Chapter 15
…Her dreams are inside a limo, complete with a scream track, cocaine, the voices of men and women talking as if nothing is happening , as if they can’t hear the shrieks and gasps of pain…
Adrenaline is racing through her veins, like alcohol, fear and ecstasy a heady mix. Shame tastes like acid on her tongue, because she shouldn’t, oh she shouldn’t feel this way…
There’s nothing to see really, she’s staring upward, like the ceiling of the limo is particularly interesting, she wishes she could look elsewhere, but the dream isn’t cooperating. Groans and moans are mixed in with the screaming and her core clenches against her will…
…Familiar pale teeth appear in her vision, looking down at her from above. Nicholas Havenwood-Calais is looking down at her, tropical eyes nearly black in the dim lighting. His voice is a low purr, but she can’t make out what he says.
Someone is screaming, can’t they hear it amongst the shining lights that flicker and dim like stars?
His hand is on her throat and everything swims in blackness…
The nightmare nearly makes her cry when she wakes up, an overwhelming emotion made of shame, fear, and vicious hunger mixed together. When she goes to the bathroom to splash water on her face, she nearly mistakes her own reflection for her father’s in the dark when she glances at the mirror.
Kara shudders, shutting her eyes before opening them again.
This time, her face is staring back at her.
“The damn fax machine isn’t working,” Derrick grouses, pressing a button aimlessly on the machine in question. “I can’t send anything over to…anyone.”
Bob doesn’t look up from his laptop, pounding away on his keyboard like he’s trying to murder it. “Did you call IT?”
Giving him a less than serene expression, Derrick moves back to his seat and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ll have to open a ticket. Then wait in a queue.”
“You’re the named partner of this firm, screw business process and just tell them your stuff is priority.”
The sun is filtering through the windows, giving a lovely view of the cityscape. The weather is quickly starting to heat up, moving from an average of sixty-five degrees to seventy-five in a random leap overnight. The humidity is beginning to get stifling, so bad that Kara can feel the stickiness walking across her floors when at home.
The light bounces off Derrick’s dark hair, somehow obscuring the slight highlight of grey beginning to show by his temples. He’s still got the exhausted look about him and Kara worries that the chaos of his home life is wearing him down and burning him out at work. Leaning back in his chair, he loosens his tie, wristwatch catching the sunlight with a flash. He sighs, looking up at the ceiling for a moment of thought.
“Then, I look like a jag-off.” Derrick rolls his chair back over to fax machine and pulls out the documents he’d placed within. Stuffing them into a folder, he puts it on his desk, staring at it irritably. “I need to get this over to Calais today. I’m tied up this afternoon, so-”
At this, Bob stands up and acts like he’s taking a bullet for the team, adjusting the waist of his slacks around his potbelly. “I’ll go and let that fancy shit know what’s what.”
Derrick gives him a pained look. “I don’t think so. Last time you went to his office, you threatened to take a dump in his briefcase. Nicholas has only just stopped tormenting me about that event.”
“Oh, it was a jest between men, Derrick, and we all know that hyena appreciates a bad laugh…”
Their conversation becomes background noise to Kara as she studiously pretends to not exist, because no way in hell is she going to go talk to that awful man. She’s not even sure she would be able to look him in the eye without remembering the way he sounds when he’s aroused and pinning her down, caressing her insides until she’s spilling on his palm.
…“Still having fun, sweetpea?”…
Embarrassingly, she feels herself clench in vague excitement at the memory and she mentally calls herself a traitorous slut.
No, no she can’t go to that office. Not for the sake of her sanity, which appears to be hanging by threads. How sick is she, that she enjoyed what he did to her? How messed up is her brain, that she was okay with how he spoke to her, almost threatening with his aggressive sexuality?
What’s even worse is that she wanted him to be rougher, even despite the trickle of fear driving her to greater heights. Sick, twisted, wrong…
There’s a noise, the sound of paper sliding across a solid surface. Kara looks up from her laptop and sees some folders have made their way across the table to her. She refrains from groaning in dismay. Derrick looks apologetic, mouth twisted in a regretful grin. “Sorry, Kara. Bob likes to pick fights with everyone at Calais, Vickers, and Yates.”
