Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
M y bed is a sanctuary.
It’s the safest place in the world when I’m curled beneath the sheets, only an inch of daylight sneaking in through the gap in the curtains. For two days, after signing my contract, I’ve hidden away inside a fortress of cotton, hardly eating and barely moving except to use the bathroom.
It must be my final gift from Marcus because he hasn’t stopped in to check on me. Not even a threatening text message or a looming shadow marked only by his signature glare. Nothing.
There’s protection in the numbness. Maybe soon, I’ll find the strength to get out of bed.
His guards were still stationed outside the house, but their presence, rather than an annoyance, is comforting. They allow me to relax and get the sleep I need.
At first it irked me to have Marcus slink off like seeing me is a punishment.
Now I know it’s the nicest thing he’s done. I can’t control myself when I see him. Clearly, if what happened in the office is an indication.
Unfortunately, time is ticking down, and today I’ll have to get out of bed. With a groan, I snuggle in deeper, curling the sheet underneath my chin to keep it in place.
The premiere is tonight.
Although Marcus hasn’t said anything yet, I know he’ll be here to escort me.
The dress he ordered for the occasion arrived by courier less than an hour ago. I couldn’t be bothered to pull myself out of bed when the housekeeper, also hired by Marcus to keep the place running while we were busy on set, knocked on my door.
“Miss Stone? Your dress for the evening has been delivered.”
She’d left the package by the door, and by the time I forced myself to push the sheets aside, afternoon light cast dusty lines across the floor. The dress is stunning; I expected no less.
Marcus chose a couture John Galliano with embroidered freshwater pearls and a plunging neckline, along with a pair of heels in the same shade as the dress.
I dove right back into bed and left the box lid half-open.
The makeup artist and hair stylist will be here soon. Marcus always sends them in with hours to spare before we have to go.
My stomach swirls sickeningly, contracting to the point where nothing besides a liquid diet will stay down. There’s no way I’ll be able to eat dinner.
We’ve been through this exact same routine before, enough times for me to know not to expect any sudden changes. The only surprise will be whatever mood he chooses to greet me with when he shows up.
It’s always a roller coaster, and right now, I’m too worn out to deal with him.
One last event and then we can be done . Exactly the way he wants to be done. I’ll turn myself off, refuse to feel anything else even when the feelings are so strong they swamp me.
My heart leapfrogs into my throat when my phone buzzes. Without looking at the screen, I know who it is. My body knows. He’ll want me ready by seven. Seeing his name sends my mind into a spiral without end.
Seven it is.
The chime of the doorbell sounds a second later, as though Marcus has timed things to perfection. Knowing him, he has. The only thing he’s happy to relinquish control over is me. Whatever happened to his promise to protect me? Is this what he really meant all along?
Another sigh, which shifts into a groan, and I force my way out of bed.
With any event, my bedroom turns into my dressing room. But this premiere is for my movie. I should be excited. I should make a big deal out of it and act grandiose.
Mom always made the entire day before the premiere into a showcase, inviting her friends over for a party at the house, spa treatments, the works. She reveled in every single one of her accomplishments without needing another, bigger goal for validation.
She’d be furious with me for hiding in bed.
Furious with the way I’ve handled everything. I’ve acted like a child in so many aspects…
There’s no way I’m going to greet the style team in my pajamas. With minutes to spare before the housekeeper lets them inside to set up, I get dressed, throwing my hair into a rough ponytail and making sure I’ve got a bra on before I open the door.
The afternoon is a hectic blur of activity.
I laugh along with their jokes and attempts to put me at ease. I let the five ladies who show up like an invading army poke and prod and primp and pluck me into some semblance of a movie star.
The reflection in the mirror might look ready to grace a magazine cover, but the closer we get to seven, the more unhinged I feel.
“Miss Stone, I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but you look so much like your mother tonight.” The makeup artist draws the mascara wand across my lashes a final time before she steps back and sighs contentedly. “The spitting image.”
