Bloom: A Dark Romance (The Order, 1)

by Nikki Rae

  I understood what he was saying. He believed I was trying to manipulate him for my own benefit—probably to avoid being punished again—not to gain his trust so I could later impale him with it. I still had a chance.

  I pretended to fix my sweater even though it hadn’t slipped down my shoulder since he’d touched it. It was my hope that this would give me enough movement to make him remove his hand from my back, but it only made him move closer, his arm wrapping around me more so it was resting against the other shoulder blade, the one farthest from where he sat.

  “It’s okay, Doe,” he said in the softest voice I’d heard him use thus far. “I don’t fault you for it. It isn’t exactly an easy adjustment.”

  Was this how he was trying to gain my trust? By pretending he not only cared about my situation, but understood? Still, my features softened without my permission.

  “You don’t?” It came out as a whisper, yet it was the most honest question I had asked since I arrived to this French wilderness.

  Moving slowly, the smile still pulled at his cheeks, but it seemed more forced now, as if he was straining to show me he was at ease. He gently kissed my forehead, bringing the goose bumps back to life. I had to close my eyes for a second to keep from shivering. To him it probably looked like a shy girl accepting a small gesture of physical affection.

  “You do not have to, but would you like to kiss me, ma petite?” he asked instead of answering my question.

  When I opened my eyes, he was staring directly into them, as if he had been expecting my nervous gaze. “Yes, sir,” I croaked, trying desperately to get this derailed train back on track.

  “Then relax,” he said with a note of amusement in his voice. “No one is going to believe you want to kiss them if you look at them with fear like that.”

  “Sorry,” I said pathetically.

  His other hand reached up to my face. He stroked the skin there as if I had been crying and he was wiping away tears. Tears would be a useless release right now. There was no point in crying. It would only confuse things and make him think this wasn’t what I truly wanted.

  “You don’t need to be sorry for how you feel,” he murmured. “You only need to hide it better if you’re trying to convince me.”

  “I thought I was doing an okay job, sir.” I wanted to slap myself across the mouth for saying that aloud.

  Master Lyon laughed softly, his alcohol laced breath tickling my face and moving whatever hair was in its path. “You were, Doe,” but it sounded like he was patronizing me; he didn’t really believe it. “I’m just better at spotting deception than other Members.”

  The last half of the sentence was nearly whispered, but I couldn’t ignore the way he had said a word usually uttered with respect. He made it sound false, dirty, and wrong. It sounded eerily similar to how I would say that word out loud.

  I couldn’t dwell on it. It was more likely than not that I had imagined it and it was better if I convinced myself of this first, before I let myself hope. Hope was just about as useful as tears for someone like me.

  “But,” he went on, “I wouldn’t be discouraged.”

  I could feel his fingers playing with the ends of my hair behind my back.

  “With anyone else, you would have had them fooled.” He smiled like he had just given me the most valuable information, and maybe he had.

  I tried my best to mimic his nonchalance, his ready grin. “I think I’m beginning to figure you out too, sir.”

  His expression didn’t change, but he slowly shook his head. “Oh, Doe,” he said. “If only you knew how much better I am at this game than you.”

  Then quickly, abruptly, he moved my head close to his so we were only centimeters apart. “If you’re going to kiss me,” he said in a voice so low that I felt it in the pit of my stomach and the corners of my mind—places that were usually safe, “you can kiss me now. Try to make me believe you want to while you do so.”

  His breath was on my skin as he spoke but this time I stopped myself from closing my eyes. I would face this challenge head on. I wouldn’t let myself be sacred.

  This time, I was the one to move closer. The smell of alcohol on his breath grow stronger. I could feel the warmth of his skin radiating towards my face. When I was too close for him to see me, I finally let myself close my eyes. I let myself be scared, but only a moment before I turned it inwards and decided to use the energy for my benefit. Without hesitating any longer, without letting myself think or stop, I pressed my lips to his, putting whatever false emotions I could gather into the action.

  He laughed, our lips still attached before he backed away a few inches. “Good effort,” he said, “but perhaps I can teach you a few things?”

  I felt my cheeks flaring red and I was grateful for the dimness of the room preventing him from seeing most of it. I hated being so clumsy, but what I hated even more was being embarrassed. What was I so ashamed that I had no idea of how to perform such acts on a stranger? Why was I upset when he noted my ineptitudes with things I barely understood?

  I swallowed, hoping some of my embarrassment would make its way to my stomach. “How?” I asked, voice cracking. I decided to blame it on the dryness the fire was creating in the room. “How do I do that, sir?” I rephrased, not wanting to appear weak.

  Master Lyon moved in again, brushing my lips with his as if he had done it a thousand times and he would never expect me to reject such a thing. “Take a breath,” he instructed. “A real one. You’ve mostly been silently gasping.”

  I did as he asked, dragging air through my lungs and releasing it.

  “You need to stop connecting the physical to the mental and emotional,” he said. “Your body is not you. It is only one part.”

