aren’t going to stay. I’ve ordered the pizza. Blake wanted to meet you. We’re together. I want to find you a flat, somewhere nice, away from here. What do you think?”

  “No. I’m staying here. This is my life. My friends are here. The only time I’m leaving is in a bag.”

  A deep, frustrated breath shot out from Penelope. “That will be soon if you keep this up.”

  “Don’t talk so loudly, love.” She attempted a smile. “This is my life. You’ve got yourself a nice boyfriend, and I’m happy. Really happy that my beautiful girl’s making a good life for herself.”

  “But we could pay for rehab and move you into a nice flat. Frank could even visit.”

  “No,” she insisted. “I like it here. And no rehab. I’m happy.”

  I interjected, “If there’s anything you need…”

  She stared up at me. “Some cash would be good.” Her frailty vanished with those words, and suddenly, she’d become an opportunist. Pure survival mode.

  “Mom!” Penelope rose and stood before her with her hands on her hips as though their roles had changed, which I sensed had happened a long time ago. I wondered if Penelope had even had a childhood.

  “Right, then,” Penelope said. “I’ll order food and have it delivered. The cupboards and fridge will be filled every week. I’ll hire a cleaner. But I’m not handing over cash. You’ll only shoot it up.”

  Now I understood why Penelope wore fear in her face at the mention of drama, and why at times, instead of the youthful nonchalance befitting a twenty-three-year-old, her face wore the world-weary expression of someone double her age.

  I’d buried the stench of my past so deep that I’d forgotten what it smelled like until then.

  38

  * * *

  PENELOPE

  IT HAD BEEN A ROUGH night. Visiting my mother with Blake had brought up all kinds of emotions—namely, guilt and helplessness.

  How the hell am I going to save her?

  Blake handed me a stiff drink, which I really needed. His eyes touched mine, and a gentle caress followed. I released a tight breath.

  “Do you think I should be doing more?”

  He studied me. “For your mother?”

  “Yes. Do you think I should force her into rehab?”

  “She’d have to be willing, and from what I observed, she’s not.”

  “True.” I visualized a couple of men taking her screaming into a car and me watching on twisted with despair. “If I don’t force her, I’ll be forever haunted, knowing that I could’ve done more. But if I do, then it will have to be heavy-handed.” I laid my face in my hands.

  Blake sat next to me on the bed and placed his arm around me as a brother would. I needed it that way—not as that hungry lover but as an understanding soul. He’d become both, which had one side of my spirit soaring while the other shriveled.

  “You’re not acting irresponsibly. The fact that you’re concerned for her well-being speaks volumes.”

  Tears poured down my face. “I’ve never cried so much, Blake. You must think I’m a weak, helpless child.”

  He stretched over for the tissues and handed me a few. “It’s okay. You’re a sensitive woman, even if you seem stronger than me at times.” His eyes shone with sincerity.

  “How could that be? I’m a dribbling mess,” I said.

  “At least you’re willing to look life squarely in the face. There’s an honesty about who you are.”

  “And you aren’t?”

  He took a deep breath. “There are many skeletons I left behind. One day I’ll open that cupboard, but for now, I’ll just continue to shed a skin. Thanks to you.”

  “Thanks to me?”

  “I feel lighter around you, Penelope. Although the background noise is getting lou
der.”

  “Dylan Fox?”

  He nodded grimly and finished his drink in one gulp. He rose. “Let’s not do this now. Let’s just try to help your mom. I’m sure we can find a way.”

  I smiled sadly. “Thanks.”

  “Hey. It’s me that should be thanking you.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “For having the courage to invite me into who you really are.” He held up the decanter, poured some more into a glass, and took a sip. I could see that the night had affected him as deeply as it had me.

  Blake strolled over to his jacket and removed his cell. “I’m waiting to hear from James.”

  “Anything?” I asked as he scrolled down his messages.

  He shook his head. “Let’s forget all about it for now.”

  I removed my cardigan. The room as always was very warm, so I headed for the French doors to the balcony.

