42. -41-
Dorian
Staring at the ceiling in my Manhattan loft bedroom, my stomach quivered with worry. Malin dropped me off three hours ago, planning to finish Julien in one of his warehouses, but I would have rather stayed with him. That way, he would be under my watch and couldn’t hurt my wife.
Shit, I needed to finally know her name. To address her properly. It was torture to just lie in bed and not contact her when everything in me screamed to call her or at least reply to her text.
Fuck! Why did I promise Malin to keep radio silence?
You know him, the demon whispered in the back of my mind. He gets violent if things aren’t his way.
“He won’t hurt her,” I mumbled, tearing my hair out. The pain exploded on my nape, waking me up from my reverie. Somehow, I stood before the mirror in my bathroom, looking at my pale expression.
Are you sure? The voice mocked, echoing in my mind like a curse. He’ll snap her in half for hurting you.
I blinked, the darkness reflecting behind my irises startling me. It hadn’t been there for years.
“Shut the fuck up,” I snarled, gripping the sink. My fingers itched to cause some harm to my body, to make that sickening voice disappear. Only pain ever helped me silence it.
Why? Because I’m telling the truth? The loud laughter almost cracked my skull.
My hands pressed against the sides of my head, and a groan slipped past my lips. The volume increased rapidly, the maniacal chortling resonating through my brain with the power to split it in half.
Glimpsing my face, contorted with pain, I grasped the nearest thing, the shaving machine, and slammed it in the middle of the mirror. It broke, but didn’t shut the demon up.
“Get. LOST!” I punched again, with much more force than before, and it shattered into pieces, falling onto the counter and into the sink.
The laughter stopped as if someone flipped the switch. All I could hear was my ragged breathing and buzzing in my ears. The voice was gone, the darkness from my eyes vanished, and the pain evaporated as if nothing had happened.
“Dorian?”
I flinched, my heart nearly giving out. For a second, I thought my sick brain imagined it, but then I heard it again.
“Dorian, are you okay?”
Slowly, I turned toward the door, my gaze settling on my wife.
The gentle light illuminated the black leather outfit hugging her body.
A white Venetian mask covered her face, showing only her plump, dark-painted lips and the gorgeous, glowing brown eyes I would instantly die for.
A bow rested in her gloved hand, a quiver slung across her back, as if she had just stepped out of a war.
My pulse spiked at the sight of her. Still, it had to be an illusion, my brain's desperate attempt to protect me from reality. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“Dorian!” Her strong voice felt like a screwdriver into my temple. “What happened? Are you okay?”
I didn’t answer, didn’t move, didn’t think. I just stared at her, waiting for the illusion to crack.
“Hey!” She waved with the bow right in front of my face. “Say something!”
I grasped her wrist instead of talking. The leather was cold under my fingers, her arm solid and real, too real to be my imagination playing tricks on me.
“Dorian—”
“You’re here,” I cut her off, my voice rough and laced with relief. She was okay, safe, with me.
“Obviously,” she deadpanned, scanning me cautiously. “What happened?”
She pointed behind me at the smashed mirror, but I was too engrossed in her presence to care about explaining.
“You broke in,” I whispered, my tight hold on her wrist loosening a little, but I refused to let her go.
“Surprised?” she teased, yet her gaze lacked any playfulness.
“Impressed.” I flashed her my signature sexy grin. “It’s a twelve-story, heavily guarded building.”
“Yeah, I can do that in my sleep,” she retorted, freeing her arm from my hold. “This, on the other hand,” she refused to ignore the argument with the impersonation of my deepest fears, “isn’t you. You’re always in control.” Her fingers cupped my chin. “Something went to shit. What?”
“Nothing.” I lost myself for a moment in those mesmerizing eyes, but she was determined to get an answer.
“Don’t bullshit me, Dorian.” The warning in her voice made my smile widen, but at the same time, the invisible ropes of her natural dominance wrapped around the lingering chaos in my mind, magically soothing it.
A soft, barely audible exhale slipped from my throat, and my shoulders relaxed slightly.
“Have you realized we’ve never kissed properly?” I whispered, staring at her defined, plump lips. “You’re my wife, and I—”
“Are you high?” she cut me off, expecting my face from all sides, drawing a chuckle from me. She sounded concerned. It was adorable how someone who stuck a loaded gun into my ass could be worried about my head.