Sputtering, Kara replies, “Who says I don’t?”
Bob chuckles, hands on his robust hips, “If you do, I don’t think they take you as seriously.”
The insinuation makes Kara scowl up at him. He’s always talking down to her subversively and it makes her head hurt. “Why, because I’m a woman?”
“Ah, sort of. That, and the fact that you don’t look old enough to be an associate. When I’m angry, I threaten to shit in men’s briefcases. When you’re angry, you look like a hissing kitten with no claws, stomping your feet.”
Standing up from her seat, Kara points her pen at him, “I fu-” she catches herself before she swears in front of Derrick, “I resent that statement, I’ll have you know.”
Derrick is frowning at the other man, pressing his fingers into his temple. “Bob…just…stop. Kara can take care of herself.” He adds another folder to the stack from his drawer. “While you’re over there, give this to Jackson. It’s for the Debra Mills case.”
Bob groans at the mention of Debra Mills. He’s quickly lost any respect for the woman after the continued surprises in court that the defense has been bringing forth. Clearly, he just wants the case done and over with.
Looking at the stack of paperwork, Kara feels herself cringe. Lovely. She’ll be making the rounds at the opposition today. “Jackson is the big one, right?”
Bob is nodding enthusiastically. “Oh, yeah. Not the blonde pretty boy that flirts with all his witnesses.” He and Derrick share a laugh at that. “Little shit…” Bob mutters under his breath.
Thank God for small favors, because Sunshine is just as likely to flirt with her if Kara needs to bring him anything. In fact, Sunshine reminds Kara of the guys in bars that love to boast about how successful they are to girls they are trying to pick up. Laying it on too thick and sounding far too arrogant to live. Kara prefers Rugby, even though his appearance makes her think that he’s the sort to get in a fight in an alley for the fun of it.
Gathering up the folders, Kara, gives Bob a sidelong glance. “Did you really threaten to take a deuce in Calais’s briefcase?”
Looking very much so like a naughty boy caught throwing frogs at his classmates, Bob grins, the lines of his face deepening. “That I did.”
“Good for you,” Kara replies as a peace offering between them. But, mostly because she’s vaguely impressed.
Clearly taking her answer as an excuse to talk more about it, because Bob loves to talk, the older man starts telling his rendition of it. “You should have seen the look on his face!” Bob slaps his thigh with a sharp laugh. “He was sitting at his desk, a pen in hand, mouth wide open in shock. It was a good laugh. I would have gone through with it too if Yates hadn’t barged in, wondering why I was undoing my belt buckle. Yates was all, ‘Do you guys need a private moment?’ Gah . It was priceless.”
Kara envisions the scene with a slight grin. “I imagine it was.” She holds up the folders, nodding to Derrick. “I’ll go drop these off now. Let me know if you need help with anything later today to lighten your load.”
He smiles, sleepiness about his gaze. “Thanks, Kara. I’ll let you know if there’s something you can assist on.”
Kara beams, pleased.
Bob walks out of Derrick’s office, saying fondly, “Associate my ass, she’s an ass kisser.”
Following behind him, out of Derrick’s hearing, Kara snaps, “I fucking heard that, Bob.”
The senior associate just laughs at her, which does wonders for her ego. Or not.
Apparently, she reminds him of a mad kitten anyway.
The building that Calais, Vickers, the emotion you feel when you think you might run into your ex at the least opportune moment. Kara likens it to that. However, the girl at the front desk smiles at her kindly and asks Kara to sign in, putting her somewhat at ease. As she’s doing so, a familiar voice calls out her name.
Looking up, even as pen touches paper, Kara smiles genuinely as she sees Gale Clarke walking her way, coming from the main floor with all the desks and offices. She’s wearing a perfect power suit, light in color with snappy dark heels, clicking on the hard floors. Her blonde hair is perfectly done, pulled back in a pristine French bun. “Well, look at you!” Gale grins widely. “Have you come to work here after all?”
“’Fraid not, Gale.” Kara scribbles her name down, nodding sharply to the girl behind the desk. She holds up the folders in her hand. “You Know Who is keeping me busy.”
