by Mason, V. F.
If that’s the case, I don’t want to hear that she knows what it’s like to experience his touch and body under her while, I just had a taste and not the full-course meal.
However, what else can explain her hostility and worry over me possibly getting hurt in the process?
She spits her tea back in her mug, coughing harshly, and grabs a napkin to wipe her mouth, her eyes widening in shock. “What? No!”
The relief slamming into me is so strong I lean on my elbow while internally screaming at myself, because why should it even matter? I decided not to hook up with him anyway, right?
I don’t even sound convincing to my own ears.
She elaborates, “He just loves to speak in riddles, has this whole dangerous personality, and you are…”
“Naïve?” It wouldn’t be the first time people assumed this about me, but such an assessment of my character by her hurts me.
No one truly knows who hides behind the mask people wear for the world, so all these assumptions get on my nerves.
I thought Lila got to know me better through the years, but maybe I was wrong.
“Different. And men like Lucian love to indulge in different.” She shakes her head and places her hand over my own while I finish my donut. “I’m sorry if I’m acting crazy.”
I relax under her guilty expression, because maybe that’s what friendship is all about, protecting your friends from possible heartbreak, and I wink at her. “Don’t worry. My virtue is intact.”
Her jaw drops open at this, and she starts to say something, when the doorbell rings again, freezing us both.
Since Lila is here, who could possibly be there?
“Is Eugene supposed to pick you up?” I get up, throwing my hair over my shoulder as I dash toward the door with Lila hot on my heels.
“No, I came with our driver who’s waiting for me in the car. I have an appointment with a wedding planner in an hour.”
“Maybe he needs something.” Without checking the peephole, I open the door while grinning, only for the smile to slip from my lips when I see who is here.
“Hola, gatita.” The deep and husky voice greeting me belongs to the handsome man resting his hand on the doorjamb as his brown orbs drill into me. He’s wearing a white T-shirt, blue jeans stretching over his legs, black boots, and a leather jacket that shows his muscled body in the most glorious light—which results in familiar desire starting in the pit of my stomach, because those muscles felt divine against my curves. “Te ves preciosa.”
You look gorgeous.
“What are you doing here?”
How does he even know where I live? An odd thrill that I choose not to examine travels through me at his presence, though that puts a comma on our relationship rather than the period I intended to put last night.
He grins at my question, and even the man’s teeth are perfect, which doesn’t help the artist in me, craving to depict him in either a painting or a sculpture. “Because I missed you. Why else?” He shifts his attention to Lila, who just gapes at us, her gaze moving from mine to his as if she can’t believe what she’s seeing right now. “Hello, Lila. Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Lucian.”
The words between them are so cold I can physically feel the degrees drop around us.
He settles his gaze back on me, amusement sparking in his eyes, and he announces, “You ran away after our kiss, before I could ask you out on a date.”
He shocks me with his statement so much for several reasons.
First, do men like Lucian Cortez even date?
Second, why did he have to say this in front of my friend, who has already driven me crazy about him?
And third, why, oh why, does the prospect of going on a date inspire such deep joy within me?
Before he can say anything else, Lila shuts the door in his face and turns to me. “Charming asshole. What was unclear about that statement?”
“Well, he is charming indeed,” I mutter, which makes her groan and run her fingers through her hair. “And a good kisser.”
“The man is a whore!” She opens the door again, glaring at him. “You cannot treat my friend like you do all the other women.”
“Lila, are you out of your mind?” I hiss, dreading to hear any details about his past, and besides, who says this kind of stuff to a guy? “Please, stop before you regret it.”
I take back my earlier words. Having friends who feel the need to meddle in your business is fucking exhausting and should be strictly prohibited.
“I don’t have other women, and calling me a whore is a big exaggeration, don’t you think? Women flocking to me hardly makes it my fault.” Although he speaks to her, his entire attention belongs to me. “Do not concern yourself with this bullshit.” Truth rings in his statement, and although his reputation makes me cautious, I don’t really care as long as he stays faithful to me.
Faithful to me?
Oh my God.
His insanity is rubbing off on me, since I’m already thinking about a future here.
She slams the door again, drumming her fingers on the wood, while I’m so exasperated by the entire exchange I have no words whatsoever. “Do you like him?” My cheeks heat up, and I avoid her gaze, and my behavior is an answer in itself.
No matter how much the rational voice within me screams at me to sever any ties with him now before it’s too late, I don’t think I can listen to it.
You can’t play it safe forever.
Lucian was right, of course; however, exploring each other’s body is one thing, and engaging in a whole relationship is another.
“All right, then. I clearly wouldn’t be able to stop him now.” At the way she says these words, as if I signed my death warrant, my hackles rise and an alarm goes off in my head. She softens them with a loud chuckle though. “Good luck, babe. You’ll need it.” She wraps her arms around me, squeezing me so hard I groan a little but return her hug. “Don’t tell me later I didn’t warn you.” With this, she opens the door once again, salutes Lucian, and exits the house, leaving only her lavender scent behind.
