8. Fia
FIA
He murdered someone and all I can think about is how good he looked. I was pleasantly surprised to see him in my hotel room, desire clouding over everything else.
Until I realized the extent of his actions. Not only did he kill an innocent concierge, he did it in my fucking hotel room. I’m a witness to murder, which basically makes me responsible.
I have to say something, report Emil to the police.
According to Chloe, I was looking over my shoulder like a maniac before the amnesia.
That means I was running away from Emil, trying my best to hide from him.
And by the sounds of it, I was doing a terrible job, checking into the same hotel every time, basically waiting for him to come and grab me again.
How many times did I run away from this man? How many times did he stalk and catch me?
I stare outside of the passenger door window, watching lightning turn the sky white. It zigzags over the city skyline, thunder bellowing through the atmosphere a few seconds later, like the footsteps of a giant, disturbing everyone else’s peace so that he can find his.
I stare at Emil when he’s concentrating on the road, fear filling my bones. With that, comes uncontrollable desire, causing me to sit on my hands before I do something stupid and touch his chest. I restrained myself from doing that in the bathroom when he gave me his shirt.
Wearing his clothes is not doing me any favors.
His cologne wraps around me like an enchanted smell, blurring right from wrong, making the fog sit heavier in my mind.
I could drown myself in the sharp notes of his cologne.
Emil smells so masculine, his scent matching the sheer power he commands in a room.
A single spot of blood is painted on his cheek, easily missed if you’re not looking.
But since I am very much looking, I see it, along with the black stubble that contours his cheekbones, giving him a terrifying edge.
The deep-set eyes, black like the darkest part of night, have a quality about them that I can’t shake.
Like everything else about this man, my body recognizes him.
And it shouldn’t.
He’s a cold-blooded murderer, Fia.
Like this is such a surprise. People who treat money like it grows on trees are always breaking the law. I wish Emil broke the law in other ways, like robbing a bank, stealing; crimes that are more forgiving, so I could forgive myself for still wanting him.
Darkness spreads through the forest, crawling up every tree, every branch. Lightning flashes in the sky, deriving from somewhere far away. The distant rumbling of thunder tells me we’re away from the storm, the rain coming down more gently.
I shake Emil off as he goes to snake his hand around my lower back, hating the way my skin shivers.
“Let’s hope this is the final time I have to run after you.”
“Why are you doing this?” I say, stepping into the voice.
“Like I said before, sweetheart,” says Emil, his dark voice ringing through the hallway. “My enemies will find you.”
“Perhaps you should be more careful,” I suggest. “People have enemies for a reason.”
“Is that so?”
“You have to piss them off first.”
“And what about your father? Did your mother ever do anything wrong to piss him off?”
I freeze in the middle of the hallway. “I told you about…?”
“We’re married, sweetheart. You may not think so, but there was a time you trusted me.”
“I would never trust you.” I fold my arms over my chest, Emil’s cologne filling my nostrils.
“You remember your childhood,” states Emil, taking a step toward me. “That’s a start in the right direction.”
“Being able to recall all the times my father abused my mother is a step in the right direction?” I scoff at how fucked in the head this man is. “You sure gain a lot from making others miserable.”
“I gain nothing,” says Emil, stepping through the dark shadows to face me. His eyes are black, and somehow, they’re the brightest thing in this room, blinding me like the lightning strikes. “I’m trying to make a point. Not all enemies act within reason.”
“You certainly don’t, murdering a man because he apparently ‘knew too much.’” I bite my lip, staring up at him. “I was na?ve, a complete utter fool, for ever agreeing to marry you.”
“Very well,” says Emil. “You can hate me all you want, as long as you stay under my roof.”
I hitch my arms further up my chest. How can I be sure he has enemies in the first place? Sick people exist in the world, committing offences just to fulfill their twisted fantasies. They lie through their teeth and somehow get away with everything.
From what Chloe was saying, it sounds like Emil has an unhealthy obsession with stalking…
And according to the burn between my legs, I might have an unhealthy desire for him to keep exercising control.
“Is there a spare room?”
“No. Just one,” answers Emil, his eyes glowing at me across the dark corridor. “You’ll sleep in our marital bed.”
Fucking typical.
I heave myself upstairs, preparing for bed using lotions and creams that must be mine. I grab one bottle in particular, smoothing my hand over the label. I’m loyal when it comes to skincare, always using the same brands.