You Know Who . Derrick Benson. Gale winces only slightly, but seems glad that his name isn’t referenced out loud. No doubt she doesn’t want it talked about, her scandal with him. Naturally, word travels fast amongst their professional circle.
Everyone will think, oh, Derrick Benson and Gale Clarke, did you hear about that mess? Kara knows how cruel gossip can be. She knows very well.
She knows how much it hurts when the gossip is actually true and has legs to stand on.
Keeping her poise, Gale pulls Kara into an elegant one-armed embrace, a coffee mug in her free hand. She smells of lavender and rose, light and fresh. “Long time no see, friend,” Gale quips in her cashmere tone.
Indeed. And here Kara is just hoping Gale doesn’t bring up Calais, considering Gale saved Kara’s ass with him the other week. Who knows what he’s told Gale? At least, nothing unforgivable in Gale’s eyes, if her warm welcome is anything to go by.
Gale smiles as she pulls back, her soft coral lipstick on point. “I’ve been meaning to text you about lunch, but things have been so busy. I’ve been moving my stuff over. A nightmare, I tell you. If you aren’t joining the dark side, what are you doing here?”
Kara sighs. “Stuff for cases, our fax machine is broke.”
Gale makes a tittering noise, shaking her head with a faraway look in her eyes. “I told him to replace that darn thing. It never works when you need something important faxed. Go figure, he never did listen to me anyway.”
Blinking with discomfort, Kara realizes that Gale is talking about Derrick. She tries to think of something else to say to detract from that line of conversation. “How has it been, moving your clients over? Or is it no different than before?”
Cocking her hip, Gale gestures vaguely, gemstone rings glittering on her elegantly manicured hand. “Mostly a smooth affair, though some didn’t want to move away from his grasp entirely. Frankly, the client that brings me the most billing is with me no matter where I go, so it’s all good. He’s always been mine, so there was no issue. That client is worth more than the majority of the others combined, so I won’t quibble over smaller fish with ‘You Know Who’, as you so charmingly put it.”
Before Kara can ask who the client is, considering she knows the majority of Gale’s clients, the older woman snaps her fingers. “Look at me, chatting away and distracting you from getting your mission complete. Who are you looking for? I can point you in the right direction.”
Chuckling, because Gale is always easily distracted by conversation, Kara says, “I have something for Havenwood-Calais and something for…Jackson?”
Jackson is ‘Rugby’ in Kara’s mind. He and Sunshine remain representing Max Dotaire while Calais moved over to Paxton Brooker only. The rumor that the opposition is winning the Debra Mills case certainly stings.
Although, they aren’t winning due to anything special, aside from the fact that Debbie hid a few things from Kara and the rest of the team, leaving a few crucial details out. Like, her many consensual sexual relations with Dotaire. Kara knows that Derrick wishes they had vetted Debra Mills more deeply before going to trial.
“Nick’s office is over there. Behave; he and I had some choice words about you last week.” Gale gives her a stern glance, lips pursed. “Try to stay on his good side going forward. I’d really like to bring you over here in the future, but right now he’s a little sour about you. With good reason.”
Shifting on her feet, feeling awkward, Kara gives Gale a watery grin. “I meant to thank you for talking to him…and convincing him to not go to Judge Canry about my snooping around. My friend wanted to check the club out. It was a huge mistake; I should have fought a little harder against following her in.”
“It’s an interesting club, or so I hear. I don’t blame you for wanting to take an ‘educated’ peek.” Gale winks at her. “What are lady friends for if not to watch your back? Just…be careful next time.” Her lively eyes flash for a second and Kara can literally see an idea pop into her thoughts. “Lunch! Before I forget, let’s plan on next Wednesday. It’ll be fun. Somewhere by the river! Outside, if it’s nice.”
Kara nods, bringing out her phone to make a note on her calendar. “Let me know where by text. Wednesday works just fine.”
“Perfect. I’ll see you later, friend.” Gale strolls by in a wave of lavender and rose, heading towards the other end of the office, heels echoing off the walls.
