by Nikki Sloane
The yellow petals were the first to impact the ground and exploded into a thousand pieces with a loud skittering of ceramic sliding across polished wood. The force thundered up the stem and it broke in three places, followed by a significant portion of the base. My spine cracked along with it and I sank to my knees.
The moss I had painstakingly recreated was reduced to broken lumps of painted stone and it exposed the chicken wire mesh beneath it. I couldn’t breathe. My eyes wouldn’t blink. A guttural wail of anguish reverberated from my chest.
Alec glanced at the destruction between us with indifferent eyes. He didn’t care that he’d just fucked me and destroyed me on the floor of his studio. I stared up at him, one hand clutched to the hole in my chest where he’d ripped out my heart.
“You said . . .” I forced it out between painful breaths, “you weren’t going to . . . destroy it.”
His shoulders lifted as he took in a deep breath, and his feet crunched on the carnage as he strolled to me. “And I haven’t. You and I are going to make it better.”
I shook my head in utter disbelief. “Are you insane?” I put my palms on the floor, gathering a handful of broken pieces and they clinked in my trembling hands. There was no way to fix what he’d done.
“Sometimes damaged things come out stronger in the end. This sculpture lacked restraint. What we’ll build together will be so much better.”
My vision faded to black for a moment with rage. “I’m not working with—”
“Oh, yes, you are.” His palm cupped my cheek but I jerked away. “I own you, Jessica Carnes. You already agreed to the work. Go back on that, and I’ll tell the cops,” he swung his arm out, gesturing to the disaster, “that this was all you. Whose word do you think they’ll believe?”
They’d believe his, absolutely.
I was a murderer. Destroying a piece of art would sound like a simple job for someone like me, and Maritza would side with Alec. I was trapped. Caged by this enigma of a man who had brought me pleasure and pain like no one else. I felt physically ill. Had he intended to destroy my art all along? Had he slept with me just to toy with my emotions? Damage me so I could come out stronger on the other end?
I glared up at him, feeling beaten. “You’re a monster.”
“Oh, Jessica.” His grin was cruel and my blood turned to slush. “That’s too small a word to use for me.”
-6-
FOUR MONTHS LATER
I swiped a towelette of makeup remover over my eyes, scrubbing away the mascara, and then peered into the mirror to make sure it was all gone. Satisfied, I placed my hands on the sink counter and let out a deep breath.
The show tonight had been a perfect success. I expected people would talk for the next two months about the sculpture Alec and I had created together. I was back. Jessica Carnes would once again have top billing and the estimated worth of my pieces had doubled.
I should have been happy. I should have been experiencing something like joy. Instead I felt hollow and my mother’s voice flitted in my mind. “It’s never enough. There’s no pleasing you, Jessica.”
I was trapped.
A hostage.
Alec’s cold fingertips touched my skin covering the bones at the top of my spine, making me shiver. He cupped the back of my neck, gently resting his palm there, but I felt his possession all over. My gaze found his through the mirror. He’d taken off his suit jacket and tie, and undone the top buttons of his dress shirt.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said in his deep voice.
I spoke quietly. “Thank you.”
I hated him, and I hated how I loved him even more. The yellow orchid had been my best work . . . until him. Our sculpture tonight was a stunning masterpiece, and we had two more in progress which I felt confident would exceed it.
At first Alec had held me captive with threats of ruin and prison. I’d fought him and broken down in his studio on more than one occasion. Now he held me captive with my own creativity. I couldn’t leave him, although I wanted to.
I think I did.
Our relationship was . . . complex.
He’d been right, too. Monster wasn’t the word to define him. He put art above everything else, and his attitude was downright ruthless. As an artist, he was a difficult man to hate or love. He was also manipulative. He’d be full of emotion one moment and then cold and distant the next.
I told myself I deserved better, but I knew it was a lie. Alec was the perfect match for someone like me. His cage was so perfectly constructed.
His fingers coursed down my shoulder, hooked under the thin strap of my dress and pulled it off. The slinky fabric slipped away and my bare breast tumbled free. I watched in the mirror as he moved behind me and his hand curled under my arm, palming my breast. His mouth ghosted kisses on my neck. I sighed into him, pressing my back against his chest and tipped my head so it could rest against his collarbone.
He was going to make love to me, right here in his bathroom. I saw the hungry look in his eyes and my body responded to it, trained. I’d enjoy the sex, too, as I always did. We had similar needs. I gripped the sides of my long skirt in my hands and began to furl the fabric upward, granting him access beneath.
The night we’d met, he’d destroyed me just as badly as the sculpture. My work had come out better after that dark event, shaped and molded under Alec’s watchful eye. He pushed my artistic boundaries and yet had patience to let me find my way with a piece. He wasn’t dominating, but I understood who my master was.
The irony wasn’t lost on me. I couldn’t give Jonathan my submission and it drove us apart. Now I was worse than a submissive. I’d become a slave.
Alec fumbled with his pants as he prepared to claim me. It’d be passionate, and I suspected my hands would smear on the mirror glass, reflecting blurry images back at us.
I’d had two glasses of champagne at the showing and my defenses were down. I wanted to know the answer to the question I was always too nervous to ask. I finally had the courage.
“Of everything you’ve done over the years,” I said, catching my breath when his hands were on my hips, “which piece are you the proudest of?”
“Hmm?” The tip of him rubbed against me, seeking entrance.
He’d heard me, I was sure. He wanted me to ask it again. My voice faltered. “What’s your greatest creation?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” He pushed inside, taking me in a deep thrust which made my toes curl. “It’s you, Jessica.”
thank you
I hope you enjoyed “Destroy.” I had a lot of fun delivering Jessica’s comeuppance and I hope I did readers of this magnificent series proud. I fell so in love with Monica and Jonathan’s story, and was honored to write in their world. If you enjoyed the read, would you be so kind as to leave a review? A few words can make a huge difference to an author.
Also, if you enjoyed my writing style, please check out my other works at http://www.nikkisloane.com/. I tend to write sweet love stories with a healthy dose of dirty parts. You can sign up for my newsletter there. I only send out a few a year, and just when I have something of interest like a new release or a sale.