I shake off the shiver and brush my teeth, seeing a purple one slotted in a holder beside another. Purple has been my favorite color since I was a kid, symbolizing magic and fantasy.
By nature, I’ve always been creative, generating entire other worlds in my head at night when the banging downstairs was bad. Concentrating on the color purple, slipping into other worlds, helped me escape.
I stare hard at the toothbrush, scrubbing my teeth, wondering if me marrying Emil was another form of escape.
I throw on a silk camisole, step into the matching pair of shorts and head into the bedroom, where Emil is waiting, a smirk toying on his lips.
He’s the most irritating, obviously most dangerous person I have ever met, and yet the most gorgeous. He has no business looking like this in the evening, wearing nothing but a black pair of boxer shorts. He spreads out on top of the mattress, legs sprawled out long beneath him.
He pats the space next to him, which must be my designated side of the bed.
“Don’t be shy,” he says as I crawl underneath the sheets, keeping distance. “You’re normally all over me this time of night.”
“Sure,” I drawl, keeping my hands and feet to myself. Lying on my back like a pencil all night will be uncomfortable, since I’m usually a slide sleeper, but I refuse to touch Emil. I’ll die if his skin brushes up against mine. Feeling his heat radiating across the bed is bad enough.
Emil keeps watching me. “Well, goodnight.”
I switch the nightstand lamp off before I spend any more time staring at each individual muscle.
I turn onto my side, facing away from Emil, and shut my eyes, imagining the color purple instead of my naked husband.
Unfortunately, escaping isn’t so easy. Mentally escaping this man is even more impossible than physically running away.
I rest my hand on my baby bump, remembering my priorities. Put the twins first. Stay away from Emil.
But sleeping in the same bed we’ve fucked in countless times, and probably conceived the twins in, distorts the priorities, bending them into other truths.
“Right fucking there,” I gasp as I straddle Emil’s lap, riding him. “I’m so close, you have no idea.”
“I do have an idea,” teases Emil, flashing me a sinful smile from the pillow.
“I can feel everything. Your pussy always tenses around my cock when you’re ready to cum.
” He trails a rough finger over my chin, hooking it under so I’m forced to look at him.
“I know everything about you, Fia. Your face is an open book. I don’t have to shove my cock in you to figure you out. ”
I gasp, shaking myself back into reality after that dream… or memory. It was vivid, whatever the fuck it was.
“Another flashback?” says Emil, his croaky voice catching against his throat. “What happened this time?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, itching closer to the edge. “Go to sleep.”
“You remembered us fucking, didn’t you?”
My heart thumps in my chest, my breathing turning heavy. Hiding how flustered I am only makes the situation worse. I press a palm over my mouth, silencing my breath.
The dark chuckle erupting out of Emil’s mouth suggests he knows everything.
“Coincidently,” he says, “my side of the bed smells like you. Were you in here earlier, sweetheart, playing with yourself?”
“In your dreams.”
“No,” purrs Emil, the sheets crinkling as he shuffles closer. “In yours. Did the fingernail marks trigger a memory?” Emil places a hand on my back, a hot sweat breaking out across my skin. “You’re horny now. I can tell. I know you, sweetheart, even when you’re acting reserved.”
Another hot shiver passes through me. I clench my thighs together, praying to God the burning feeling between my legs magically disappears.
Attraction distorts the truth. How the fuck am I meant to shake off my arousal with a broken mind if I failed to walk away from him the first time, back when it was fully functioning?
Slowly, I slide a finger between my legs, pressing it clad against my wet pussy. I rub my clit, already feeling like I could cum. A sweet sensation passes through me, turning my blood to steam.
I’m in too deep. If I stop now, I’ll kill myself.
I decide to see my arousal to the end, rubbing myself subtly underneath the covers, moving my hips ever so slightly.
This feels illegal with Emil beside me, and all the more exciting as I break his rules, touching myself when only he’s apparently allowed.
I remember that memory like it happened yesterday, when he shoved me into the headboard and threatened to punish me if he caught me touching myself again.
I sigh, losing myself in the pleasure, on the verge of coming silently under the sheets when Emil tears my hand away.
I gasp, yanking my hand back, but Emil’s impossible strength wins every time.
