Chapter 15
Kittie
T ime seems to agonizingly drag on, yet it slips through my fingers and I scramble to catch it. Before I know it, it’s winter, and I’m no closer to escape.
I haven’t prodded much, but Raney doesn’t tell me anything about her dad. Who is he, and why was he looking for me? Is he my best chance for escape? And when I don’t get many answers, I hold onto that. Because I know my mom is looking for me in all the wrong places. But maybe there’s someone who already suspects Dorian.
And although the idea of him getting caught drops a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach, I refrain from any further questioning. I don’t want anything tampering with my sliver of hope.
That…and the hope that Dorian, Raney, or Cory might slip up with the alarm code. And I’m feeling stronger every day. Sooner or later, I’ll have the strength to make a break for it and run.
I just have to be patient. Or…I need to be conniving to get the upper hand.
A chill permeates the sunroom from the cold day beyond. The area has floor-to-ceiling windows filled with various lounge chairs, one of which I occupy, along with countless plants and bookshelves filled to bursting. The estate is toasty, but being close to the glass walls, I can almost feel the frost bleeding in. I try to focus on the thriller book in my lap, not the open space of freedom I can see just beyond the windows.
In my book, a femme fatale seduces a foreign spy who might otherwise kill her if he finds out her identity.
A terrible idea strikes me. I had my eyes on trying to win Raney over. I’m coiled so tightly around the idea of Dorian being completely insane that I haven’t factored in what he’s so crazy about.
I can seduce someone like that, right? Being a virgin with little experience outside my own hand and toys doesn’t matter, does it?
I swallow hard, crushing the book between my nervous fingers as I continue reading. I don’t think I have the gumption.
Raney causes me to jump by storming into the sunroom, bags rustling in her hands.
I slam the book in my lap, nervous that its contents might give away my thoughts. I’m definitely losing it in this place.
I eye her bags as she sets them on the table. Last time, she brought home a litany of nightlights. After the eaves attic incident, I started having violent nightmares, not that I remember them afterward. I only recall being gently woken by either Raney or Dorian, telling me I screamed in my sleep.
The fact that they heard it on the other side of the estate bugs me a little, but I’m less focused on my night terrors and more on possible escape options. The nightlights help, but they make me feel like a child.
Raney rifles through the bags. She turns toward me, producing a brand new sketch pad and a container of charcoal pencils.
“Look what I had Cory grab! I thought you could pick up a new hobby,” she explains with a grin. “You don’t already draw, do you?”
I shake my head, lowering my book to the floor. “I’ve never been very good at artsy stuff.”
Raney gives a dismissive wave of her hand. “Who cares about being good at something? You should do something for the fun of it. So,” she breathes and returns to the bag, “I also got some paints, brushes, pencils, pastels, oh, and some markers! Doesn’t that sound fun?”
Admittedly, it does sound fun.
After handing me a blank sketchbook and a few graphite pencils, she lays the supplies on a nearby end table.
“Well, I’m going to go grab a shower,” she says with a sigh, smoothing back a few stray hairs that had fallen from her ponytail. “Need anything?”
“No.”
The sunroom is all glass, but none of the windows open. There are only three doors: one that leads to a garden supply closet, one to the hallway, and the exterior door. If the padlock and chain on the handle and the glowing sensor at the top of the door are any indications, I’m definitely not going anywhere.
I open the sketchpad, pinching my mouth. I wait for something artistic to blossom but feel disappointed when I’m not struck with inspiration.
“I’ll come get you before lights out,” she tells me as she leaves.
Once I’m alone, I begin to draw aimlessly. Initially, having a curfew didn’t help with the feeling of childishness, but it’s just another measure of control I’m giving up for now. It’s something I don’t have to worry about. All my energy has to be saved for when an opening of escape presents itself.
I allow myself to get lost in the pencil strokes, the soft hiss of the shading. Focusing on that allows me to forget my plotting and even ignore the daylight draining from the sky beyond.
