Chapter 29
Dorian
Taking a deep drag on my cigar, I lean back against the window pane and scan the books on Elodie’s shelf.
We ended up in her room. She’s asleep on her bed, across from me.
I blow a ring of smoke out through the window, then return my gaze to the shelf. I linger on the last three books at the end of the middle shelf.
Lord of the Rings.
Dante’s Inferno.
The Picture of Dorian Gray.
Everything else is neatly organized—by author, by title—but those three sit apart, tucked at the end of the shelf like they mean something more.
I can’t help but think she put those three at the end for a reason.
They must be her favorites. She would do something like that.
The Picture of Dorian Gray, though, might be there for additional reasons. She called me that once—Dorian Gray. I don’t think she ever stopped.
At first, I thought nothing of it. I thought it was a play on similar names. Dorian Gray—Dorian Vale. But as the years went by I realized there were more similarities between me and the classical fictional character. And that’s what she meant.
Dorian Gray is a man who begins as innocence shaped into beauty, untouched by the darker edges of the world.
But once he becomes aware of his own perfection, that awareness turns into obsession.
He comes to believe that life is meant to be lived in pursuit of pleasure above all else, and that youth and beauty are the only things of true value.
Over time, he grows detached, cruel in his indifference, and increasingly hollow, chasing sensation not because it fulfills him, but because he cannot stop.
The truth of what he has become festers beneath the surface, until it finally destroys him.
Swap out the pursuit of pleasure, youth, and beauty for power, and that’s me.
Except I never intend to lose control of what I become. At least I hope not.
My gaze drifts to Elodie.
She’s lying on her side with her hair sprawled around her. Moonlight spills over her skin, casting it in a soft silver glow.
She’s perfect.
Even in sleep, she carries that ethereal presence. Something angelic that suits her.
She crashed out after our last round, completely spent from my relentless taking.
All the resistance in her was gone. Like it had never existed.
I liked her like that. She felt like the dreamer again.
And she wanted me. Nothing was clearer than that.
After I took her again in the bridal boutique, I managed to drive us back home. But my thoughts stayed locked on one thing—how I was going to get back inside her.
We barely made it into the house before I had her pressed against the wall.
Then we came in here. It was the closest bedroom. Mine is on the other side of the house—too far to satisfy what I wanted.
Still, I would’ve preferred her in my bed. Tangled in my sheets. Not in hers.
The fact that I’m even thinking she should always be in my bed is a problem.
I lost control today. Big time.
Now look at me, wide awake before sunrise, smoking in the dark.
Everything I did today was … unbecoming of me.
Salvatore told me to indulge a little, but I did it a lot.
And damn, it felt fucking good.
Finally, I took care of that thousand-year-old itch. I indulged on the girl who was always off-limits to me.
But now I’m faced with the reality of what we’re supposed to be—a business contract.
Not real, yet we are.
This is a problem I was never supposed to have.
Everyone knows me for control, for the lengths I go to maintain it. So this… this state of mindless need…
It doesn’t sit well with me.
I wasn’t supposed to sleep with my wife on our wedding night and enjoy it.
Fuck, I more than enjoyed it.
I craved it.
I craved her.
I wasn’t supposed to end up here, in her bedroom, watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake so I can have her all over again.
I enjoyed the release of taking her, but now the question of what comes next sits in my chest like a boulder, dragging me under.
What the hell am I going to do now that I’ve crossed that line?
I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. That it was just part of the arrangement.
The meaningless sex I thought we’d have would’ve been easier.
Safer.
But there was nothing meaningless about tonight.
I know that and I know myself.
Even if I could go back, she’d never forgive me.
And that’s the other problem… I care.
I care enough about her that I don’t want that.
That’s what got me into trouble tonight.
Something as simple, and as dangerous, as not wanting to upset her.
On top of that, the timing couldn’t be worse.
I have a flight in three hours. I head to L.A again then I’ll be gone for almost four weeks.
I’ll be back for a few scattered days—mandatory meetings at Vale Global—but my schedule is packed.
I won’t be able to see her.
That should be fine.
She knows I’ll be away. She knows I’ll be busy. It was the reason we didn’t go on a honeymoon.
But I’m already thinking about the aftermath.
By the time I get back, things will be awkward again.
So where does that leave me?
I get lost staring at my wife. My thoughts shift, moving around and around in my mind like pieces of a puzzle that refuse to fit, but want to. Every time they try to settle, I think of her and they fracture again.
It makes me wonder what would've happened if we'd gotten together in the past. Or maybe in some alternate reality where I wasn’t so fucked up.
Would our lives have been different?
Hers would. I would've made sure of it.
She wouldn’t have known suffering. Wouldn’t have dealt with men like Marcus. Wouldn’t have had to pick up the pieces after her family’s business collapsed.
No—I still wouldn’t have saved it. I stand by that. But the dangerous part is… she might’ve tempted me to try.
Things would've been completely different for her, but for me, not so much.
For me?
Not so much.
I’d still be the villain. I’m pretty certain I’d be the same in any dimension, and in every lifetime.
I can’t imagine a different past from the one I had.
And that was too twisted to erase.
People say monsters aren’t born, they’re made.
I’m proof of that.
When you're raised with a monster like my mother, what else can you be?
I guess that explains why I can’t love.
Something’s missing in me, so I’m not wired for it.
A therapist would have a field day trying to unpack that. Getting inside my head would keep half the psychiatry profession employed for years.
I’m exactly the kind of broken they’d study.
