Nightbloom

by Juliette Cross

I took a deep breath and asked, “Do you still want your prize?”

  His expression shifted to something dangerous. When he spoke, his voice could’ve seduced an angel. “Yes, Ella. I want my prize.”

  Losing courage, my gaze fell to the pavement. I couldn’t look at him anymore. My heart was thrumming like a bird’s wings. “Where do you…uh…”

  I couldn’t say it, couldn’t ask him, hoping he’d put me out of my misery. His hand lifted my chin, tilting it upward. Though his hair was still tousled from the rough fight and carrying my dumb, drunk boyfriend to the car, he wore the expression I knew best. The one that told the world he was in charge.

  “I’ll take the lips.”

  The fingers of one hand threaded into my hair, curling around the base of my skull. His other hand slid around my waist, underneath my jacket and blouse, flattening against naked skin at the small of my back. His lips hadn’t even touched me, and I was on fire.

  Angling my head back, he swept his mouth over mine. Grazing. Teasing. Tasting, he trailed his tongue along my lower lip. I braced my hands on his forearms, then slid them up around his neck, one twining into his hair. He whispered my name.

  Instant desire lacerated me. Heat pooled between my legs. It was like…like my body belonged to him.

  And he knew it.

  I wanted to be bold and brazen, not the quiet, timid girl who lost her wits when a man spoke to her. I parted my lips, meeting his tongue when he swept in. Salty and masculine. His body hardened. Mine softened. Gentle became rough. Coaxing became probing. Teasing became desperate. His grip on my neck and back tightened, pulling me against the firmness of his body and bare skin. My softer curves crushed against the hard planes of his body. Rather than frighten me as it had in the past, I wanted more. So much more. For the first time in my life, I truly wanted a man.

  He pulled back and slid wet lips over mine, whispering, “You taste so good.” He sucked my lower lip, then licked into my mouth once more.

  Laughter echoed across the lot. I jumped in his arms. Paxon glanced over his shoulder. Rather than pull away, he held my cheek against his chest, opened his wings to hide us, and pressed his lips into my hair. His skin was dry now, and so warm. I kept my hands at his waist, letting my fingertips edge to the top of his soft slacks, itching to explore. I panted puffs of white breath that vanished against the heat of his skin. Reality slapped me hard when I remembered my boyfriend passed out in the car behind me. The voices grew closer, but Paxon didn’t let go, simply held me till the voices faded into the distance.

  Folding his wings to his back, he leaned across and opened the driver’s side door. My body mourned the loss of his warm shield. Still reeling, I slid into the seat. Clayton’s head lolled against the window, mouth hung open. He was drooling. Ew.

  Paxon held my door open and squatted so that we were eye level. I hadn’t said a word, couldn’t say a word. My body still thrummed. Aching. Wanting. Such a new sensation, I felt lost like a loose ship at sea.

  Flustered, I started the engine, adjusted the rearview, moved up the seat, anything to not look at him. His hand came up and gently turned my jaw to face him. “You okay?”

  “Mm-hm.”

  Liar.

  “You’re alright to drive home?”

  “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  His charming smile was back, plastered wide, making my heart skitter a few more beats. He knew the effect he had on me.

  Enough. I needed to get out of there. “I’m fine. Really.”

  A deep chuckle. “Goodnight, angel.”

  I cleared my throat. “Goodnight.”

  Before I could pull the door closed, he leaned his head into the car and whispered against my ear, his lips brushing the soft shell. “I’d fight a million more for that prize.”

  With a low chuckle, he shut my door. I shifted into gear and tore out of the parking lot, not giving a damn that Clayton’s head was bobbing against the glass.

  What in the hell had just happened?

  Chapter 4

  “Clayton! So good to see you.”

  “Hi, Mrs. Barrow. You look like you could be Ella’s sister. Is Mr. Barrow taking you out on the town tonight?”

  My mother giggled like a schoolgirl. Actually, I’d never heard a schoolgirl giggle quite so girlishly. I refrained from rolling my eyes. Clayton’s flattery was so false and transparent. Unlike the charms of someone else I knew.