With Gale gone, Kara heads in the other direction, to where Gale had mentioned Calais’s office was located. The office reminds her of a museum of sorts, upscale with artwork, statues, and even small fountains. Ritzy.
On the far wall, Kara sees a row of dark wood doors; her destination of doom.
There are no office windows to see what’s inside, but all the partner offices have their names emblazoned in gold on their respective doors. Large, bold lettering. Kara stands in front of the one that says Havenwood-Calais across its face.
A lovely name for an awful man. She feels herself weaken, heart racing. Her breathing nearly speeds up, anxiety about seeing him again nearly making her sick on the floor.
Just get it over with. Drop it off and leave.
She knocks on the dark wood door, opening it with a deep breath upon hearing a familiar voice say, “Enter.”
Steeling herself, Kara steps inside and catches sight of the very man who has been haunting her thoughts incessantly for nights on end. He sits just behind a great mahogany desk, the windows overlooking the city and the magnificent stretch of high-end consumerism behind him. A lovely view.
The outdoors, not him.
If Calais is surprised to see her standing in his doorway, he makes no sign of it. His sharp gaze takes in the folders in her hand before darting back to her face, his piercing blue eyes unreadable. Somehow, he’s able to look down at her, even though he’s sitting and she’s not.
Must be the flats that Kara’s wearing. She’s not tall and imposing in any reality, but especially without heels. She closes the door behind her carefully.
He’s not saying anything, just leaning back in his big office chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, hands relaxed, with his brightly colored oxford socks peeking through the gap between slack hem and shoe top. Waiting, like a snake watching events unfold carefully. He’s not making this easy for her, his jawline tight. What must he think of her, showing up like this? Kara nearly flushes at the thought, wondering with horror if he’s thinking of her as a complete desperate skank, showing up at his office.
She’s been in his limo, twice . His car, once. And now, his penthouse. Her record with him cannot be any worse. Hell, he must think she’s a stalker.
Pursing her lips, Kara slowly walks over to his desk, conscious of every step she takes. At least with the flats there is literally no chance of her falling on her face in front of him. She feels like a naughty school girl approaching the headmaster of a fancy private school.
Oh, do you want the headmaster to spank you while you’re here? Maybe he can finger fuck you while he’s at it and scold you while you cum.
Schooling her features, Kara hopes none of her thoughts show in her eyes. “These are for you to look over,” Kara says stiffly, barely able to look him in the eye, ashamed of herself. “Our fax machine and scanner are broke. So…here you are.”
Ashamed because she wants him, because she let herself be used by him, but mostly because she enjoyed how he made her feel, bent over his table.
With averted eyes, Kara places the folders down on his desk before stepping away, feeling her heart racing. She needs out. She needs to be gone. Calais flips open the first folder with a hint of attitude, his eyes still staring holes into her face as he does so. Then, his pale blues glance downward and he snidely rasps, “This isn’t even for me. Jackson-”
“Oh, for the love of-” Of course. Hissing, Kara wrestles that folder from him and points to the one below it. “You looked at the wrong one, you facetious troll.”
Rolling his eyes, Calais looks into the other folder, eyes flickering over the words on the pages. He makes a little noise, as if acknowledging that he’s now looking at the appropriate documents. As he continues flipping through a few pages, Kara makes to grab the folder for Jackson and walk away, but Calais’s heavy hand slams on top of it. “That stays with me. I’ll give it to him.”
Kara can’t help but stare at his hand, at his fingers. They’re nice, not ratty or bitten. The skin is pristine around the nail beds. The pads of his fingers are broad and Kara can feel a phantom sensation of him pressing those fingers inside her.
She inhales sharply and steps away from him. Not trusting herself to speak, she nods her acknowledgment and makes to leave, because she can’t breathe.
He’s looking at the stiff lines of tension in her frame, yet he still appears distant and unamused. “Is that all? I’m almost disappointed in you.”
Kara twists on her feet, glowering. “What else did you expect? Perhaps I should just lie on your desk and make it easy for you? Yeah?”