I draw by the remaining light of the lamp next to my chair. The rest of the sunroom is cast into darkness, worsened by the blackness of the windows. It makes me think I’m being spied on from the outside without knowing. That line of thought causes me to gasp when Dorian’s reflection appears on the glass ahead of me.
When I whip around to face him, he smiles at me. “I’m sorry, Kittie, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“That’s okay,” I reply, letting my shoulders sink in relief. “Did you just get home?”
Dorian nods once and walks further into the sunroom. His step is lighter, his face soft. His approach has my heart racing. We haven’t been alone since our brief talk in the kitchen.
Can I really do this?
I shift across my lounge chair to allow him to sit beside me. I try to find that groove we had when I was in the hospital. That effortless conversation. “How…was your day?”
“It wasn’t anything too interesting,” he confesses in an exhale as he sits on the cushions. His cologne is intoxicating as it comes to me in a slow wave. “Do you really want me to bore you with talks of meetings and spreadsheets?”
I nod, clutching the edges of my sketchbook. Dorian’s face and voice are kind; this version of him, however rare its appearance, is a comfort.
Instead of regaling me with his day, he glances down at the sketchbook, twisting his head to try and get a better glimpse of it. He gingerly takes it from my hands. “Is this what you’ve been working on? It’s amazing.”
I scrunch my shoulders. “It’s just some doodles, nothing special.”
As Dorian gazes over the drawing, the warmth of his smile intensifies. It feels like a rush of relief to watch the features of his handsome face change as he marvels at something in his hands.
“Have you always been able to draw?”
“Not really.”
“This is Cory. I can tell by the swoop of his hair.”
I nervously play with the ends of my sleeve. “I don’t think I captured his likeness very well.”
“It’s marvelous,” he says with a chuckle and lifts his chin, setting his intense and loving eyes on my face. “To think you’ve been so talented this entire time and didn’t know it.”
Even if it isn’t a good idea, I let my eyes scan his face. Most of the time, even as he surveys me and watches me around the house, it feels like the beastly, dark version of him leering over me.
This moment is one of those rare ones when I’m under the loving gaze of my Dorian, the one I first met. My heart aches in longing.
Then his hand touches my face, and his mind goes elsewhere. “Look at how beautifully you’ve healed. It’s such a relief to see.”
I hadn’t even really been thinking about my body’s injuries. I’d been avoiding the mirror for weeks, refusing to gauge the progress of the shrinking scabs all over my body. By now, they’re gone.
How messed up is it that I’d give anything to just be in that hospital again, with this version of him at my side?
“I missed you,” I whisper. I know Dorian assumes I mean I missed him while he was at work, but in reality, I miss the version of him in front of me so deeply it feels like a wound, and the pain is evident in my voice.
There’s a beat of silence between us as he stares at me, wordlessly, with adoration.
My thoughts are running a million miles a minute.
You can do this , I chant inwardly.
Without another word, I lean forward and press my lips clumsily to his. The smell of his skin goes straight to my head and makes the room spin. My heart gallops wildly in my chest.
I’m not prepared for his reaction.
Dorian coils his arms around me like a snare, one hand on my back, the other carefully tangled up in my hair.
I hear the thump of my sketchbook hitting the floor. I feel the rush of his breath as he inhales deeply, his mouth hungrily moving against my lips. He lays me back against the chair and hovers over me.
For the briefest second, he parts our lips, and I see both versions of him. There’s that familiar darkness in his eyes, the version of him I fear, and the tender gaze that quickens my pulse.
This is just a long con , I tell myself. A lie.
So then, why is my body singing out for his?
Dorian buries himself against the nape of my neck, lining my skin with kisses. As he lightly sucks at the curve where my neck meets my shoulder, a tingling sensation radiates up and down my thighs when they clench against his hips.
Dorian lifts his head, and I meet his hazy eyes before slamming my mouth against his as if I’m starving.
