Dirty Dark Desire: A Dark Erotic Standalone

by Lacey Alpha

  I drop onto the sofa and top up my already half-drunk glass. I sigh. Ah, the real love of my life: red wine.

  My phone pings and I pick it up, finding a reply from Mel.

  Reschedule? What a douche. I'd give him one more chance but if he cancels again, fuck it. X

  Mel always has the right thing to say. She's a dating pro. She's been online dating for over a year and has had so many dates that I've lost count. I have no idea why Jody didn't pick her for this assignment.

  I reply to Mike.

  Okay. No problem. I can do Friday?

  In hindsight, maybe that sounds a little too available. What normal person is free on Fridays?

  Mike doesn't reply until later that night (when I'm four episodes into a new season on Netflix and half a bottle of wine is gone).

  Friday's good ;)

  Warmth spreads through my tummy and I'm not sure if it's him that's caused it or the wine. Maybe he's not a douche after all.

  3

  Holy crap, I'm going on a date with Mr No Profile Picture tonight. I told Mel, who was predictably horrified, and made me download an app on my phone which lets her track my location.

  I wear the coral dress which was meant for Mike and look at myself in the mirror. I curled my dark hair so it hangs around my shoulders in little tendrils. My eyes are wide and bright green, I've highlighted them with a touch of makeup and opted for a natural look on the rest of my face. I pinch my cheeks. Why am always so god-damn pale?

  I check the time and my heart races as I realise it's almost eight. I down my glass of wine, glad of the confidence boost it gives me as I pull on my leather jacket. An autumn chill is setting in already even though it's early September. I miss summer. Despite the fact that I never tan. I could sunbathe all day but I either burn or nothing happens. It's a mystery.

  I grab my bag, stowing my phone inside it alongside my purse and a red lip gloss.

  My hands are moist with nerves. Jesus Christ, get a grip Evie.

  I feel like I'm about to do a bungee jump. Maybe that would be safer than what I'm actually heading towards...

  I exit my tiny apartment, walking down the narrow staircase that leads to a wooden door. I head out onto the street and a cold wind immediately bites my bare legs. Maybe I should have worn tights. Summer is officially dead.

  I hurry along to the cafe a few doors down and find a black BMW waiting outside. Surely that's not for me? A man hops out wearing a smart suit. He's ancient, at least in his eighties. His skin sags around his jaw. Oh please, don't let it be him. I glance around, wondering if I should pretend to be waiting for someone else.

  “Are you meeting with Mr Cane tonight?” he asks, his voice dry and frail.

  “Cane312?” I quote his username like a moron. At least this isn't him. No offence, old man.

  “That'd be he. Please step inside, miss.” He opens the back door to the car and I peep into the space, expecting to find the mystery guy. It's empty.

  Glancing back at the street, I can't help but pray that I'm not going to die tonight. I duck inside, finding the space warm and cosy. I sigh, rubbing my cold knees as the driver shuts the door behind me.

  Soft, ethereal music plays into the cab. It's kind of spooky. A partition separates the driver and I. I knock on it as he pulls away down the road.

  It slides down with a whirring noise.

  “Sorry, er, where is it we're going exactly?”

  “To my employer's residence, miss. It's approximately a thirty minute drive, just outside of London.”

  “Oh...alright.” I put my seatbelt on and get a little more comfortable. This guy seems nice, maybe he can tell me more about my date. “So...I'm not going to be murdered tonight, am I?”

  The driver chuckles. “No, miss. Not unless you desire it, that is.”

  What the hell does that mean? I swallow, my throat feeling dry. “And is he er...a nice guy?”

  “He's always been gracious to me. Just relax, miss. He'll be exactly how you expect him to.”

  I frown. I kind of expect a psycho with boils all over his face so I hope the driver's wrong.

  “What's your name?” I ask.

  “Harold.”

  He doesn't ask mine. Perhaps he already knows it.

  I try to relax but the closer we get, the more nervous I am. We leave London behind us and enter little lanes that wind through woodland and farmland. The leaves on the trees lining the roads are flecked with yellow and gold, the first signs of autumn setting in.

