Ruin: Slay Two

by Laurelin Paige

  The orgasm released through me in stages, as though it had been wrenched out of me, leaving parts of it behind that had to be wrenched out as well. It seized onto my limbs, my muscles tensing slowly, slowly, slowly until they were rigid in its grip, shuddering against its ferocity. The world went completely dark. Then spots appeared, dancing across my vision.

  And the sound that came from me was foreign and yawning, a jagged moan that stretched and stretched and stretched until my voice was hashed and my throat felt sore.

  I lay there after, whimpering, barely aware of Edward coaxing me down, kissing my thighs, running his hands along the sides of my torso, bringing me back to life.

  Then, when I opened my eyes again, reborn, I wanted him with a fierceness that I’d never known. Wanted all of him. Wanted his cock buried inside of me. Wanted him shoving against my limp body. Wanted to make him come as savagely as he’d made me come.

  He crawled up my body, and I could feel the stiff weight of his desire at my hip as he kissed me, his tongue plunging into my mouth as deeply as it had plunged into my core, the taste of my pussy mixed with the taste of him.

  “Please,” I begged, unable to articulate my want. “Please, please, please.” He’d know. He always knew.

  He ground his hips against mine, his fingers threaded in my hair. “You can’t possibly have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now,” he said against my lips.

  “Yes, yes.” I nodded, encouraging. Pleading.

  He kissed me again, his arm reaching above me to loosen the tie at my wrists. When my hands were free, they flew to his face, gripping his stubbled cheeks as though to hold him in place, as though to pull him closer.

  “I want you,” he said again. Then kissed me again. “But we mustn’t forget that this was a punishment.”

  He rose and stood over me, his cock tenting in his trousers as his eyes perused me from head to toe. With what sounded like a reluctant sigh, he turned away. “Get dressed,” he said, picking up the drink he’d abandoned in favor of eating me out. “I’ll be waiting in the living room to walk you back to the house.”

  And I knew in that moment, without a doubt, that he’d succeed, that he was halfway there already, that he’d completely and utterly break me down.

  The next morning, when I came back from my run, I found him standing beside the jeep while Louvens loaded his suitcase into the back.

  “You’re leaving? Without even telling me?” I sounded hurt when I meant to sound outraged, because hurt was what I primarily felt.

  “Not true,” he said coming to me. “I was waiting for you to get back so I could say goodbye.” He nodded to Lou. “Give me a minute.” Then, with my hand in his, he led me off the driveway to the side of the house where we were out of earshot from his driver.

  I pulled my hand away from his, trying to find my sense of balance. He’d wrecked me the night before, and after a fitful sleep with dream after dream of his mouth and his tongue and his words—You can’t possibly have any idea how much I want to fuck you right now—I had a curious sense of attachment.

  Was this Stockholm Syndrome? What had he done to make me feel such an intense need?

  I pressed my fingers against my eyes and shook my head, as if to shake off the complex emotions stirring inside. “I can’t believe you’re leaving already,” I said softly when I brought my hands down. How long would he be gone? I couldn’t bear to ask. I couldn’t bear to know.

  He reached out to me again, bringing his knuckles to stroke against my cheek. “I almost think you’re going to miss me.”

  “No,” I said too quickly, flinching from his caress that I wanted but couldn’t seem to let myself have. “Just. How can you break me down if you’re not ever here?”

  “Play better, and I’ll come back more often.”

  Ouch.

  He must have seen the hurt in my expression. Swiftly, he wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me to him, holding me tightly to his chest. “You did very well last night, little bird,” he murmured in my ear. “I was very impressed.”

  I stayed tense in his embrace for several heartbeats. Then, on an exhale, I relaxed into him, taking in his scent of spice and musk and pure man. “Were you really?”

  “Yes, really.” He pressed his lips to my temple, holding them there, holding me for several seconds before leaning back to look at me.

  It had felt good, if I was being honest with myself. When it was all said and done. Except for one part.

  I pulled back and wrapped my hands in his shirt. “Edward, I know it's a rule...I know I'm not in a position to ask. But addressing you as sir… please. Is there anyway it could be something else? Master or Your Holiness. Anything else…”

  He studied me for several beats. “Is this something we'll talk about in an upcoming session?”

  No. No. I did not want to talk about it.

  But if he wanted to find out, he would. I knew that now.

  “I need time,” I said, letting out a shuddering breath.

  He considered. I was the one who had wanted things to speed up. There was no way he couldn't know this was something I truly needed.

  He gave a quick jerk of his head. “Very well then. You can address me as Edward.”

  I was so grateful, I buried my head in his shoulder. “Thank you, Edward.” It was a whisper, but he heard it.

  “I left you something on your bed,” he said, when I pulled away, his fingers once again stroking my face. “A belated Valentine’s Day gift. To make the time go by faster.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t speak past the stupid ball in the back of my throat.

  “Be good,” he said, pressing one more kiss to my forehead then let me go to head back to Louvens waiting in the jeep.

  I turned away, and brought my hand to my cheek, pressing my palm against the spot he’d touched as if that could hold the feel of him there longer.

  “And Celia?”