“Finalmente,” he exclaims and then leans on the doorjamb. His masculine scent fills the air between us while the breath in my throat hitches from our faces being only inches apart.
He lifts his hand to my cheek, his fingers slowly grazing my skin, and a sigh escapes me when he cups me there, sliding his thumb up and down. “How are you today, my darling?” His voice creates twisted webs around me, wrapping me in his hold where his command might be the only thing I follow, no matter how hard I fight the pull.
Or the desire to fist his shirt, drag him inside my house, and finish what he started yesterday.
“I want you.”
His eyes darken at my admission; the energy swirling between us changes and charges with so much heat it’s hard to breathe. This man is trouble to my mind and body, yet nothing can stop me from exploring it now.
“Will you marry me, gatita?” he restates the proposal, and butterflies erupt in my stomach at the thought of having this man all to myself—who might inspire me even more in my art, since the things I drew today are some of the best I’ve done lately.
What would it be like to be married to Lucian Cortez?
Would the nightmares from the past still chase me at night, or would his soothing arms scare them off while giving me solace?
Run, Esme, run!
The scream in my head reminds me that all this musing must stay a fantasy, because indulging in them would be devastating.
“No.” Why does my heart pang painfully at this? “I don’t want a relationship. Just sex. My body craves your touch.” His hand slides up my nape, pulling me forward, and our chests bump against each other as my splayed palm settles on his six-pack. “Sex and desire are what I want to explore. That’s it.”
I expect his anger to come at my reply, but a half smile pulls at his mouth as he leans closer to me. “I will not ask many times, gatita.” Fisting my hair, he tilts my head back
and nips my chin, sending shivers through me, while anticipation fills my blood. “Five times. No more than that.” His lips skim upward, connecting with my mouth, and we share a breath.
A raspy exhale slips from me.
“My answer will be ‘no’ every single time,” I whisper, widening my mouth for his tongue to enter. He pushes in just the tip, flicking it against mine, coaxing it out. I’m ready to dive into the kiss, my fingers gripping his shirt while my hips rock into his, gasping at his hard-on digging into my core.
He finally sinks his tongue inside, stabbing it deep while tangling with mine, delivering a heated kiss that awakens the hunger inside me that demands to be sated right here and now.
His kiss though is a statement in itself; each lick and roam of his tongue promises me an addiction that would last forever as he continues his possession of my mouth.
Wicked. Forbidden.
Yet so desirable.
My moan echoes through the space when he separates us, making me gasp in surprise. My hold on him tightens; I want to pull him back and finish what he started.
Instead, he tells me, “Then prepare for war, gatita, for there will only be one winner among us.”
He removes his hands from me, steps back, and then spins around to disappear, allowing the emptiness and coldness to wrap around me without him by my side.
Rubbing my arms, I stare at the shut door while his words play in my head.
Prepare for war.
What does it mean?
But more importantly…
Will I be able to withstand it?
Lucian
The rock music reverberates around the room. I nod to the beat while flipping the remote through my fingers and letting the perfection of each note wash over me.
A man whimpers in the distance, and rolling my eyes, I look in his direction, not appreciating the maestro being interrupted by him.
Heavy metal chains wrap around his chest, securing him to the pole standing in the middle of my dungeon. Tiny, sharp shards of glass are scattered on the floor surrounding him.
Blood oozes from his head wounds, sliding down the bridge of his nose and bypassing the tears sliding down his cheeks rapidly. It should be embarrassing.
His torture hasn’t even begun yet, and he seems broken already. What will happen when I stab him or chop his limbs off?
Ah, finding out won’t be difficult.
“You know, for once, I’d love for all the pleading to be original, but my ears keep hearing the same bullshit,” I say, picking up my whiskey glass and shaking it a little as my boots thump loudly on the floor. He whimpers again through the tape stuck to his mouth. “Even with your whimpers, I hear the word please so clearly.” He mumbles something through the tape, and I wiggle my glove-covered finger. “Nah-ah. Not interested.” Coming closer, I purposely step on the glass, crushing in into tiny little pieces, and kick at his legs, making him jolt to the side, which results in him stepping hard on it. He groans, pushing his head back and hitting the pole with it.
Sipping my whiskey, I wonder how stupidity and lack of self-preservation still allow my victims to live and breathe long enough for me to catch them and deliver my torture.
“Jeremy. Francis’s future son-in-law.” I address him by name for the first time, which earns me more sobs while he tries to evade the glass. “He recently introduced you to his business, right? The one that was supposed to bring so much money.” Grabbing the edge of the chain dangling at his waist, I tug at it harshly, making the metal squeeze tighter around him, and the veins in his neck bulge as he screams—or at least does a good imitation of it with all the tape. “So many new opportunities opened up. Especially with your connections.” My other hand rips the tape from his lips, his piercing shout ringing in my ears. Blood fills his mouth, because the tape ripped away pieces of his skin. “Too bad you haven’t learned how to cover your tracks.”