  My heart pounds against my chest. This really is the middle of nowhere. I check my phone and find a message from Mel.

  Be careful tonight, Evie. I have a bad feeling about this. X

  Great. That did nothing to assuage my nerves. And my throat is so damn dry.

  “Is there anything to drink in here?” I ask, glancing around.

  “There's champagne in the fridge, miss.”

  “Fridge?” I mutter.

  “Just below the partition.”

  I lean forward and find a door embedded in the glossy wood. I press it and it pops open. Little bottles of champagne are stacked inside the small fridge. Two glasses sit in perfectly-sized holders on the inside of it. I take one and pour a glass out, sipping the cool, fizzy liquid.

  That's better. I take another sip. I've already had a glass of wine tonight so I want to be careful. Better to have my wits about me when I meet with the mysterious Cane312. A little flutter of panic goes through me as I realise the champagne could be drugged. I raise the glass to my eye as if I can spot the poison in it.

  I asked for the drink though, it wasn't forced on me. But I can't bring myself to drink any more all the same.

  The driver turns off of the lane and we pull up in front of a huge iron gate. Talk about intimidating. Harold presses a button and the gate slowly splits at the middle, opening away from us. A long gravel drive is revealed, winding up through a vast estate that leads to a mansion that looks like it's been plucked out of a Jane Austen novel.

  "Wow," I breathe, sitting forward in my seat to see better through the front window. We pass between a vast expanse of lush green lawn, mowed to perfection. I spy trees on the outline of the estate and little stone outhouses in the distance.

  "This is Mr Cane's home, Miss," Harold says, glancing back at me.

  I nod. Woah, this guy must be rich. Harold pulls the car up to the front of the house, circling around a fountain of black stone that has three rearing horses at its centre.

  My heartbeat accelerates as the car halts in front of the grand oak doors.

  Jesus. What am I doing here?

  Harold exits the car, moves around and opens the side door for me. I hold onto the glass in one hand and the small champagne bottle in the other. As I exit, Harold takes them both from my hands. "This way, miss."

  I nod mutely as I follow him up the stone steps and through the front door.

  I'm speechless as I take in the grand hall. The age of the house is evident, from the old oak staircase, hardwood floors and exposed brickwork on the walls. Everything else is modern and pristine and, rather than the musty smell I would expect of a place like this, there's a pleasant, citrusy scent.

  Harold places the bottle and glass on a side table then turns to me, holding out his arm.

  I gaze at him dumbly.

  "Your coat, miss," he prompts.

  Feeling a little foolish, I shrug out of the jacket and pass it to him. If I need to make a quick escape, I may have to ditch the coat. I have no idea where he's going to put it.

  Harold gestures to the stairs. "Please, make your way to the landing. Amelia will meet with you there."

  "Amelia?"

  He just nods and gestures to the stairs again.

  I nod, thanking him quietly as I head up the staircase. My heels clack against the wood and I feel I should tiptoe lest I scratch it. As promised, a woman is waiting for me at the top of the stairs. She's sitting on a beautiful set of modern furniture beneath a huge skylight. Her refle
ction shines on the glass above, the sky perfectly black beyond it.

  She stands as she spots me. Her ebony hair is silky beyond belief and hangs about her pretty face in a way mine would never do. I'd guess she's a few years older than me. It's beyond me why she's here.

  "Good evening. My name's Amelia. Mr Cane's left everything ready for you in here." She moves through a wooden door and I follow, feeling slightly dazed. Ready for me? What does that mean?

  The room is a grand bedroom with black silken sheets on a fourposter bed. A dressing table is laid out in front of an enormous mirror that's as high as the ceiling.

  Amelia moves to a wardrobe fronted with glass doors. "Your outfit is in here. Once you're changed, I'll take you down to the dining room where you'll have drinks with Mr Cane first."

  First? What's second? And what's wrong with what I'm wearing? I walk to the wardrobe and find a single dress hanging inside. It's long, silky and red with a sexy slit up the leg. I turn to Amelia who's already heading out the door, acting as normal as if this happens every day. Perhaps it does!

