“I don’t even know what questions I should ask, Romero. What could you possibly know that would affect me?” She leaned into my touch, despite her words. Heat passed between us, smoldering fires fighting to burn.
“It’s not just about affecting you, Juliette. I want you to know... to know all of me. The good and bad. The light, but also the shadows. And they’re dark, Juliette, darker than you could imagine.”
She lifted her hand to lay against mine. “I have a feeling you’re one of those people who are too hard on themselves, Romero. Desperately hoping to make up for the family you were born into, for their transgressions. I’m not going to push you. Tell me when you’re ready.”
I should tell her now.
Spill my secrets and watch her gaze turn from affection to hate.
I opened my mouth.
I could be the better man now; I wouldn’t take her body for my own, not while there were so many unspoken truths between us. Not before she knew how I was involved in her mother’s death, knew about my suspicions…knew about my illegal hobby.
But she was sitting in front of me, gloriously naked, ripe for the taking.
And fuck I couldn’t help myself.
To my core, I was a bad man.
It was Juliette who made the next move, reaching forward to unbutton my shirt. She worked down methodically, each undone button a nail in the coffin.
I want you.
I want this.
I want us.
She pulled the shirt apart and stared at my chest, before running her index finger tenderly across the lines of muscle and ink. Then she rose off her knees, shuffling forward enough that her breasts brushed against me. She put her arms over my shoulders, linking her fingers together behind me. And she kissed me on the cheek, then the chin, the other cheek, then finally the mouth. Each of her small movements caused her nipples to caress against me. Desire flared, turning the dying fire into a raging inferno.
I wrapped her up in my arms with a low growl and pulled us both up off the floor to stand. She kept kissing me as we moved, as desperate to keep our connection as I was. With one hand, I undid my belt and yanked it out.
“Give me your hands,” I ordered, dick hard and more than ready to see a little action.
Juliette pulled her arms off my shoulder, offering me her hands, fingers curled into loose fists and wrists facing the ceiling. As if she was reading my damn mind. I looped the belt around both of her wrists and threaded the end of the belt through its buckle. I tightened it down, keeping hold of the end like a leash to lead her to the bed.
I walked backwards, so I wouldn’t miss a damn second of watching her.
She let me pull her, naked body swaying behind me as the glow of the soft lights made her look like a goddamn goddess.
When we got to the bed, I reeled her in close to me, hands walking down the leather belt.
“I’m going to tie you up now,” I promised.
“I think you already have,” her gaze flicked down, taking in the makeshift restraints. “It’s an experience, to be on this side of an arrest.”
“And have I arrested you?” I murmured, pulling the looped belt loose and sliding it off her hands.
“I haven’t decided yet,” she blinked up at me. “But if I have to go to jail...” Her gaze moved to the silky sheets.
“Consider me your warden,” I pushed her to the bed, reveling in the way her body bounced against the mattress.
I couldn’t take one more second. My mouth watered as I imagined what she would taste like.
26.
Juliette
The Dark Room
The mattress was as luxurious as I imagined it would be, just the right amount of firmness and bounce. The sheets, though they looked silk, were less slippery and softer than that. They were heaven against my skin with a sheen that reflected the low glow of the overhead lights.
I enjoyed the way Romero looked at me, like I was the dessert he talked about, the sweetness he was hungry for—better than a stack of pancakes soaked in maple syrup.
He was probably the hottest man I’d ever seen, outside a magazine or movie, and he wanted me. Even though I felt out of my element, like a virgin who knew nothing about sex when faced with the handcuffs and toys, I wanted to freefall into this experience. Jump without looking how far the plunge was. No safety net. No parachute.
I wasn’t stupid. I knew I wasn’t the first woman to walk through the gray door. And how many of those women had fooled themselves into thinking they’d be the last?
Enter Romero’s Dark Room. Tame him. Keep him.
But we’d made no promises. Not really. Other than that he’d tell me everything. And I didn’t even know what that meant. Maybe it didn’t matter, maybe I didn’t want to know. I spent every day of my life chasing truth.
Here, I’d chase fantasy.
“Lay on the bed and spread your legs.” Romero’s eyes roved my body, looking like a man starved.
“Are you always this bossy? And I am laying on the bed.” I propped myself up on my elbows, giving him a halfcocked smile.
“Yes,” he growled, leaning down quickly and grabbing me. He picked me up like I weighed nothing, and I gasped, a small sound that seemed to fuel his frenzy, and then he turned us so he could toss me back down towards the middle of the bed, closer to the headboard.
I watched as he moved, first lifting my left arm and securing it to the post with a padded handcuff, and then moving to the other side of the bed to secure my right arm. It was comfortable, enough give in the chains that I could rest my arms against the mattress. But not so much give that I could really struggle.
“What? No cuffs for the legs?” I stared down my body as he tied what looked like silk scarves around my ankles.
He paused, glancing up at me before tapping one of the lower bedposts to show a hole in the wood. “Next time, I’ll have these fixed.”
Next time.
When he was satisfied with his knots, Romero took a few steps away from the footboard.