I gulp and hope none of them hear it. “Thank you. It’s quite the compliment.”
“She was a star,” the artist agrees.
In more ways than one, and in more ways than I will ever be. I never saw my mom lose control emotionally the way I have.
Granted, as a child, I highly doubt she’d have allowed that side of herself to show when I was around. She’d never have let anyone get away with treating her the way I let Marcus treat me.
She’d slap him or draw the boundary line so clearly that he’d never dream of stepping a foot over it. She was the queen of her universe, and everyone else circled around her and played by her rules.
I might look like my mother, but I am a different beast, so hopelessly in love with a man who doesn’t love me back that I’ve turned him into an obsession.
Time to put a stop to it.
He’s moved on. Why can’t I? I’m the only one who can make it happen.
The ladies finished their work and packed up, leaving me alone with the housekeeper.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Norris,” I tell her, smoothing a hand down the front of my dress. “I’m happy to wait for him if you’re ready to head out for the day. Don’t feel like you need to stick around for me.”
She already has her purse slung over her shoulder, casting eager glances between the door and me. “If you’re sure…”
“I’m absolutely sure. You go. I know your daughter had a piano recital tonight. I appreciate you staying late.”
She dips her head in acknowledgment, a middle-aged woman who reminds me of Sherry only in age. “Thank you. Have a wonderful time at your premiere. I know you’re going to have so much fun.”
Fun is an overstatement, but I won’t correct her. Mrs. Norris is already halfway out the door by the time I open my mouth anyway. Let her go; I’m content to wait. It’s almost seven anyway, and the guards are outside, so I’m never really alone.
The door hardly closes before it swings open again. Marcus and his broad shoulders fill the space. He absorbs every atom of light in the room and takes my breath away. Tonight he’s dressed in a slim-fit black Vera Wang tux with a grosgrain notch lapel and smooth flat-front slacks.
I’ve never seen him look better.
My tongue sears to the roof of my mouth. Is this some kind of taunt from the universe? The last time he’d worn the jacket, we were in the car together, his hands on my ass—
The two of us square off, neither one willing to talk or move first. My heart thunders against my ribs in an attempt to get to him. Seeing him now is torture.
Pure, absolute torture.
I can never be cordial with this man. No matter what happens going forward, I’m going to have to cut ties completely because seeing him is only going to pick at the scabs on my heart. It will never be able to heal as long as he’s in my life.
“You look beautiful.”
Those three words break my poor, aching heart into pieces all over again. Just by looking at him, hearing him speak, being in the same energy, he’s pushed me into ruin.
“Thank you,” I force myself to whisper.
“I’m glad you chose to actually wear the dress I picked out this time.” He finally steps over the threshold, a single wide step in my direction.
The world tilts on its axis with the movement.
Oh, god. The ache in my chest increases to the point that I’m terrified of what will happen to me. I’m not going to be able to keep this up. No way in hell.
“You made an exquisite choice.” I fake a smile. “Now, let’s get this party started.”
“You’re not drunk this time?”
I scowl. “What do you think?”
I steel myself for the car ride and the part I’ll have to play when we get to the venue. Then I’ll be done. The words play on a repeat.
It will be done .
I’ll be done .
He doesn’t try to stop me on my way past him, but Marcus doesn’t move, blocking my escape from the room. The walls close in around us. The scent of his cologne stops me, and even knowing what it will do to me, I crane my head to the side and look at him. Really look.
His dark eyes bore through mine until heat fills me.
My hand lifts on its own to caress his chin, the roughness of his stubble scraping my palm. Underneath the blinding rage is pain. Not only on my end but his as well. There are secrets in his eyes, and although I’ve gotten adept at reading them, today they’re thinner than usual, a veil allowing me a glimpse of the man underneath.
The man who is agonized in the same way I am.
“Marcus.”
There’s no way for me to actually tell him everything going on in my head. I barely know myself. But hopefully he knows. Hopefully he sees it when he looks at me this way, looks at me like he loves me. Like I’m the only person in the world who matters.