  When I looked back, he’d paused, halfway in the passenger’s seat. I furrowed my brow in question.

  “I’m going to miss you, too.”

  Eleven

  Edward

  “Mr. Fasbender?” Astor’s tone suggested it wasn’t the first time he’d called my name.

  I’d been somewhere else. Nowhere. It was easy to get distracted like that sitting in my office now, looking at walls and curtains that she’d chosen. Sitting on furniture that she’d picked out.

  She’d left the desk at my insistence, a heavy dark wood monstrosity that I loved and refused to part with. But now it was the foreign thing in the room, the only thing not touched by her, and I found myself choosing to work from the sofa more and more because of it.

  The sofa where I sat now, holding my daily meeting with my secretary and assistant.

  I flicked the thoughts of her away, a habit I’d grown accustomed to in the past year as my thoughts were often with her, and gave my assistant my attention.

  “The new line-up in Turkey—you’re good to make a statement next Tuesday?”

  I’d been vaguely present as he had gone over the bullet points of the announcement regarding the programming changes. These were details that had been discussed by my executives and discussed even more thoroughly by lower-level executives. By the time these matters became of consequence to my direct team, there was little need for my input.

  It wouldn’t even be me writing the statement that supported the changes. That would be Astor. All he needed was my nod of approval, which I gave him now.

  “I’ll be sure it’s sent immediately to the high-profile media,” Charlotte said, making a note on her pad.

  “Good, then,” Astor said in confirmation. “That’s all set.”

  “Is there anything else?” I was restless, ready to move on with my day. Ready to dive into projects that took more of my bandwidth, left less of my mind free to wander to Amelie and the woman I’d left there. My wife.

  The weeks away were agonizing.

  I spent every waking minute trying to k
eep focused. My workouts had doubled in length, pushing myself to the point of distraction. Then I buried myself in business matters, staying at the office later than anyone else, keeping more on my own plate when, in the past, I would have delegated. At home, I drank. More than I’d drunk in years.

  It wasn’t an entirely successful method of coping, but it got me through the weekdays. Yet, every Friday, as the clock ticked on, and the buzz of work wound down around me, and the long, lonely weekend loomed over me, I’d invariably pick up the phone on my desk and dial the airfield to schedule an impromptu flight to the Caribbean. Every time I’d make it so far as one ring, maybe two, before I slammed the receiver down, wondering what on earth I’d been doing. What I’d been thinking.

  I had no sure plan, and that was so unlike me it set a pit of terror in my stomach that grew and grew anytime I allowed myself to ruminate too long. And having no plan, I knew it was better that I stayed away from her. For her as well as for me.

  Even though the distance did little to rectify the situation. Wherever I was, I was fucked.

  Another flick of the mind, pushing out those thoughts to concentrate on my employees. Charlotte had already begun to gather her things, but Astor sat still, which gave the answer to the question I’d asked without him having to speak.

  Whatever he had left to go over was more personal in nature, then. My secretary’s presence wouldn’t be required.

  Charlotte had made it two meters when she stopped. “Oh,” she said then sighed. “Warren Werner.”

  I stretched my neck to the side, trying to work out the permanent kink associated with his name. “He called again?”

  “He did. Personally this time. What would you like me to say?”

  It might have been less provoking if his calls were regarding his daughter. A handful of short emails sent under her account to his wife seemed to be all he needed to be rest assured Celia was doing well. If it had been my daughter who had wed my business rival, if it had been my daughter who had crossed an ocean and limited her communication, I would not have been satisfied with impersonal messages sent via computer. I would have demanded phone calls. I would have expected a visit over Christmas. If Genevieve had denied those, I would have flown the pond and shown up on her doorstep.

  It only proved what I’d always known about Warren, that he was a cruel, heartless bastard.

  Because the only reason the man had reached out those several times was to follow-up on the alliance I’d hinted at on the day I’d wed Celia. I’d only dangled the idea to get him calm enough to accept our marriage. It had been an impromptu move on my part. I’d been so desperately close to the end of the plan. I would have said anything at that point, and I did.

  And if I’d followed through with the plan as it were, this wouldn’t be an issue now. I’d have already buried my wife and any contact from Warren would likely be through lawyers because there was no doubt he’d try to contest the transfer of Werner Media shares to my name. It would be a long and drawn-out process, but he had no leg to stand on, and I’d win. Eventually.

  That eventually would never arrive as long as Celia was alive.

  “Put him off,” I said, rising and buttoning my jacket out of habit. I couldn’t be on this couch anymore. I continued as I crossed the room to my desk. “Tell him I’ve been preoccupied. Long weekends in the islands with my wife. Surely, he remembers we’re newly wed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Charlotte said, her mouth set, clearly disapproving. She knew there was something fishy in my marriage. She knew it was odd that my new bride would choose to stay on a small island away from me. She knew how often I flew off to Amelie.

  She didn’t know how often I thought about it.

  I imagined the woman was thoroughly confused. If she’d thought I’d married a woman a decade younger than me for her body, that notion had been dismissed when I’d abandoned her in the Atlantic. If she’d thought I’d married her because of who she was and the connections she’d afford me, then why hadn’t I taken a call with Warren yet? If she’d thought I’d married Celia because of love…

  Well, bless Charlotte, then, for her ignorance.