  "Um, Amelia?" I call and she pauses, her hair sliding over one shoulder as she looks back at me. "What comes after drinks?"

  She smiles wryly. "That's between you and Mr Cane." She exits, shutting the door behind her with a sharp click.

  I'm left dumbstruck, unsure what to do. Should I get changed? This has to be the craziest thing that's ever happened to me.

  I take the dress off its hook, sliding the silky material through my fingers. A lacy red mask dangles from the coat hanger. Do I have to wear that too? Jesus Christ.

  Dilemma. Do I get changed or not? Do I play his game? He's clearly a man who does things his way, perhaps I should play along. This will make one hell of a story for my article.

  A real journalist would do it.

  Taking a deep breath, I place my bag on the dressing table and tug the coral dress over my head. I pull the red dress on and find it a little snug, fitting so tightly to my stomach that I wonder if I can sit down. I perch on the edge of the bed and find that I can. Phew. He could have asked for my size if he was going to make me change.

  I stand and move to the long mirror. I look...hot. There's no denying it. The dress is doing all the work but I have to take a little credit for my tousled hair and dark eyeliner.

  Okay, Mr Cane. You win this round.

  Taking the red mask between my hands, I hold it up to my eyes and tie it behind my head. This is going to be interesting...

  I fold my own dress and hang it on the back of a chair. Picking up my bag, I move to the door, exiting back into the hall.

  Amelia beams at me, taking in the dress. "Stunning. Follow me. He's anxiously awaiting you."

  My mouth goes dry. I wish I had that champagne now. I need some dutch courage.

  Amelia leads me back downstairs and through a long hallway. Modern paintings hang on the walls, the sort of art I have no time for. It's simple block colours and speaks of no talent, in my opinion.

  Amelia pauses beside a door. "Have fun." She looks a little nervous for me.

  Don't you be nervous, Amelia! How do you think I feel?

  I nod to her and push through the door.

  The room I enter is vast. Floor length windows run along one wall which I imagine would give a stunning view across the grounds if it weren't nighttime. A long table sits at the centre of the room. Red drapes hang on the other wall and candles light the space, dotted along the table and nestled in candelabras on the walls.

  At the far end of the table sits a man. I gulp, pausing as I catch sight of him. He's wearing all black and a shiny ebony mask conceals his face. It has nothing but eye holes.

  Shit. He really is a monster. What the hell is underneath that mask?

  He stands as he spots me. He's tall. At least six feet. He's broad too, pure muscle pushing against the inside of his shirt.

  "Mr Cane?" I ask, finding my voice (though apparently a squeakier version of it).

  He nods in confirmation. "Please, take a seat." He gestures to the chair at the opposite end of the table to him. His voice is as deep and sexy as it was on the voice call so it's definitely the same guy.

  I sit, gazing down the long, mahogany wood directly at the man. My stomach turns over. I am in serious trouble.

  Harold enters through a door near to Mr Cane, carrying a tray with two drinks and a bottle. It takes him a while, but he eventually places one glass in front of Mr Cane and the other in front of me. I thank him quietly and take a large sip of the liquid which I suspect is port.

  The room is all too silent as Harold leaves the bottle at the centre of the table and exits.

  Crap. What the hell do I say?

  I'm saved the bother of coming up with something as Mr Cane says, "I always like to have a drink before these evenings commence."

  "These evenings?" I question, my voice a little high. Jesus, my heart is desperately trying to climb up my throat.

  I take another large gulp of the port. It sinks into my tummy, dulling some of my fears.

  "Yes. You're aware that I do this fairly regularly?"

  "Oh. I see," I say. How much does this guy date?

  "You sound disappointed." He tilts his head to one side. That mask is freaking me out.

  I shake my head. "No. Just curious. Are you looking for something serious then, Mr Cane?"

  The lights are too dim to tell but I think he narrows his eyes at me behind the mask. "Serious?" He sounds as baffled as I feel.

  "As in, a serious relationship?" Do I really have to clarify that? Maybe I'm out of touch with dating.