The air gets thick, like the feeling and taste of ozone before a storm, rife with lightning and thunder. Calais looks at her like he can see past the flesh her tattered soul resides in. “You wear sacrifice and self-loathing like it makes you a martyr,” he utters, eyes aloof and cool. A surprisingly wintery landscape. An unkind flash of teeth. “Does it excite you to wallow in the after effects of your extremely dubious actions and behaviors?”
How dare he try and pick her apart? As if Kara doesn’t already know how wrecked and sick she is on the inside. Red crawls up her face. “Fuck. You.”
“I dare say you would have,” he quips sharply and Kara gasps at him in outrage, dark eyes going wide. Calais ignores her, “But don’t stand there and pretend you want it to be easy and don’t pretend you’re a blameless saint. Don’t insult my intelligence; it’s offensive.”
That flowery language of his, the derision in his tone. The room feels like it’s shrinking down, becoming a cage. “Why don’t you just say what you mean? What you really mean. Not your stupid pussyfooting.” Kara feels her teeth grinding, her anger beginning to boil to the surface of the ocean inside of her.
The smile on his lips is unpleasant and cruel as he tilts his head. He seems pleased with himself, like he’s just dying to push a knife into someone, anyone, and Kara just happens to be in the line of sight at this very hour of the day. “Have it your way. Deny it all you want; you enjoyed what I did to you. You didn’t press your lips to mine looking for flowery words and disgustingly false emotions; you wanted me to violate you. You get off on a firm hand the same way that I get off on force and power. Aggression gets you off. We are the same animal and wear the same mask.”
The world stops.
All the blood in Kara’s face fades away in a wash and it feels like her heart has stopped beating. Her vision wavers in that strange, dream-like fashion before everything begins melting into shades of red and black. The rage, the defect in her person, takes the wheel with a hard jerk. “We are nothing alike!”
She’s around the desk before she even knows that she’s moving.
Seconds flash by and she’s got her claws going for his throat, his large hands already on her wrists, dwarfing her. When Kara blinks again, he’s laughing, holding her off of him. Instead of being horrified by her attempt to tear his throat out with her bare hands, he seems charmed. She snarls in frustration, lip curled. “There’s the tiger,” he chuckles lowly, an aroused sound. Calais yanks her forward, has her standing between his thighs. His face is all sharp lines, stone cut as he says, “You play a good game; an innocent flower wilting under the claws of the big bad wolf. But, underneath it all, your roots thrive on blood.”
Kara growls under her breath, furious, hindered. He’s made her lose her control, all with a few choice words. Because he’s right. He’s right .
His teeth are so white, that cruel smile burned into her mind. “Tell me how you hated it. How you hated my fingers in you, how you hated being pinned down. How threatened I made you feel. How scared you were of wanting me to turn you inside out. Go ahead. Deny it all. You know that thrills me.”
The sound of her teeth grinding together finally makes a noise loud enough that Kara realizes that she needs to relax her jaw before she hurts herself. Her hands flex inside of his strong grip as she hisses softly, “I want to tear out your throat with my teeth and fist your fucking voice box.”
“Your creativity is always a treat. I’m still waiting to hear your denials.” There’s light brown stubble on his jawline, as if he didn’t have time to shave this morning. It gives him a dangerous edge, rather than an unkept one.
The feeling inside of her is like a maelstrom of anger, a storm painted in shades of violent crimson and deep midnight. Loathing. At herself. The mirror in front of her is an ugly thing to look into. “I’m still waiting for your eyeballs to fall out so I can stuff your empty sockets with my fingers,” Kara hisses, making a push for his eyes.
His hands tighten so painfully that Kara actually winces, hearing bones shift in her wrists. His lip curls in distaste. “Deny. It. You little liar.”
“Then I won’t deny it,” Kara says tightly, feeling her knees starting to buckle under the pain. “There are a few fucked up things about me, I’m the first to admit it. And maybe one of those fucked up pieces got some small, sick enjoyment from what you did, but that’s all .”
There’s triumph in his gaze now, gleeful and victorious. His eyes alone speak a thousand words and Kara is hating all of them. Where most men would have been made uneasy by her sudden flight into rage and her graphic, razorblade words, Calais is intrigued instead of repulsed .