He kept his eyes locked to mine as he undid the button of his pants, pulling down his zipper slowly. They dropped to the floor, revealing black boxer briefs. I broke eye contact, looking down. God, he was so hard beneath them, pushing against the fabric like they couldn’t contain his package for much longer.
He hooked thumbs in the waistband, drawing them down slowly to reveal more of the gorgeous double lines feeding down from his hips. Lower, riding down the length of him. Lower, until he was finally fully released. He was thick, long, a slight upward curve at the tip.
I was already imagining what he would feel like, rubbing inside of me, the bend hitting all the right places.
He crawled onto the bed, his lips finding my calf and working his way up. In between kisses, he nipped with teeth. Firm enough to make me squirm and squeal which only made him bite harder, kiss faster.
Every part of me seemed too alive, like my nerve endings were electric wires sliced while the power still rushed through them.
He reached my hips, kneading them with firm fingers, as his lips touched every part of me except the one place that ached and throbbed.
“God, Romero,” I breathed out as he trailed fresh kisses up my stomach, his touch journeying away from the wetter, more sensitive areas. I moved, lifting my hips, raising my ass from the bed, and hoping it would encourage him to move back lower. “You’re going the wrong way.”
“Stay still,” he commanded, pressing a palm against my stomach, and shoving me back down.
As if I could really move with the handcuffs and silk ties tethering me to the bed posts.
His teasing touch found my breasts next; he sucked my right nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling around it while his hand pinched the left. I writhed, back arching against the sensations.
He kept his body hovered over mine, legs bent on either side of me, and one arm outstretched. His tip touched between my thighs as he moved, paying too much attention to every single part of my body ex
cept the one I wanted him to, the part that was already so wet with need.
“I want you inside of me.” My voice was breathy, deep. I didn’t even sound like myself.
He sucked my nipple in hard and lifted his head to tug my breast before releasing it with a loud smack. Only then did he answer me. “Prisoners don’t make demands, Juliette.”
“Don’t make me beg.”
He finished his journey up my body and pressed his mouth to mine, finally lowering his body so we were fully connected. His hardness no longer touched my thighs, but instead pressed against my desperate parts. It was too much, to have him so close and not pushing into my body.
“Please, Romero.”
“Careful, Juliette. You’re begging,” he murmured against my lips before moving away and off the bed.
Off the bed!
“Where are you going?” I pulled against the restraints. Being robbed of control was both nerve-racking and intoxicating.
He walked to the wall of toys, considering his choices, before selecting two items.
“What did you get?” I tried to sit up to see what he set down on the bed before crawling back on to join me.
“You don’t need to be nervous, Juliette. Just say the word.”
I shook my head, swallowing down the nerves.
He positioned himself between my legs again and he picked up one of the items. A small black wand crowned in dozens of leather strips. He angled the strips down, brushing them against my folds. It sent shivers through me, rushes of sensation panging through my womanhood. He continued to trace the whip across me, back and forth, then moved to brush up and down my inner thighs.
And then he reared back and slapped it down against my hip, making me startle and scream his name in surprise.
Still, I didn’t say ‘softer’, I didn’t tell him to stop.
I could tell this was just the beginning, a glimpse. Romero was giving me a taste of the darker side of pleasure.
He spanked me again, this time gripping my waist and shifting me to the side to target my ass cheek. It stung sharply and I sucked in a breath through my clamped teeth.
Romero slapped and tickled with the whip for what seemed like an eternity, until he finally picked up the second item.
My face was damp with a few tears that had escaped as I clenched against the stings of the whip, but, God, it was a good pain. It was what I needed, what my body craved, and I’d had no idea before now.
This man, son of the person I hated even though he was long dead, was filling me to the brim with food for my goddamn soul.
Romero pushed something between my folds, nestling it against my clit. It felt egg-shaped, smooth. It did nothing at first.
And then as Romero knelt, stroking down his cock and then pushing it against my opening, the egg began to vibrate. Low and slow at first, a hum of agitation.
“Are you wearing protection?” It was an afterthought, because, God help me, I didn’t really care and I should, I absolutely should.
“Yes,” he groaned out as he entered me, sinking deeper inch by inch.
And then the vibration grew stronger.
Faster.
Harder.
As if synching to the movements of Romero’s hips as he plunged in and out of me.
Pressure built, a beautiful warmth pooling in my groin.
“God! God!” Pulling against the cuffs, I clawed at the sheets, my toes curling as bolts of pleasure rocketed through my body.
Romero pulled out of me, yanking the vibrator from my clit, and shifted back to push arms under my ass and lift me off the bed as far as he could with the cuffs and ties keeping me tethered to the posts. He sunk his face into my soaking wetness, licking me up with vigor as I rode another wave of orgasm.
“Fuck you taste good.” His words were muffled, his tongue working furiously.
And just as suddenly as he’d lifted me up to pleasure me with his mouth, he dropped me back to the bed and repositioned to sink his dick back into my body.
He rocked back and forth, taking me for his pleasure. I was dying to touch him, to claw my nails down his back, run my fingers over his tattoos, and nip at his skin the way he had mine. But I could do nothing but enjoy the feel of him.