  He laughs - it's a deep chuckle that makes my toes curl. God, why is having this effect on me? I think it's the mask. I really need to see what's beneath it.

  "Something...funny?" I question, sipping the port again. Crap, I've finished my glass already.

  He stands, moving with grace down the table, taking the bottle and bringing it towards me.

  I swallow as he approaches. He pulls the cork out and refills my glass, watching me the entire time.

  I squirm under his gaze. I grasp the glass as he finishes pouring and take another sip to distract me.

  "Easy," he says in a low voice, "I want you sentient for what I have planned."

  "And what's that?" Why is my voice so small? I grip the edge of the chair, my palms moist with sweat.

  He places the bottle on the table and the noise makes me jump.

  "Skittish?" There's a smile in his voice.

  I shake my head. I can handle this. Come on Evelyn. "Not at all."

  He leans against the table, evidently having no plans of returning to his seat. I wish he would. He's looming over me and making me feel so vulnerable. I think he's enjoying it. Bastard.

  "You're not a murderer, are you?" I blurt. Shit, the port's melted my filter.

  "I can be whatever you want me to be," he says, his voice silky smooth.

  "Well...I don't want you to be a murderer."

  He laughs again, standing fully and returning to his seat to retrieve his drink. Swirling it around in the glass, he lifts the mask slightly so he can sip it. His chin is covered in a layer of stubble and his mouth is very...normal. There's no sign of any scars. No boils or burns to speak of. He drops the mask back into place and turns to me. "There's no need to be nervous, I won't hurt you. Not unless you want me to, that is."

  "And why would I want you to?" I snap. Hurt me? What's up with this guy?

  "There's a fine line between pleasure and pain."

  I stand abruptly. "What's going on here?" My heart pounds in my ears.

  "I'm not sure what game you're playing...but I'd like to play along." He stalks toward me, slow and surveying.

  I step backwards. "I'm not playing a game. I thought this was a date."

  "I don't date, Iris, I fuck."

  Holy crap, he's got the wrong person. I almost laugh. Somehow there's been some major, major cockup. "I'm not Iris." I sound so relieved. Jesus, I am so relieved.
/>
  "You're not?" He's thrown. I've actually thrown this masked lunatic! Ha.

  "I'm Evelyn. Evelyn Ash. We met online."

  He whips his mask off and holy shit he's gorgeous. He's hollywood, god-like hot. He's all dark ruffled hair and perfect symmetrical features. His eyes are ebony pools, dripping with gold.

  He snatches the red mask from my face and I open and shut my mouth, my stomach fluttering madly. My cheeks heat up and I suddenly feel like he's seeing me for the first time. And in a way he is.

  "Evelyn? Fuck." He runs a hand into that perfectly rugged hair, scraping his nails through it. And then he laughs like he's made some joke I don't get.

  I pull myself together and fold my arms. "What the hell is going on here?"

  "I'm sorry, Evelyn. Truly, I am. Harold has been quite forgetful of late. He must have double booked me."

  "Double booked you?" Okay, now I'm offended. "Jesus. How many girls do you date?"

  "No wonder the dress is on the tight side," he mutters to himself, ignoring me. He reaches out and pinches the material at my waist.

  I slap his hand away and actual, genuine electricity pulses up it. What the hell was that?

  His eyes roam over me, hungry.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" My voice sounds small again. Dammit, Evelyn. Woman up.

  "You actually put on the dress. You're plucky."

  "Foolish, more like." I turn away from him and he touches my arm to stop me.

  If he'd grabbed me, I would have run. But it's a gentle gesture, showing me he means no harm.

  "Let me explain," he pleads and I can't believe this gorgeous guy is actually pleading with me.

  I almost relent, then stiffen. "No."

  His jaw hardens and there's that hungry look again. "Yes," he growls.

  I say nothing, giving him permission to go ahead. He has about ten seconds to talk himself out of this before I run out of this room as fast as my legs can carry me. He doesn't. Instead, he steps closer.

  "Maybe I can show you..." A smile dances on his lips.

  "No," I snap. No freaking way.