It’s just a game, I want to tell myself. And yet, my shaking hands wander across his chest, fumbling with buttons. An all-consuming fire wages within me, too real and too harsh to be fake.
Dorian’s hands wander up my dress, fingers coiling around the hem of my leggings and pulling them, along with my panties, down my legs.
When he returns to me, his hands bunch up the fabric of my dress around my hips. His mouth possesses mine again, taking the lead and making me submit to it.
Dorian pulls away from me only long enough to hastily undo his belt. In the few seconds it takes to lower his pants slightly off his hips, a bolt of confusion pulses through me.
In the depths of my warring heart, I wish we could go back and do this properly. I wish that our first time could be in his bed after dating and not in the heart of a heavily locked home I’ve been brought to against my will.
But it’s not real , I try to convince myself.
“Please,” I breathe, horrified at the way my mouth forms the word in a moan. Excitement and desperation win out over the fear of what my first time might be like.
Understanding my desperate need, he quickly returns to me, tongue invading my mouth.
Pressing his lower body to mine, I feel his arousal as much as my own as he presses his member against the apex of my thigh. Realizing how hard he’s become is almost as horrifying to me as discovering how wet I am.
He breaks from my mouth to tip his head down, the scent of his shampoo invading my nose. I can only focus on the smell for a second before I feel his hand slip between my legs, guiding himself to my entrance.
“Dorian,” I beg, need soaking each syllable.
“Yes, kitten,” he whispers in assurance, returning to my mouth and easing himself into me. He captures my cry, cupping the back of my neck with one hand and bracing the chair’s armrest with the other. I expect pain and blood, but I’m only greeted with pleasure.
Dorian moves slowly at first, thrusting and rolling his hips. His movements spurn me to sigh and gasp against his lips, the lounge chair squeaking under our movements. When he steadily picks up the pace, I gather fistfuls of his shirt, wrinkling the fabric against my palms.
His muscles tense beneath my hands in tandem with his body’s movements. I arch my back, and his fingers return to my hair, lightly pulling it at the base of my head.
The air around us grows heavy. I ride on wave after wave of pleasure to the rhythm of his movements. I must be so profoundly broken to need him the way I do, to think for an instant this fire wouldn’t burn me alive. It’s wrong, all of it. My lies about this being a game are leagues away from the primal part of me, grinding against him, pulling his hips to plunge deeper into me.
There’s a pulsating between us, but I can’t tell where my pleasure ends, and the throbbing of his member begins. Like a feverish delusion, I’ve never been more sure of us than in this moment; we belong together.
I’m fully lost until he finally meets his peak. His entire frame tenses and shudders at the exact moment a hot sensation fills my depths. I let out one final cry, wallowing in the fading pleasure as we both slow and quiet.
Dorian presses both hands to the chair cushion, walling me in, his forehead pressed to mine. His face is damp with sweat, and his chest heaves, almost as hard as I pant under him.
“Katherine,” he finally says in a breath as his senses crash back to him.
We both sit up at the same time, parting our bodies. Any spot his skin touches mine is cold when he pulls away. His absence brings me back to reality, and I’m almost nauseous with shame.
I rip my eyes away from him, staring at the empty far end of the room. From the corner of my vision, I see him fumble with his pants, pulling them up and redoing his belt. All I can do is pull my legs together, a sticky sensation coating my inner thighs.
Once he’s put himself together, he gathers my panties from the sunroom floor. When he stands, I stare at the two wrinkled spots on his shirt where my fists had been. Then, he kneels to me and gently takes hold of my ankle.
“Let me help you,” he murmurs as my body locks up. It sounds more like a plea than a command. Sure enough, his darkness vanishes like a blown-out candle, and I can see his nervous, sweet version scrambling like he’s made an awful mistake.
Clamping my lips together, I force my body to relax. I look away as he dresses me. Somehow, this feels far more vulnerable than the sex.