  “No. Don’t open them, just take off your clothes.” His commanding tone had returned. Instead of repelling me, it aroused me.

  “I just need to taste you.” His lips touched my neck, which sent ripples through me.

  I smelled his arousal mingled with that fine cologne, which traveled straight to my sex. His fingers undid my bra clasp, and my breasts fell heavily onto his hands.

  “I need to look at you.” His voice was strained with longing.

  A deep ache overwhelmed me. I removed my clothes, while Blake, the voyeur, sat back and watched, his legs slightly apart to allow room for his growing erection.

  “Maybe I should learn a few moves. You know, like a stripper,” I said with a nervous giggle. I preferred being in the dark without his eyes all over my chubby bits.

  “No. I hate that sleazy shit.”

  I stood before him, naked except for my panties. “And this isn’t?”

  “It’s very different. We’re lovers.” He stared at me with that aroused look he got whenever I was naked. He made me feel like I was the most desirable woman in the world. “Remove the panties, and go over to the table.”

  His authoritative rasp tickled my pussy.

  “Bend over.”

  I laid my naked chest over the cool mahogany wood, my ass in the air, and my sex swollen.

  My heart beat wildly, as he stood close and unzipped his pants. He rubbed his hard cock against my ass. His finger slid inside of me, making my walls spasm.

  “Your tight cunt is nice and wet. You feel very nice.” His staggered breath choked his words.

  He fluttered over my clit with excruciating softness that sent anticipation of an orgasm rushing through me. His hard dick sat against my slit.

  “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, inching the wet head of his cock inside of me.

  He pushed in gently. The stretching ache made me moan. I parted my thighs wide to take him whole. He removed it slowly and then re-entered with a hard thrust that made me cry out.

  His mouth landed on my neck and bit me gently, his palms taking my breasts as his pounding intensified.

  Flexing my pelvis, I pushed my ass against him, encouraging him as we moved together, his pelvis fast and agile each time his large cock threatened to rip me in half. Pain had never felt so bone-meltingly good. His breath grew thick and ragged, his mouth on my neck moist and hot.

  Smothering my breasts, his hands moved with that greedy hunger of lust.

  In and out, the ravishing friction set off uncontrollable spasms. My moans increased.

  His growls vibrated through me as a hot release poured out of him, and his gasp “I love you” penetrated through me.

  Tears filled my eyes—pleasure, pain, and something indescribably profound.

  He lay over me for a moment, having lost himself completely, as had I, while taking his weight on his strong, sinewy arms.

  Basking in the afterglow of an orgasm that tingled from my toes, almost blasting me away, I turned around and looked at the mess of a man before me. I laughed.

  His serious expression ironed out slightly, and a tiny smile touched his lips.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. That was so intense and amazing.”

  His eyes remained dark and serious. “You’re mine, Penelope.”

  I didn’t even flinch at that statement of ownership. He could have me. Totally. “As long as you’re mine,” I said with a sigh.

  I fell into those deep-blue pools of complexity. One side of his mouth lifted, which I supposed was as good as a yes.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  Although his swift change of mood jolted me out of our romantic bubble, I responded with an emphatic, “Yes. I’m starving.”

  He left for the bathroom and returned with a towel, which he handed to me. “How about if I get Maria to whip up some pasta?”

  “Yum. Maria’s a legend.”

  “That she is. Italian food’s always been one of my weaknesses,” he said, zipping up his pants.

  “One of your weaknesses?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “Well.” He grinned as he came toward me and brushed back my hair. “Girls with long dark hair and big brown eyes and…” His hands fondled my breasts.

  “You’re insatiable.” I giggled.

  “You’re my weakness, Penelope.”

  “That may not be a good thing.”

  “Enough deep stuff for one night. Huh?” He tilted his handsome head and made me smile. “I’ll go and see what Maria’s been cooking.”

  “Great.” I tightened the tie of his cozy bathrobe.