“I was,” I admitted, remembering the thrill and adrenaline rush of the chase too vividly. “It’s gone… too soon…” I trailed off, gently taking her hand off my face. “Now, I’m just exhausted. Bed?”
“What?”
The confusion shone in her eyes, but she didn’t object and joined me in bed. The bow rested on her right side as she lay down, and I snuggled my face into the crook of her neck.
Throwing my arm over her, my front pressed against her side, and I felt her hand, stripped of the leather glove, on the back of my head. Her long, pointy fingernails trailed through my hair, grazing my skin and making goosebumps erupt all over my body.
“Who ruffled your mighty feathers, baby?” she asked softly, her lips hovering over my forehead.
“Will you shoot them for me, ma vilaine?” I teased, brushing my nose against her neck. Her floral perfume brought memories of all our encounters to the forefront of my mind, stirring my cock to life.
“If it brings the spark back to your eyes,” she kissed my forehead tenderly, moving her hand from my head to scratch my naked back, “then I won’t hesitate.”
My hold on her tightened, and I closed my eyelids to enjoy the moment of contentment. But the demon in my head, bound by her soothing presence, glared at me from the darkness, watching me, waiting for another moment of weakness to break free and take hold of my sanity.
“Some monsters can’t be erased,” I mumbled, taking her completely into my system. Her scent wrapped around me, blanketing me, creating a barrier between me and the outside world.
I hadn’t felt like this in a very long time.
Safe. The thought alone felt foreign. Her fingers didn’t stop, scratching lightly over my skin as if she knew exactly where to touch to keep me grounded.
It was dangerous how easily she did that.
How naturally my body responded to her, like she already knew every part of me, while I didn’t even know her name.
“But they can be fought.” She pushed my misbehaving hair away, my heart doing a pathetic little jump when our gazes met. “Want help with that?”
My teeth sank into my lower lip, the question lingering between us like a loaded gun I refused to touch. Because if I said yes, did it mean I accepted her? Was I ready to accept something more? After all those years, was I prepared for… what exactly? A relationship? Intimacy? Trust?
Fuck!
The demon chuckled in my head, and I snuggled closer to her.
Since she’d barged into my life, her every action was bold and unpredictable, bringing unfamiliar excitement into my life.
Yes, I had a great life. I could do whatever I wanted, but this hit different.
She was different, nothing like the women I usually met.
Beautiful, well-mannered, following rules like trained monkeys to keep their status or catch a wealthy husband.
No, she wasn’t any of that. When this menace wanted a husband, she kidnapped one.
The thought of being her choice sent an embarrassing thrill through me. If that wasn’t a clear sign I cared for her more than I should, I didn’t know what was—that and the suffocating fear that Malin would hurt her.
Still, forced marriage, probably not legally binding, was one thing. It was fun to call her my wife and everything around it, but this?
Lying in bed, cuddling, talking? It felt good.
Not good—fantastic. Like she was sculpted to fit perfectly into my arms, like she was made for me.
But opening up to someone outside my trusted circle was unimaginable.
The last time I stood before the option of all or nothing, I chose the first, and I was left with a broken heart, a chaotic mind, and a ticket to Africa to escape.
What would save me if my craving for something extraordinary exploded in my face again?
The questions seemed endless, and the answers were nowhere to be found. My exhausted brain quickly gave up searching for them, but my alarm clock refused to let me sleep. With a groan, I turned on my back and slammed my hand against the persistent machine that blared like the house was on fire.
Wiping my eyes, I sat up, instantly recalling that I shouldn’t be alone in bed, but the other side was vacant. No trace of my wife, her bow, or her scent. The only indicator she wasn’t an illusion was a note pinned to the pillow.
It was the best night of my life. Thank you.
I stared at the words, unable to understand them. I wasn’t aware of anything that made the night feel that way. My cock expressed its excitement as it did every morning, but that was pretty much it.
I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and searched my mind for clues, but nothing useful popped up. So I typed:
Dorian: Best night of your life? What did I do to deserve that title?
My nose scrunched as I glanced at the text. But she didn’t give me time to muse about the holes in my memory.
Wifey: If you have to ask, you won’t understand the answer.
Terrific. A guessing game so early in the morning wasn’t on my to-do list.
Dorian: Fine.
I hit send before I could add more, glaring at the screen, but nothing else came. Well, it would be much easier to live up to my promise to Malin and not talk to her if I were mad at her.