So much for being a femme fatale.
After Dorian takes me to bed, I can’t sleep. I replay every second of sex with him in my head until I have to fight against the urge to pleasure myself. Doing what we did is one thing—it was a ruse—but getting off to it is another. And I don’t think I managed to get the upper hand at all. I don’t even know where to go from here.
I’ve never had sex before, but I gave myself plenty of orgasms in the past. But even if I hadn’t reached completion with Dorian—and in hindsight, I’m very grateful for that because I think I would’ve lost my mind—it still felt transcendent.
And too dangerous to repeat.
As I roll around, tangling up in my blanket and trying to force sleep, my thoughts linger on the deep ache in me.
It was my first time.
If that isn’t enough to keep me up, the realization that we didn’t use protection haunts me with sleeplessness all on its own.
Eventually, the sunlight breaks apart the night, casting an orange glow into my room, strong enough to deaden the nightlights. I wait beneath my mountain of comforters until Raney comes for me, unbolting the lock on my door and summoning me for breakfast. I gauge her face as I dress and follow her into the dining room.
She’s polite and chatty like always. At first, I assume she’s none-the-wiser, but there’s a knowing, mischievous smile on her face. I’m mortified that she might be aware of the situation.
I thought Dorian had already left for the day, but when I sit at the dining table, I catch the briefest glimpse of him moving around in the kitchen.
My face burns. I’ve barely looked Raney in the eye when she let me out of my room, so I know it’ll be impossible to even look in Dorian’s direction.
“I’ll get you some cereal,” Raney announces, patting me on the shoulders.
“Will you eat with me?”
Raney pauses in the doorway, and I realize our voices stop any sound of movement in the kitchen.
“Of course,” she replies cheerily and then disappears. I hear the tap running, then footsteps. A bag rustles, and cereal patters against porcelain before someone enters the dining room.
I flinch when I realize it’s Dorian. He looks sigh-inducingly handsome with his brown hair slicked back and his signature brown suit, or maybe I have a sensual afterglow to thank for my deep infatuation.
Dorian places a pill and a glass of water in front of me without meeting my eyes.
“Whatever products you may need, Raney has stocked for you,” he says quietly. “I won’t force this down your throat, but I think you should take it.”
I eye it, frowning. I don’t have to guess what it is.
“What I did…was reckless and stupid,” he explains, staring at the wainscoting on the wall to the left, avoiding my gaze. “I got carried away. That’s not an excuse, but it’s true all the same.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say.
“Of course it is.” Finally, he lifts his heavy eyes. I almost regret meeting them and duck under his gaze. “I’m responsible for all that goes on between us. I should have exercised restraint. Now, I’ve done this to you. Especially after what you’ve endured.”
I blink, pausing at the words done this to you as if I hadn’t started it.
“Dorian—”
When I say his name, he straightens out, clears his throat, and shifts on his feet. “Please take it, and let’s forget this ever happened.”
Without further argument, I pick up the pill and place it on my tongue, drinking it down with a gulp of water. When I return the glass to the table, I notice his brow bent slightly.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “And again, I’m sorry. I won’t do that again, Kittie. You have my word.”
I don’t know what to say. I’m still at odds with myself, and even if the rational part of my brain agrees with his intentions, another part doesn’t want him to feel ashamed.
But instead of comforting him or arguing, I simply nod.
“I want you to feel safe from me,” he breathes, and I finally hear guilt in his voice.
I open my mouth to speak but stop when I feel his hand against my hair. I tip my head back to look at him again, and he caresses my face before sighing and peeling away from me. Relief radiates through my chest that he won’t avoid touching me altogether.
The second I realize I crave his affection, my rational mind knows I’m doomed.
“I will be back tonight. I’ll see you then.”
Dorian passes Raney and walks toward the garage. He enters the security code. She watches him leave through the door, and after he shuts it, she turns back to me with a peculiar frown.
“I wonder what his problem is?”