“Then, why not let it happen?” He asks, eyes like a hurricane. “Just give in to the curiosity and try me on for size. It doesn’t mean anything. It never has to be anything . Just a way to scratch an itch that no one else will dare to scratch.”
Kara goes still, stops fighting against his grasp. “You’re insane. We can’t- I do not get off on you being an absolute asshole!”
He looks like the cat that’s caught the canary as he drives his advantage. He doesn’t believe her. “You chose to come to me again. You came here instead of Derrick or his lackey, Bubble-”
Kara snarls at him, the arrogant bastard, assuming she’s here because she wants to see him. “His name is Bob and Bob isn’t here because he’d probably follow through with shitting on your fancy desk!”
Calais gives her a shocked look before smiling slightly in amusement. The reaction softens his normally serious features. “My briefcase, you mean? Regardless. You. Are. Here.” His grip becomes gentle. “I’m going to let you go now. Play nice, vixen.”
When his hands fall from her wrists, Kara stumbles backwards, her rear hitting his desk. Calais moves closer, his chair rolling up to her precariously close. So close, in fact, that Kara has nowhere to go to avoid him. Anxiously, she tries to sidestep away, but he grabs her about the waist and hoists her upwards, resting her rear on the edge of his desk.
Kara hisses, preparing to kick him, “Stop.”
“I don’t want to,” he replies hoarsely, eyes telling Kara that he’s pleased with her refusal.
Her refusal is turning him on. She suddenly finds it impossible to swallow.
His fingers, warm and sure, run up her thighs, rucking up her skirt slightly. Kara’s skin crawls, but she’s not sure it’s with disgust. Calais stands up so he can lean over her, imposing his strength upon her. Those dangerous lips touch her ear and a shiver runs down her spine. “You’re ashamed of what you want,” he says huskily. “I get it. But I’m the same and I’m not going to tell. If it’s your guilty pleasure to sink your claws in me with the intent to hurt while I stretch you open on the bed…why not just enjoy it? One vicious monster to another?”
The words are enticing and Kara feels her vision slowly becoming calm again, the red and black fading away. This is utter madness. “Even if this made any sense at all, I can’t trust you. What if your idea of violence goes well beyond what I would consider a good time?”
Those soft caresses on her thighs become firmer, covetous as he lifts her skirt higher and higher. Kara’s breathing goes shallow and she should stop him. She should, but she doesn’t. He’s staring at the apex of her thighs, eyes fixated on her baby blue panties and the way they are currently riding up between her nether lips. “I never said I wanted to beat you. When did I say that? I’d just like us to play the roles we enjoy. Me as the aggressor and you starring as the unwilling princess with more fury than a firestorm.”
His thumb brushes against her front and Kara tries to not react, but fails. With that small action, she can feel her clit pounding with blood, her heartbeat thrumming there. She turns her face away from him, horrified that someone might walk in at any moment. Her fingers curl around the edges of the desk.
“You’re sick,” Kara utters, barely able to get the words out. “You’re looking for a hate fuck and nothing else. I feel nothing for you, aside from the burning urge to pull your intestines out of your ass.”
He pinches her clit rather rudely, so suddenly that Kara cries out in pain. This time she kicks him in the side, eyes flashing, “You’re hurting me.”
Calais gives her a look with darkness in his eyes. “I’m not afraid to say that the fight in you turns me on. It’s what draws me to you, you know. Does that make it any easier for you? To know you have an effect on me as well?”
It does, but Kara isn’t going to admit it out loud. “What are you proposing? You throw me in the back of your limo and we engage in some rough sex? How mundane.”
This gets her a little smile. His arms slide around her waist and his lips return to her ear, whispering. “Oh, nothing as pedestrian as all that. How about this; there’s an upscale restaurant in my neighborhood, close to my place. You’ll go there, wear something slinky and sit at the bar, drink a few drinks-”
“I’ll have one.”
He pulls back sharply and blinks at her, looking rather refined in his dark grey suit. “What?”
Kara spells it out. “One. Single. Drink. Maybe two, if I’m feeling very generous. I don’t trust you.” She doesn’t trust him, nor does she trust herself. Unfortunately, she may need some liquid courage for what he has planned.