  It was true. My mother was pretty and petite, but Clayton was being overly obsequious. His charisma always worked with my parents, especially my mother, who was now beaming from ear to ear.

  “Yes, Ella’s father is taking me into town for dinner. Where are you two headed?”

  Clayton twined his fingers through mine, giving me his winning smile. “Oh, I have something special planned for Ella.”

  “Lucky girl.”

  This time, I did roll my eyes at my mother as I grabbed my jacket. “Ready to go, Clayton?”

  He took my jacket from me, helped me slide it on, and lifted my long hair out of the collar.

  “You look beautiful tonight,” he said in a low voice, but loud enough my mother could hear. She sighed and made a he’s-so-sweet face at me.

  “Don’t be too late, you two,” she called when we headed for the door.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Barrow. I’ll have her home safe and sound.”

  Once in the car, Clayton relaxed into his less fawning, more self-assured demeanor. I didn’t mind his cockiness. It actually gave me a bit of a boost, the same way Sorcha’s company did. Sorcha oozed confidence. Her presence could always lighten my mood whenever I was down. The thing was, Sorcha was preoccupied now with her husband. I mean, mate. Whatever. The same with Jessen. My best friends had found love so easily and settled into their post-college lives without a bump.

  The moment I met Clayton at a dinner a few months ago with my parents, I was instantly attracted to him. Not in the storybook way, but in the way you’re pulled to a bright light. He had the it-factor, whatever the heck “it” was. Over the past few months, the light had dimmed whenever I witnessed the cruelty behind his laughter, his scorn for the less fortunate, his vanity surpassing his compassion. I was beginning to rethink our long-term relationship, but he was so…so charming. As soon as he’d make me angry about something, I’d frown, and he’d amend his misstep with sincerity and grace. Sometimes, I wasn’t quite sure which one was the real Clayton. I was still trying to figure that out.

  In the company of my parents, he emulated a perfect gentleman. To me, he was a proud, wealthy man with flaws. But those flaws didn’t dampen his intentions toward me. He’d hinted on more than one occasion that I reminded him of his mother.

  The times I’d met her, she didn’t strike me as being so similar. Physically, we bore little resemblance. She was a mousy sort of woman who smiled sweetly, like my own mother did, but exuded a sort of coldness that put me on edge. He always greeted his mother with a kiss, so surely, he cared for her. I could never ask him whether his comparison of me to her was an insult or a compliment. I compartmentalized those doubts with the many other things I thought but never said.

  On many occasions, he’d hinted that I’d make a good wife—beautiful, dutiful, and loyal. Those were good traits to hear a man profess, though they weren’t the ones I wanted. Whenever I saw Jessen with Lucius and Sorcha with Lorian, I was always reminded that I might never find that depth of affection. I might never find true, deep, abiding love.

  And if I couldn’t, then I wanted the next best thing—security and loyalty. Alongside Clayton Kerrington, I’d fit perfectly in the society I was bred into. Just as I would make a good wife, he would make a good husband. Like my father, he would provide me with everything I needed.

  At least, that’s what I told myself. Until last week when Paxon Nightwing slammed my world in reverse with a not-so-innocent kiss under the starless night. I mentally shook the thought away.

  “So w
here are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise, baby.”

  Clayton winked at me from the driver’s seat, smiling in that way that used to make me feel special. I gazed out the window, wondering what was wrong with me for the hundredth time.

  Heck. I knew what was wrong with me. Ever since Paxon’s lips had touched mine, I was lost. Completely, totally, utterly lost. Heat flushed my cheeks even now, thinking of him. I had to get him out of my head. How unfair to Clayton, taking me out for some surprise, when I was wishing I was somewhere else. I berated myself for such thoughts.

  “I figured we could celebrate you finishing that secretary job. Yesterday was your last day, right?”

  Drifting back, I glanced at Clayton. “What? Oh, yes. Sherrie returned to work.”

  “You know. You don’t have to work for Sorcha anymore. You’re too good for that kind of work anyway.”

  “Well, I actually wanted that job.”

  “Why? You should be taken care of, not working at some menial job like that.”