“No, not drunk,” he murmurs. “Broken.”
I jerk back at the word, shock helping to lift the fog. “It’s not your business anymore.”
He says nothing as his lips form a harsh line. He doesn’t try to remove my hand, either. We’re frozen in place, in time, unable to pull free from each other.
What is it going to take to get over this man? To sever the cords between us once and for all?
Do I even want them severed for good?
No. I swallow over a sob before it’s given airtime. I don’t want things to be done. I want them to begin, in earnest. No matter the differences between us. It’s the only thing I desire, and it’s the furthest thing from my reality.
“Empire, please.” His voice is a low growl, and I’ve got no clue what he’s asking me for.
If it’s space, then I’m not able to give him what he wants.
If someone asked, I wouldn’t be able to tell them when things shifted or what exactly changed. I only know in the next moment, Marcus loses the plot entirely. He grabs me and whirls me around, pressing me against the wall, his lips hot on the side of my neck.
Maybe I’m the one who moves first to take him by the base of the neck and keep him pressed to me. I’m surely the one who presses my opposite hand to his cock, feeling the way it hardens against my palm.
He touches my ass, palms it, gives it a slap that sends the beads and pearls of the gown clinking together. This is the same harried, no-holds-barred, need-based coming together as the office with a different tone. The same kind of song but in a minor chord.
Marcus lifts me, caging me between his strong chest and the wall. His stubble scrapes against my face, and I gasp, wrapping my legs around his torso.
Kissing him is the best feeling in the world. He rocks his pelvis against me, and my body starts to shake and tremble, every inch of skin erupting in fire. My pussy clenches in preparation for what I think, I hope, is going to happen.
We’re fumbling for each other as I go for the zipper of his trousers and he pushes my skirt up to my waist.
There’s no talking. Both of us have lost the capability through kisses and heat.
His fingers probe my pussy, checking for wetness and shoving my panties aside. In the next breath, he pushes his cock inside me.
A low moan scrapes my throat as he pulls out again, leaving only the tip buried inside before thrusting to the hilt and leaving me no choice. I can hold on and feel, or I can cry.
He thrusts harder and faster.
I break our kisses only to press the side of my face to his. I don’t want him to see the way I’m fighting back tears. Getting upset over this last time—I feel it in my bones—like somehow things will be better once we come.
Marcus keeps a tight hold on me, his fingers brushing against my tit only once before he buries his face against my shoulder and picks up the pace.
Fucking against the wall in partially undone formal wear.
The arch of his pelvis grinds against my clit in the most delicious way, an edge of pain making the pleasure sharper. He pulls out long enough to turn to the massive circular table in the foyer and set me on the edge. I catch a glimpse of his cock drenched in my wetness before he slides back inside.
I keep my legs wrapped around his waist.
From this angle, he feels even larger than normal with just the right tilt upward. The table is sturdy enough not to rock beneath my weight as he slams into me.
The soft hairs on my arms lift, the fire inside me burning brighter with every punishing thrust.
I tense beneath him, and Marcus groans, but not my name. Names have no place here. Only his electric touch and the voiceless plea to hurry. To go as fast as we can because we’re out of time.
He grinds his hips against my clit, and the last thrust pushes me over the edge that’s been teasing me. I pull him tighter into me and shudder through the orgasm.
One final groan and his cock twitches, spasming, working him through his orgasm as well.
Neither one of us looks at the other when he finally pulls out. There are no more passionate kisses, like he’s gotten this out of his system, only pressed to this point because he denied himself for too long.
When Marcus draws away from me to replace his cock in his boxers and straighten his jacket, I lie on the table for a long moment. Part of me wonders, through the haze of lust, if I should ask for a moment to clean up and if he’ll set his timer again.
Still wordless, I draw my skirt down and settle on shaky feet.
His cum drips down my inner thigh on my way to the bathroom, but Marcus doesn’t try to stop me. He’ll never stop me again.