Not quite caring or understanding her reasoning, Calais scoffs. “Fine. Either way, I’ll meet you there. We’ll have a drink.” His tone turns mocking, “Like we’re already a loving couple.”
“Are you asking me on a date? What sort of dippy sap are you? What the fuc-”
Ignoring her, placing a hand over her mouth, Calais continues, softening dangerously. “ Then , we will get in an argument, just like couples do . I’ll pay the bill and we will go home to finish our argument . When we walk in the door, I’m going to do what I want and you will try and stop me. You’ll get what you need and I’ll get mine.” He pauses, an ugly little grin shaping his lips. “The best part is that it will feel real, because I’m going to be angry and you’re going to be scared.”
It takes a few moments to absorb the words. The scene he paints is obscene, yet exciting. A night out, like a normal couple, a sense of normalcy, only to end in a nightmare of fury and struggle. Her heart races, imagining him holding her down, bruising her. A fight that she’d lose. Her belly heats and Kara despises herself. She shouldn’t be like this. “That sounds like…a rape fantasy,” Kara replies carefully, watching his face. The words taste like blood in her mouth. “I don’t think I’m okay with that. That’s sick…and…wrong…”
“Will you knock it off?” He looks irritated, brow furrowed. “Who here is judging you?” He pretends to look around. “Me? I think not.”
He’s right. It’s almost like he’s echoing her psychiatrist. The woman always told Kara she’s the only one judging herself for her anger and for the circumstances that have shaped her. But, this is tasteless…vile. Morally bankrupt. She’s never done this with anyone. All her relationships ended because of the fighting she would always start.
The fighting, the arguments, because deep down she wanted to see what they looked like angry, their veins thick in their arms, blood hot under their skin, eyes vicious, ready to go at her.
It’s a lie. She’s actually done something like this once .
She’d been twenty-two and had a boyfriend that had a slow temper. However, when his temper broke, it was indeed something to behold. They’d been watching a movie in his basement, talking, when they had a severe disagreement. Kara had gotten so upset that she’d tried to leave the basement, to get away from him, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her right back down the stairs.
They’d grappled on the basement floor, thankfully carpeted, and she’d dug her nails so deep into his arms that he’d bled from multiple gauges. When he grabbed her wrists to stop her, he’d squeezed so hard that she’d had to beg him to let go.
His response had been to tell her that if she stopped fighting him, it wouldn’t hurt so much.
She had sagged to the ground, lying on her back, panting. He was aroused, she could see his erection in his jeans. More horrifying; she was wet and horny. She knew it wasn’t a normal reaction to what had happened. After a few moments of calming down, he’d told her to go home.
Kara went home regretting that he hadn’t gone all the way, that he hadn’t ripped her shorts off and fucked his anger into her. He ended up breaking up with her shortly after; he hadn’t liked who he was when he was with her, apparently.
Fast forward to now with Nicholas Havenwood-Calais telling her that’s his wet fucking dream.
And, he’s not judging her or himself for wanting it.
“Just like that. No strings attached? No one has to know?” What are you saying! Kara thinks to herself in dismay, unable to stop the words from tumbling from her lips. Have you lost your mind, girl?
Calais looks downright predatory now, eyes dilated, as if he’s thinking through exactly what he wants to do to her. “Just like that. Very simple. Friday night.”
This is very high on a list of things Kara should never, ever entertain doing. Yet, here she is, thinking it through, sitting on a bad man’s desk with her legs spread as his eyes mock her. He wants to pretend he doesn’t care if she rejects him, but Kara can tell he wants her to say yes.
He wants it bad enough that he’s told her no judgement. That he sees himself in her, despite how disturbing that is. You don’t know who he really is. What if he’s involved with-
Before her mind can make the final leap into darkness by finishing that thought, Kara focuses on Calais, on his rapidly darkening gaze. Strangely exhilarated, yet horrified of herself, Kara hears herself uttering the terrible words, “Why not?” The final nail in her coffin.
Nicholas Havenwood-Calais smiles like an angel fallen far from heaven.
Kara already knows that he tastes like hell.