  It wasn’t her job to think anything about me anyway.

  I dismissed her now, but she’d worked for me long enough to get away with one more comment. “But I can’t put him off forever.”

  Then she was gone, and Astor was still here to discuss something that would hopefully take my mind off my wife once and for all.

  I unbuttoned my jacket and sat behind my desk, motioning for my assistant to join me here. He stood, bringing the chair and his messenger bag with him.

  “Mateo has sent over a list of purchase items that need your approval. He says you’ve authorized a redecorating project?” He set the chair down and sank onto it.

  I nearly told him to pick it right back up and put it where it belonged because I was not in the mood for discussing this.

  But that wouldn’t make the item go away.

  “I did,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. I couldn’t even tell myself it had been on a whim because I’d carefully collected the catalogues for her from a variety of stores I knew she liked based on the bookmarks on her computer and then left them on her bed with a note suggesting she fix the room to her liking.

  She hadn’t mentioned wanting to since we’d first arrived on the island. I’d dismissed it then, convinced that she wouldn’t be around long enough for it to matter. Still believing I’d go through with it, that I could go through with it, because that had been the plan. That had always been the plan.

  By giving her this gift, had my mind been made up?

  It gave her something to do. It gave her something to keep her mind sharp and her spirits high. It replaced the wreckage from the walls that had begun to break down in our sessions. What was the point if I didn’t intend to let her come out of this whole?

  The answers weren’t at the ready.

  “Approve it all,” I said, flicking my hand to dismiss the list that Astor had produced. “Whatever she wants, she gets. She has her money.” Several months’ worth of money that I’d promised her in our marriage negotiations. The cash had been collecting in a bank account, enough to build an entire new building, if she chose. Still I added, “If that’s not enough, transfer what else she needs from my account.”

  “Yes, sir. And the crew that Mateo’s asked for? Did you want to bring in islanders?”

  At that I shook my head. “Have Mateo find a crew from Mexico. Spanish speaking only.” It would take longer to bring one in with that specification, and would cost more too, and I almost second thought the decision. I didn’t want to believe that she’d try to escape again, not now. I wanted to believe I’d earned at least the beginnings of what would one day be loyalty if not something else. Something more.

  I thought about how her resistance had begun to diminish when I’d been there last. How she looked better than she ever had, her skin supple, her muscles toned. How she’d relaxed enough to let me bring her to climax, not once, but four times. How she’d begged for me to fuck her.

  I could still taste her. Could still feel the unrhythmic vibrations of her body as she came against my tongue. Could still hear the catch in her voice when she’d said her parting words—Thank you, Edward.

  And none of that mattered. I’d imprisoned her. She’d run if she could. Why wouldn’t she?

  “Yes,” I confirmed, for myself rather than Astor. “A Spanish crew.”

  “Yes, sir.” He bent down to reach inside his bag. “Finally, this arrived. The book you ordered. Shall I send it on?”

  I took the book he handed me, a scarlet goatskin leather journal with her initials written in gold foil on the bottom. A heart-shaped accompanying gold clasp was a bit more romantic than I’d intended, but it had been the only quality one I’d found that locked.

  The lock had been important. I wanted her to feel free to write her soul, to let out what was inside as she had in her second letter to her parents,
without worry of what I’d think or do. While I wanted to know with fierce longing every thought of hers, every detail of her imaginings, I preferred that she tell me those things herself. I liked her vulnerable, yes, like I enjoyed all my women, but the point was for her to choose that, not for me to take it.

  It didn’t mean anything unless she chose.

  And if she did choose, then could things be different? Could this really work out another way?

  I traced the letters with my finger—CEF. Celia Edyn Fasbender. I’d taken the Werner away from her when I’d put that ring on her finger—my mother’s ring, for fuck’s sake. I’d made her mine. She belonged to me now.

  Didn’t she?

  I set the journal on my desk. “Not yet. I’ll tell you when it’s ready to send. What else do you have?”

  The next thing on Astor’s agenda was interrupted by the chirp of my desk phone. I hit the speaker button. “Yes, Charlotte?”

  “Camilla’s on the line for you.”

  My chest tightened. If the anxiety that was Warren Werner lived in my neck, the emotions I felt for my sister resided deep in my torso, complicated and protective in nature.

  But things hadn’t been easy between us as of late.

  “Tell her I’m in a meeting,” I said, tapping the button off with my finger.

  Immediately, the phone chirped again.

  “She says it’s urgent,” Charlotte said when I answered.

  I should have guessed. Charlotte wouldn’t have interrupted in the first place if my sister hadn’t pressed. Annoyed, I looked to Astor, as though he could save me from the responsibility of family.

  He read my expression wrong. Standing, he picked up his bag. “I didn’t have much more. I’ll come back.” He returned the chair to the spot Celia had designed it to sit on his way out.

  I hit line one and put the receiver to my ear. “What is it, C?” I asked, using the nickname that came more easily when I was frustrated. “I was in an important meeting.”