“I’ll fix it. I’ll destroy all the paperwork. He won’t be able to get the business going without my help. He’s too skittish.”
Ah, how generous of him once he got caught to stop his activities when, in fact, I have evidence in my hand of his various crimes that included raping women who didn’t welcome his advances.
Francis knowing all this and still pushing his own child to marry this fucker makes me want to drag him from hell and kill him all over again.
Despite my monstrous deeds, I do not go around killing innocent people or those who dipped their toes into the darkness and then ran away scared.
Laws exist for a reason, and I respect them.
Sometimes, though, certain people taste the sins so much they become addicted. And nothing can stop their hearts from becoming rotten.
And these people should be eliminated before they create more damage and children with lost childhoods.
“Too little too late,” I say and splash my whiskey on his face, chuckling at the loud scream when the alcohol settles on his open wounds, no doubt bringing searing pain to his lips. He still struggles for breath when I tighten the chains one last time before stepping back. “Why does he need Esmeralda?”
He breathes heavily, mumbling something under his breath while his tongue licks his lips, trying to soothe them, only to wince at the taste of whiskey, and he hangs his head forward. “She’s his unfinished creation.” The words are barely audible, and I have to strain to hear him. “A loose end that ties everything together. His empire is meaningless without her.”
Anger flares inside me, rapidly spreading over me, demanding I find this fucker and rip his throat out so he’ll cease to exist and no longer present a danger to my woman.
My hands fist, and the sheer willpower I’ve acquired over the years allows me to continue this conversation without destroying something.
“She’s his obsession.”
Compared to Francis, Jeremy knows how to talk to people, becoming something like soap that can squeeze into anything. The monster who is starved for human contact will easily spill his guts, thinking he’s found an ally, when in fact only greed pushes Jeremy to do anything nice.
“Does he plan to make her his queen?” Just the prospect of him claiming her drives me to madness. He better not have shared any sexual fantasies about her to him.
Jeremy spits blood and shakes his head. “Just to finish his creation. She’s a piece of a painting that represents tragedy. To accomplish that, she has to die at the age of twenty-one so her blood can put an end to it.” His face becomes red, and he spits again, gagging loudly as if what the fucker who hired him proposed makes him sick.
The more I hear about this situation, the more it feels connected to her mother and sister who disappeared after their father’s death. No one questioned Suzanne’s guardianship, since everyone knew her love always needed to be earned, so they probably assumed she decided to raise the talented granddaughter herself.
Still, no records on either woman can be found; it’s as if they never existed in the databases. All people leave traces behind, so for them essentially to vanish from this earth is the doing of someone very powerful with the right connections in law.
Esmeralda refused to answer any questions in her various interviews regarding her past, and although she might seem a bit out of this world… my woman would have never cut off her family due to someone’s orders.
Even today…
The way she whispered that she wants me, her eyes pleading for me to do something about it and hardening my body in ways that almost drove me to slam her against the wall and fuck her hard, claiming her in the process.
Yet desire is the one thing she wants to give me while refusing any permanent relationship.
Because her every breath and movement, even her art that I studied last night, possess traces of fear evident to the likes of me.
Monsters can scent fear miles away and are drawn to it in the most sadistic ways.
If marriage represents fear to her, does it mean she encountered abuse from her father, who killed her mother an
d sister before faking his car crash, and that’s why Suzanne covered it up?
Or someone else entered their life, someone on the edge of the madness, craving acceptance and love from the family he never knew… only to be denied entry by someone within, making him remember all the rejections from the past vividly, which triggered his own fears and lifted the lid from the brewing evilness inside him?
Either way, he will come knocking on my door.
Esmeralda’s allure will be too strong to resist, especially with the date looming over him.
Serial killers assigning dates to someone usually follow them, needing to comply with the voices whispering in their ears, because inconsistencies add to the emotional instability.
“Please let me go,” Jeremy whispers, placing his feet on top of each other, although the glass still sticks from his toes. “I will never do it again.”
Except he would.
Over and over again.
His life attests to it.
Walking toward my table and dropping the glass on it, where it spins several times before rolling to the side, I pick up a gun and flick off the safety. The click echoes in the dungeon before I face him again as he says, “Everyone is allowed to make a mistake.”
Without saying a single word, I aim the gun at his dick and shoot, grinning at his loud scream.
I repeat the action at his shoulder, stomach, and one leg, making it hard for him to stand, all while the wounds bleed, sliding down his various body parts and slowly sucking the life out of him.
Later, while washing my hands in the sink, I think how it’s exactly two weeks until Esmeralda’s birthday, which means the clock ticks with each moment.
Fourteen days to make the stubborn woman accept my marriage proposal.
I’ve always laughed at the notion of marriage, because matrimony is a concept unsuitable for monsters, killers, or the evil doers.
After all, women are doomed, and they do not deserve to pay the consequences for the decisions the men in their life make.
However, if I plan to marry, I’d like to have a willing bride, as I do not wish to bring more pain to my gatita, who brightens up my darkness in the deep purple light calling my name and filling me with something warm.