  He sounded like my father, always wanting his princess taken care of. As if I was incapable of caring for myself, or even making my own decisions. I had loved that menial job that had given me a sense of purpose.

  I bit my lip to avoid saying something rude. I’d always buried my thoughts behind a blank face, but something had gotten into me lately.

  Like yesterday. Mom had wanted me to wear this stupid, girly dress and go to a society dinner for a fundraiser for Cade Enterprises. I’d done it a hundred times before, but something inside me snapped. I just lost it. I popped off to her, refusing to be her dress-up doll anymore. Even the look of shock and hurt hadn’t kept me from slamming my bedroom door in her face and locking it. Something stirred inside of me that not even my art could contain anymore.

  Clayton veered onto a gravel drive. This area was part of his family’s estate but was a good distance from the mansion where he lived. Their land extended for hundreds of acres through beautiful countryside.

  Dusk had fallen, leaving just a sliver of pink light in the west. He pulled up at an open clearing that overlooked a winding brook. The headlights swiveled past a fancy tent. One of his servants stood at the flap opening, a warm glow emanating from within.

  Clayton parked and waited for me at the front of the car, holding out his hand and grinning like he had a secret. I let him take my hand and guide me to the tent entrance. The servant held open the canvas door.

  “Thank you, Renald. You’re dismissed for the night.”

  The man bowed without saying a word and disappeared toward a dark sedan parked in the shadows.

  “This is lovely, Clayton.”

  Candelabras were set out and lit around the interior, basking a golden glow on the quilt, pillows, and a feast set out like an extravagant picnic at the tent’s center. Soft music played from somewhere.

  “I thought you’d like this.”

  Guilt slapped me in the face upon seeing the display. He probably had planned this all week while I hadn’t given him a second’s thought.

  Get your mind straight, Ella.

  Clayton guided me over and helped me down to the blanket. Wine chilled in a silver pitcher. He knew I didn’t drink. A twinge of trepidation tingled up my spine.

  “Wine?”

  He popped the cork and poured me a half-glass, handing it over.

  “Just a little.” Another odd smile.

  Oh, crap! Was he going to propose?

  My heartbeat double-timed in fear. I took the glass, needing that sip. Needing it all. He busied himself, lifting the tops from silver platters, all with delicious finger foods—scallops, puffed pastries, small sandwiches.

  I took a plate and ate in silence. My senses were on high alert. Clayton usually talked non-stop about nothing in particular. Tonight, he was unnaturally quiet. I sipped more wine, the unusual sensation of alcohol tingling through my limbs. For once, I relished the buzz.

  After eating, he moved to my side of the blanket, stretching his legs out beside me.

  “Here. You didn’t try the chocolate strawberries.”

  To my horror, he held one up to my lips. He’d never fed me before. It was so intimate, so odd. He smiled and waited. I opened my lips and took a bite.

  “Mmm. I like to watch you do that.”

  What did he just say?

  I glanced down, swallowing the small bite and hoping he’d move away. Not a chance. His lips were on mine, hard and insistent. Though not very tall, he was lean and strong, maneuvering me under him with one swift move. I made a sound of surprise, which he took for encouragement, flattening me on my back. His tongue plunged in, his lips overlapping mine. A sloppy kisser, he always dove in with too much enthusiasm as if trying to win a race. It was so unnerving. I’d tried to slow him down before, to guide him in a steady rhythm, but no use. He just plowed ahead, slobbering all over my mouth. I pulled away, needing a breath.

  “Oh, Ella.”

  He kissed down my neck, unbuttoning my blouse. I’d let him go this far before, but something in me wanted him to stop this time. Another part of me argued he was my boyfriend. I was supposed to want him to do this. I was supposed to please him.

  He yanked down my bra strap and sucked on my breast, slobbering all over me there, too. Ugh. This wasn’t pleasant. How did women like this? Gross.

  “Clayton,” I breathed, pushing slightly on his shoulder.

  He unzipped my jeans. Oh, crap! He raised his face to mine, his eyes wild with lust before he attacked my mouth again, his tongue thrusting in. His fingers pushed aside my jean flaps and dove under my panties while he still kissed me hard. He pressed his chest to mine, groaning as he frantically probed between my legs where he never had before.