  I tried to stare at him, but he was too close for me to see anything other than a blurry patch of skin and beard. This was something I had told myself many times throughout the years. During Suitor showings and beatings. I was always good enough at disconnecting myself from my body to endure the roaming eyes or the bite of belts, but this was completely different than anything I had before experienced.

  Maybe he’s right, a little voice echoed down the dark hall of my mind. Was I truly unprepared for such things regarded as kindness? Were these gestures so foreign to me that even if I tried my hardest, I could not accept them, let alone perform them?

  “You make it sound so simple,” I said, unsure of what kind of response was appropriate.

  He softly chuckled again. “It’s a challenge,” he said, and his nose grazed mine. I wasn’t sure if he had done it intentionally, but it was better to believe it was accidental. “You don’t like losing.”

  I would have pulled away to stare at him if he wasn’t holding my head so securely in place.

  “No use trying to deny it,” he continued. “You’ve already proven as much with your words and actions.” He paused, letting what he said sink in. “It isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I don’t like to lose either.”

  I was tired of him trying to stall, to make this harder and more frightening for me so I would regret my suggestion. I moved closer, even letting my hand rest on his knee as casually as I could. “But,” I said in the most flirtatious tone—at least I could only hope it sounded that way. “And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, sir,” I said. “But there can’t be two winners in a game, can there?”

  The hand against my cheek moved slowly to the back of my head. It wasn’t a warning—not yet—but if I wasn’t careful, it could very quickly turn into one. “You are correct,” he said against my mouth. “There can only be one winner per game.” I felt his smile against my lips. Instinct told me to bare my teeth and bite him again, but that would be an automatic loss on my part. I was not about to let him win so easily.

  I took a breath as if I was preparing to go under water or jump from a high place not knowing what awaited me at the bottom. Then I tried again.

  This time when I kissed him, I used everything in me I could to pretend that I was some
where else. Someone else. We were completely different people living completely different lives. We could have met in high school or college. We could have already gone on hundreds of dates over many years, yet we were in love. We felt passion that rivaled that of our stuffy, rich friends who had been together for far less time. Were these the kinds of things the other girls used to get themselves through? Were these the thoughts they had convinced themselves were more than just idealistic fantasy? For them, were these feelings real? And if so, was it not better to lie to yourself than to live in the world where the truth was your only option, where everything was too scary, too real, too uncertain and painful?

  I hadn’t realized I’d been kissing him this entire time. That he had allowed it to go on this long. Finally, he pulled away, but his hands were still in my hair, touching my jaw and holding me in place. “My turn,” he murmured.

  I barely had time to take a breath before he struck with enough force to push me backwards into the sofa. Despite how he had warned me, I was still unprepared. He knocked the wind out of me with this simple action and I couldn’t get more oxygen until our lips parted for a second.

  “You’re still plotting, ma petite,” he gently scolded. “Keep your eyes closed and let your body take over.” The words were whispers against my skin. However, I could hear something else in his voice. Something close to frustration, but not exactly with me.

  I did as he asked before and took a deep breath. I tried to close the space between us again as I exhaled, but he held my head away from him, halting my movements.

  When I looked at him, he said, “I have another idea.” His fingers curled in my hair and I tried to ignore the tiny tingles it produced throughout my scalp. “Close your eyes again.” I did so. “I want you to talk to me when you’re able. You’re going to focus on your body and tell me how it feels without attaching any meaning to it. Understood?”

  I was tempted to open my eyes, but I kept them clamped closed. “I can try, sir.”

  I heard him softly click his tongue. “That is not what I asked.” His voice was slightly more stern now. “I asked if you understood what I was telling you to do.”

  There he was again. The master. The Owner. Elliott Lyon of Chimera House. The one who was always in control no matter the situation.

  “Yes, sir.” I tried to match his tone, but it fell short.

  Without any more discussion, he kissed me again. At first, just a few light pecks and then his tongue was invading my mouth, teeth nipping at my lower lip as I tried to mimic his movements. Before long, he was pulling away. “Tell me what that felt like.”

  I swallowed, unsure of how to respond. “Wet,” was the first thing that left my mouth.

  He laughed, pulling me in for another, shorter kiss. “That’s good,” he whispered against my mouth. “Donne m’en plus.” Give me more. He pressed his lips to mine again, massaging the back of my head and slightly tugging on the hair at the back of my skull to better position me the way he liked.

  “Soft,” I whispered the moment he gave me the chance.

  “Soft?” he asked. “How so?”

  I gulped, not knowing what he wanted from me. I was merely stating the first things that came to mind. He had most likely seen right through that. He wanted more. To go beyond the surface.

  “Your lips are soft, sir,” I whispered, hating myself for involuntarily complimenting him.

  “Why thank you, Doe,” he said as if he were speaking to a child. Honestly, I couldn’t really blame him. I was acting like one. “Let’s try to focus on more than just the immediate contact,” he suggested like he was being helpful. “What about the rest of your body?”

  I scrambled for some way to answer, but he was back at it, giving me another taste of what he wanted me to feel. At least it gave me more time to formulate an answer. I took a deep breath and kept my eyes closed, focusing every part of my mind on what he was doing and how it affected my body without my mind’s consent. His lips were wet and soft. His teeth grazed my bottom lip every now and then, adding a new texture and sensation that made the skin behind my ears heat and electric currents prickle the back of my neck. Had it been like this in the beginning, or was I only feeling this now because I was so fixated?