  Just as he was about to leave, Blake paused. “There’s something you could do for me, if you don’t mind.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Call Lilly and find out what’s happened to James.”

  “You want me to be your spy?”

  “I need to find him. He’s not returning my calls, which is very unlike him.”

  I nodded pensively. “Sure. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  When I finally got through to Lilly, she told me that James was fine and even described their most recent sexual escapade. It was another girl-on-girl encounter, but this time, she said, “He got in on the action.”

  I cringed at how normal she made that seem, and steered the conversation away from her sexual escapades. “Tell me about James and Dylan Fox at the masked ball.”

  “Not much to say, only that they seemed chummy. Why?”

  It sickened me hearing that James was chummy with Blake’s enemy. I ignored her question. “Did you hang close? I mean, did you hear what they talked about?”

  “I didn’t hear anything. But come to think of it, James was kind of upset afterward.”

  “That Dylan Fox is a really bad guy.”

  “It was just that one time at the ball. He had an icky vibe about him, I have to admit. Creepy eyes.”

  I recalled how my bones had chilled from his creepy and undressing stare.

  * * *

  AFTER TWO DAYS OF hard work, I’d completed my essays. Inspired by Blake’s unwavering belief in me, I put my head down and voilà, I finished.

  Blake left me alone to work, while he met with designers for his new spa, which I couldn’t wait to visit. I even found some time to sketch by the charming pond at the bottom of the hotel where we stayed.

  Blake had missed his calling as an editor. He made excellent suggestions and pointed out repetitions, ambiguities, and grammatical errors. I kept shaking my head, and he’d respond with a questioning frown. The man just didn’t accept compliments. He didn’t have a vain bone in that beautiful body.

  On the downside, my sheet clawing while Blake slept had darkened an otherwise perfect weekend. He’d warned me. His writhing and gut-wrenching cries not only kept me awake but turned me into a quivering wreck as well.

  By morning, instead of making love, Blake sat at the end of the bed, shirtless, with his head in his hands. Looking raw, he looked up at me with those apologetic big blue eyes.

  I wanted him more. His vulnerability brought him closer, even if he hated himse
lf for it.

  “Blake, you need help,” I murmured gently, trying to bring him back. But he’d retreated into a solitary wilderness. His silence wedged a gap between us.

  When we drove back home, I broached the subject of his violent nightmare with careful pauses. His hand reached out to mine, and without turning to look at me, keeping his eyes on the road, he murmured, “I’ll continue to seek help.”

  “That means everything to me.” I chose my words carefully, for it felt like a breakthrough of sorts. “I know you guard your privacy. But perhaps if you open up, it will help. You know I’m here for you, don’t you? You can tell me anything.”

  “The truth will make you run.”

  “Blake, you’ve seen how I’ve lived all my life. It’s far from pretty.” I took a breath. “I’ve even witnessed a murder.”

  Blake turned sharply. “Really?”

  I nodded solemnly. “One doesn’t live twenty-three years at that estate without seeing something evil. I’m telling you this because I’m stronger than you might think.”

  “Oh, there’s no question about that. I sensed that from the beginning. You’re stronger than me.”

  “Not physically.” I reached out and stroked his muscular arm.

  His beautiful mouth lifted at one end. It was the sunniest he’d been all morning.

  He took a deep breath. “I should have brought my sleeping tablets.”

  “I don’t want you to take those just to sleep with me,” I said.

  “Then what do you want?”

  His frustrated tone made me wince. “Normal, I suppose.”

  “Then you’re with the wrong man. I don’t do normal.”

  I bit my lip. A storm of emotion churned away.

  Sulking, I turned my face to the window and stared at the streak of blurry green landscape. My eyes burned with tears.

  “Penelope, I think you know how much you mean to me.”

  I sniffled and removed a tissue from my bag. “I guess we’re fuck buddies.”

  “I hate that term. It’s crass. We’re not mindless teenagers. It’s more than that. You’re more than that. I just didn’t expect this to happen.”