  I tried to calm my nerves, but every part of me screamed for him to stop. He released my mouth.

  “You’re bone-dry, baby. That’s okay. I can help with that.”

  He pulled his hand out of my pants and licked his fingers. Nausea swept through me as he went to plunge back in.

  “No, Clayton.”

  I grabbed his forearm, but he pushed down anyway, trying to get his fingers back where they’d been, struggling with my clothes and my squirming body.

  “It’s okay.” A frightening gleam in his eyes. “We gotta pop that cherry sometime. You’re ready. We’ve waited long enough.”

  “No, Clayton. I’m not!”

  I dug my fingernails into his arm. He stopped my protests with a punishing kiss, rubbing his fingers hard on the cleft between my legs. I squealed into his mouth when he shoved a finger inside me. By instinct, my knee came up landing squarely in his crotch.

  He fell away, sucking air.

  Thank God!

  With shaking fingers, I zipped my jeans and stood up, then frantically straightened my bra.

  “Fuck!”

  I cringed as I buttoned my top. I’d never heard him sound so angry. He rolled into a sitting position, a hand on his groin, breathing fast. I stood there, frozen, not knowing what to do. When he finally turned an icy glare on me, I didn’t recognize him at all.

  “Did you have to do that?” He paused and took another deep breath. “You can seriously hurt a guy kicking him there.”

  Trembling, I found my voice somehow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…you just were so… I mean, I’m not ready, Clayton.”

  He stood to his feet, inhaled a deep puff of air, and let it hiss out on a sigh. He walked cautiously toward me. I took a step back.

  He held out his hands. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  The fury had leaked from his tone. He cupped my face and gave me a stern glare, a paternal look I’d once seen my father use. “Ella, baby. We’ve been together almost five months now. I think we both know where this relationship is headed. You’ve gotta loosen up.”

  I said nothing. I wanted to tell him this all felt wrong. That this wasn’t right. Instead, I kept my mouth shut.r />
  “Don’t you want to be with me? Don’t I give you everything a girl could want?”

  I couldn’t answer that. Not honestly. So again, I said nothing.

  He leaned in and pecked my swollen lips. “Better now?”

  I nodded. I pretended. As always.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “Good. Let’s go out then. I need a drink.”

  He held open the flap for me. I stood there a second in a stupor. He hissed out another frustrated breath. “Come on, Ella. I know you’re not comfortable here, so let’s go somewhere else.”

  His words were kind, but his tone held such a belittling edge that tears pricked behind my eyes. What was wrong with me that I didn’t want my boyfriend touching me? I bit my lip, forcing my tears back, and hurried to the car.

  He blared the radio and drove like a bat out of hell all the way to the Morgon district. My mind replayed the scene over and over. This was the special occasion? Popping my cherry? Somehow, that’s not how I imagined it would be. Romantic candles and music or not, it didn’t feel right. I didn’t want…him.

  Clayton parked a block away from Spire Maiden, the hottest new club in town. It also happened to be Sorcha’s pride and joy for two reasons. One, she was chosen as the marketing consultant for the place. And two, it was the project that brought her and Lorian together. Why couldn’t I be like Sorcha? I used to accept Clayton’s affection, feeling grateful that he wanted me. Now, I was repulsed by it.

  Once parked, I had to jog to catch up to him. He was punishing me for shunning his attentions, not seeming to care if I fell behind.

  I nodded to Kraven at the door whose eyes lingered, probably remembering me from the after-party from last week’s game. Dance music pulsed loud and hard. I followed Clayton to the elevator to the right of the dance floor. A human couple joined us, hanging all over each other in the corner. The girl giggled. I glanced at Clayton, who glared accusingly at me. Guilt hung heavy on my shoulders. We stepped out on the third floor.

  As soon as we rounded the corner to the bar area, I sighed with relief. Sorcha sat in a plush lounge, laughing at something a silver-winged Morgon girl was saying. As I made my way toward her, I saw Corbin Rowanflame hanging with some friends at the bar. My heart stopped. One of them was him.