  Before I could connect a reason for my reactions, he stopped again.

  “Well?” he breathed, not bothering to pull away more than an inch or two this time.

  “I…” I was genuinely at a loss for words. “I can feel something on the back of my neck, sir.” I barely said it. These things were embarrassing enough to feel, let alone admit out loud.

  I felt his lips stretch into a grin. “You’re beginning to like it.”

  Denial was on the tip of my tongue, anxious to break free of the barrier of my teeth, but he spoke again before it had the chance.

  “You don’t need to lie,” he murmured. “Lying to me is useless because I will be able to tell. Lying to yourself is just as cruel. The truth may not be something you want to give in to, but that doesn’t make it any less real.”

  I didn’t have a response to that. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I couldn’t lie and tell myself that some small part of me wasn’t enjoying this little dance. I couldn’t just hide behind my rationality and reasoning. Besides, it wasn’t exactly my fault. It was all about hormones. Push the right buttons in the right order and of course, you would eventually find something that worked in your favor.

  Master Lyon cocked his head to the side. “Are you afraid of me, ma petite?”

  His tone indicated that either way, he was unconcerned. I had started this and now he would continue it until he got bored.

  I opened my mouth to answer but he interrupted.

  “Don’t lie.”

  I cleared my throat. “Of course I am,” I said, hastily adding the “sir.”

  He smiled. “Of course,” he repeated. “So then why do you want to kiss me?”

  I couldn’t let him get into my head. I couldn’t let him think I wasn’t being sincere. Most of all, I couldn’t let the words that rested on my tongue free. I wanted to say that it was better to get this over with now, but I didn’t want to earn more welts when the ones I had weren’t even healed yet.

  “Well,” he said dismissively, “you can keep your reasons to yourself for now.”

  I thought this was an end to our evening, but he was cupping my jaw, moving closer. “No more talking for now,” he said. “But if I notice you planning again, I will pull every detail from you. Understood?”

  I supposed in his mind he was doing me a favor. He wanted me to think he had noticed my unease in speaking, so he took away that choice. I wasn’t so sure of his actual reasoning.

  “Yes, sir,” I said, automatically closing my eyes and waiting. There was a pause on his part and I didn’t move. It couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but the air was thick between us, making those few moments move slower, bump up against each other so they wouldn’t easily pass.

  But then his lips were on mine. This time he was gentler, which nearly shocked me. I expected him to grip my hair so I couldn’t move, take my lips between his teeth until I whimpered in pain. Instead, his hand rested against my jaw. This was a test. He was giving me slack and seeing if I would pull away. I was no fool. I knew he had a hook in my mouth and could reel me closer any time he pleased.

  He started slowly, his movements silent questions asking me to return answers. I did as I had before, mirroring him the best I could. Only now, I was more aware of my thoughts and constantly fought to keep them from entering my mind and consuming me. I didn’t doubt that he’d be able to tell, and I had no intention of letting him watch me squirm with embarrassment again. It was then that I realized the only real choice I had was to show him I wanted him doing this. He might think he was in control, but I had to take whatever scraps I could.

  So I gave in.

  I let go of the elaborate plan, my thoughts of how each action could possibly help me escape, and decided to g
o along with what my body wanted.

  My hand wound around the back of his neck, tentatively at first, questioning if it was allowed. His response was to kiss me harder, mouth opening as his tongue roamed. I had always thought this entire concept disgusting. Sharing saliva with someone—let alone someone who had purchased me—but the more I sunk into the couch, the bitter taste of alcohol infiltrating my mouth, panting the longer we were joined in this odd place, I found that it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Goose bumps rose on the back of my neck as well as my shoulder, which had become exposed again. My cheeks began to warm, and that warmth traveled the length of my body, down my chest and lower.

  His question from earlier popped into my head without warning: “Have you ever touched yourself in such a way?”

  It was strictly forbidden at the Compound, lest we damage our precious virginity, but of course there were times other girls gave in. When I shared a space with others, I would sometimes wake in the middle of the night to a girl’s heavy breathing, the sheets moving with their hands underneath. I hated those sounds. How could anyone want something like that when they were being held captive?

  Then again, they didn’t believe that was the case. I was the only one with my eyes open, staring at the cracked ceiling as they envisioned themselves with their Suitors. He would take her somewhere beautiful and make her first time magical. She would see stars and fireworks and he would be gentle and patient. A girl could let her thoughts carry on that way and her mind and body would follow. I just couldn’t imagine that world any more than they could imagine the one I lived in.

  But here I was, in this world—the same one it had always been—eyes closed as he pressed himself into me, hands in my hair, lips moving down my face and to my throat. I squeezed my legs together to try to relieve the ache he had created.

  I didn’t want to feel these things. To think this felt good—believe it. More so, I didn’t want to analyze them. It was just biology, I reasoned. It didn’t mean anything. Not really. Not if I refused to give it meaning.