I came again, the orgasm hitting me like a car crash, and I screamed his name. He came seconds later, slamming into me one more time as his body shuddered and his eyes closed.
He looked different in those seconds of release, almost boyish. Innocent.
We both carried too much darkness; putting us together was like double midnights, endlessly stretching onto a morning that might never come.
But I’d gratefully live without the sun if it meant more Romero.
27.
Juliette
The rest of the week went by in a haze.
It felt like my time with Romero in The Dark Room had invaded my senses, clinging like kudzu to every part of me, until everything else that mattered was snuffed out.
I could still smell him across my skin. Feel the tug of the handcuffs on my wrists. Feel the brush of satin tying my ankles to his bed. The sharp sting of the whip against my skin. My body wanted more, so much more, time with him in that place. Where the world fell away and all that mattered was pleasure.
And I wondered what else Romero liked. What limits could we push if I simply said ‘harder’.
But I had my job, my duty. And Dad had called Friday, wondering if I could come to get my things from the cottage sooner rather than later. But he couldn’t pick me up this time and fares out to Long Island were pricey.
A billionaire with car service on speed dial came in handy. Though I felt guilty that John the driver was sitting outside Dad’s house. But he refused to come in and refused the drink I offered. I’d thought maybe when he’d driven me home from Romero’s, that he’d been standoffish because I looked like an escort doing the walk, or rather drive, of shame. But apparently it was just his personality.
It was Saturday now.
Romero and I were seeing each other Sunday. Tomorrow. God, it was too long to wait.
I don’t know what changed, other than being with Romero, but I’d finally felt ready to go through my things from the old house. And in it was the container Mom left me.
The decorative mahogany chest about the size of a shoe box.
She’d given it to me in her will.
But I could never bring myself to open the chest. I’d deliberately left it behind when I went to California, stuffing it into a busted trunk of my old things. Dad kept it for me, moving it to the cottage even though he didn’t have a lot of spare room. He’d said he’d hold onto it until I was ready, not a minute before. But having to empty out the studio changed things.
It was just as well, though.
It was ridiculous that I’d kept ignoring this fragment of the past, when I’d spent over a decade chasing the worst parts.
She’d left me her favorite earrings, a pair of rubies from Dubai. My grandfather bought them when she was fifteen. She left her original wedding ring, for when the day came that I found the right man. There was a small zoo of wooden animals. We’d played with them when I was little. We’d given each of them names. I’d thought they were gone, donated forever ago. But then there’d been letters. Letters she’d written. A stack of them, held together by a pink ribbon with a little note to me that said ‘Love and life aren’t always what you expect them to be. Please remember that, my darling girl.’
I’d opened the first one. Then the next.
Love letters.
I’d thought they were words to my father.
Beautiful things, about how he made her a better person. How she felt alive after being stuck in a normal, boring life for so long.
I thought she meant when they’d met and she’d fallen in love. In love with a poor artist without a cent to his name. Not what she’d expected coming from a wealthy New York family.
Yet then there’d been one last letter. All alone. Written for her, not by her
. And the way her name was written across the envelop... It wasn’t my father’s handwriting. The script was too controlled, too disciplined.
Standing by the ocean, listening to the slap of waves against the shore, I held the unopened letter and debated loosening my grip so the wind would carry the aged tan paper out to sea. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the contents. It was not for me, this letter. But it had been in the box of things. She meant for me to have it.
With shaking hands, I lifted the jagged flap and pulled out the folded paper.
My Dearest Sandra,
I cannot put into words how our time together has changed me. There has never been another woman like you. There never will be another woman like you. This past year together, though our meetings have been sweet and brief, have opened my eyes. All I once cared about was the next sale, the next deal, making the next commission.
You have made my life richer.
I wish we could have more. I wish we could be more to each other, rather than these clandestine lovers stealing happiness inside empty buildings. Always avoiding prying eyes, always keeping our love for one another a guarded secret.
Someday, I hope you will leave the life that keeps you caged. Leave the man that doesn’t see who you are, doesn’t truly see who you are like I do. I understand your reasons. I respect how much you love your daughter and want to wait until she’s finished high school. I can wait. I can be content with what joy we have now until the time when you can set yourself free.
Yours eternally,
Hugo
My things from the old house had been untouched, so I knew Dad hadn’t seen or read the letters. And now I stood, my heart plummeted into my stomach, wondering if I should reveal to him that his beloved wife, my beloved mother, had been having an affair with someone else.
Again, I debated dropping the letter into the ocean, letting the salty wet swallow it down as if it never existed.
But even if I didn’t tell my father the truth, I couldn’t discard the note.
Because it was evidence.
I’d read all the NYPD reports and interviews. I’d seen all of the FBI findings, though I hadn’t been privy to the separate investigation into Roman Montego. But I didn’t recognize the name Hugo. It had to mean something, that my mom had been seeing this man. I tried to search my memory, through hundreds of pages of black and white. The information scrolled by in a blur, but for the life of me, Hugo was a mystery.
Her Villain: A Dark Bully Romance (Aqua Vitae Duet Book 1) Page 17