“You think I’m going to let you come when you’re secretly rubbing your pussy under there, spitfire?
” His voice wraps around me like the darkest shadow.
“The funny thing is, you think you’re doing it secretively.
I can smell when you’re wet from fucking miles away.
” He takes my hand into his mouth, his hot tongue brushing against my palm, sucking each of my fingers dry.
“There’s that raw, earthy scent of yours I love so much.
Here.” He shoves my own hand into my face.
“Smell yourself. This might help you recover some memories as you remember how wet you always were for me.”
I smell myself on my hand, feelings of shame and embarrassment passing through me.
Men have no interest in my scent. They care about fucking me, chasing an orgasm and never speaking to me again.
I’m a big advocate for the occasional one-night stand, as long as you forget about it after and get back to business.
The memories I have of Emil suggest I made him the center of my world, which goes against all my morals.
He’s interested on another level, taking my hand back so he can sniff me once again.
“You’re always so ready for me, sweetheart.
You never wore panties around the house if you were dressed, which you rarely ever were,” he moans, shuffling even closer.
“Nothing has changed there. You’re still walking in on me killing people, completely in the nude. Thank fuck the men are already dead.”
“Still?” I say, hung up over that one word. “How many times have I walked in on you killing someone?” A better question surfaces. “How many times have you murdered, Emil?”
“That’s my business.”
“It’s also mine, since we’re apparently married.”
“Hm,” he grunts. “You want to talk about sharing business?” His hand trails down my clad thigh, causing multiple shivers to rush down my spine.
“Be my guest.” He nudges my thighs open with his flexed finger, his rough palms brushing my inner thighs.
“You’ll always be the same smitten girl, wishing she never wanted me. ”
My blood turns thick, my breath unable to contain. My pussy is burning, and he’s not even touching me there yet. Him smelling my scent and being totally invested in me, even if it is on an unhealthy level, is good enough for me.
I allow myself to sink into his touch. He could be right—being close to him may help me recover some memories.
I’ll face consequences when I get my memory back. For now, I’m interested in slipping into bliss, in feeling things other than frustration and self-hatred as I inflict stress on myself by keeping away from a man my body evidently can’t be apart from.
The twins come first. I’m doing this for them, taking away stress that could stunt their growth. They’re counting on me to sleep with their father.
Emil parts my thighs wider, touching my outer folds, working his way in. He catches my clit, his rough fingertip bristling over the sensitive nub.
An embarrassing moan falls out of my mouth, but I’m flying too high to feel the embarrassment. White hot pleasure fills my entire body as he rubs my clit, pushing me straight to the edge.
“Don’t you dare come yet, spitfire,” he groans, inserting himself between my legs and spreading them wider.
I lower the sheets slightly, losing myself in the darkness, in the blinding pleasure that hits me harder than the storm. Emil strokes his tongue over my clit, increasing the rhythm.
My vision starts slipping away, replaced by swirling purple gradients as I lose myself in his touch.
“Yes,” I find myself moaning. “Just like that.” I frown, the arousal dimming for a moment. “How do you know how to…?”
“Like I said, sweetheart. We’ve had lots of practice.”
Some of the fog shifts from my mind, each tongue stroke bringing me closer to remembering.
I grind on his face, edging closer. The fire burning low in my belly stretches out from that familiar place in the pit of my stomach, hitting every cell, every nerve, leaving me completely fucking spent.
The pleasure crashes over me like a wave, and more follow. I ride each wave, my senses heightened. Emil continues flicking my clit with his tongue, refusing to stop until he knows it’s all over, which is never, in his eyes. He’ll keep pursuing me until I eventually give in.
Clarity stings like a bitch.
The fog settles back into my mind, and as the orgasm fades, so does the clarity.
But the memory stays with me as I recover from the high. I catch my breath, my chest heaving, my mouth dry. Emil appears from under the covers, wiping his mouth.
“My good fucking girl,” he groans, lying back down beside me. “You know yourself better than you think you do, sweetheart.”
I turn, watching him in the shadows, picturing his hard cock under the covers. My mouth waters, the dryness gone in an instant. I could suck him, take him deep into my throat and gag on his cock until the fog clears again.
But he murdered someone tonight and kidnapped me without giving me a choice. The last thing I should be doing is gratifying this man…
Even though it will immensely gratify me…