But that brokenness…
It keeps me in control. It made me a billionaire. It keeps pushing me higher. And that’s why I know I can have anything I want.
Except, that’s not entirely true. The same madness hinders me from having something that could change my life. Something like her.
Elodie deserves better.
She deserves love. I’d be a different kind of selfish if I couldn’t admit that.
I just don’t know where I’m going with this—these thoughts.
As if she can hear me, she shifts in her sleep. She rolls slightly, brushing against the sheets.
Her hair slips across her waist, spilling over the fabric.
She almost looks like she isn’t real. Like she emerged from one of those Renaissance paintings of goddesses and maidens.
I take another drag from my cigar, but then I go completely still when she reaches across the bed.
Her elegant fingers—one of which has my ring on it—move across the space, searching. It takes me a moment to realize she’s reaching for me.
Such a small thing, but it looks like habit. As if we’ve always shared a bed and she’s never been without me.
Poor little lamb. She has no idea she’s reaching for a torn devil—one who wants to dirty her up and drag her down to his underworld.
Fuck, I want her again. The meagre control I managed to claw back over the last hour is gone.
Hunger has replaced it, rising within me, sharp and consuming.
This is my turning point.
I could leave her alone.
I could walk away. Reset even. Put things back where they belong.
I could at least try.
But I don’t want to.
I don’t want to fucking try to stay away from her.
What I want is right in front of me.
And whatever decisions need to be made… they can fucking wait.
Tonight, I just want one thing.
My wife.
Her eyes flutter open and she pushes herself up slowly. Confusion flickers across her face, then disappointment. It’s clear she thought I’d already gone.
But then she turns, and her eyes find mine in the dark.
Something softens in her expression, brightening just from seeing me. Her eyes roam over my body, taking in my bare chest and dropping down to my boxers. Even in the dark I’m sure she can see my very erect cock, bulged against the fabric.
We don’t say anything.
We don’t need to.
I stub out the cigar and move toward her, already deciding I want her on her hands and knees again.
She watches me cautiously as I climb on to the bed. The same hunger I feel is clear as crystal in her eyes.
Her lips part to speak, but I place a finger on them, silencing her. “Shhh.”
Her breath falters, but her eyes stay riveted to mine.
I cup her face and lean in. She moves to me and our lips meet for a kiss that tells her exactly what I want.
Within seconds it becomes ravenous. And so do I.
I smirk when she moans into my mouth, and slide my fingers over her back, savoring her buttery soft skin pressed against mine.
I move the sheet away from her and lay her flat so I can feast on her body. I drop my eyes, taking in her perfect breasts. Her nipples are already tight with arousal, begging for me to give them attention.
My mouth waters when I look at her bare pussy and the flawless skin of her thighs. And I take a moment to appreciate that she’s mine.
She was always mine.
“I’m going to make you scream,” I promise, flicking her nipple with the tip of my tongue.
Her eyes snap wide and she gasps.
That moment is all I give her before I part her legs and bury my face in her pretty little cunt.
I drag my tongue down her length, pushing her thighs wider. Christ. She’s so fucking turned on her arousal is leaking out all over my mouth. I lap it up. The taste makes my cock grow harder.
Flicking the hard bud of her clit with my tongue, I play with her, alternating between nibbling and licking.
She squirms in my hold, moaning.
I tongue her clit, sucking the little nub until she’s arching off the bed.
“Oh, God!” she cries.
My cock aches with the release but I keep going, keep tasting, wanting more.
“Dorian!” she shrieks, then she comes.
Her sweet nectar flows into my mouth and drink, taking it all in like I need it to survive.
My balls draw tight, a warning that I need to be inside her now if I don’t want to blow my load in my boxers.
I ease up onto my knees and turn her over so she’s on hers too, then I bend her over so I can get a good look at her lush round ass.
Fuck knows what’s going to happen to me after this. Right now I just want to enjoy this moment with her and the freedom I’m allowing myself.
I drag my cock over her wet slit, finding her hot entrance. Then I thrust my hips, burying my cock deep inside of her tight pussy.
“Oh, my God,” she groans.
I move closer, holding her so I can hardly tell where she begins and I end.
I slide out and back in again, then pick up pace. “You’re so fucking tight and hot, Lamb.”
I slam into her harder, then I started fucking her, thrusting my hips again and again, pounding into her harder.
In the barely there reflection of us in the long mirror, I catch a glimpse of her tits bouncing back and forth and the half-pleasure, half pained expression on her pretty face.
I drive into her faster and her walls clench around my cock tighter, fueling my relentless need for her.
Her moans grow louder and louder, and soon the room is filled with the erotic symphony of our pleasure and our bodies slapping together.
Suddenly, blood rushes to my groin and the tension builds in my cock. “Fuck, Elodie.”
I’m going to come. My control was slipping, but I kept pounding.
I had one more promise to fulfil—the scream.
I hammer into her without restraint, fucking her so hard and rough I fear I’ve broken her.
That’s when she screams.
The piercing sound touches every wall and fills me inside and out.
My cock swells, and then I come, spilling inside her.
Every nerve in my body was on fire and the fucking release… it went straight to my head.
We collapse onto the bed, but I drag her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest.
She tilts her head up at me when her breathing calms.
We stare at each other, and the thought hits—dark and unwelcome.
She’s the only person in this world who has power over me.
Wanting her gave her the keys.
She is my exception, and that is dangerous.
Maybe I am destined for destruction after all.
Because I want her again.
I pull her closer and press my lips to hers.