Chapter 2
Igasp awake. For several long seconds, my labored breaths crack the silence around me. Dread courses through my veins with each pound of my heart.
The acrid smell from my dream still burns my nostrils as I fight to calm my racing pulse.
Blurred faces. Bodies moving without rhyme. Crowding, swaying, pushing.
“Fuck,” I whisper and rub a palm over my face.
That’s the fourth nightmare this week, each one worse than the last.
Warm light streams in through the Palladian windows, so it must be morning. I swear my body doesn’t know the difference anymore. I guess that’s what happens when the monsters come every time you close your eyes.
Nauseating swirls of color as I’m pinned against a rough, hard surface. Pain erupts from the right side of my skull…
My head swims with the sickening images, and I roll to my back. Like yesterday, I try to tell myself it was just a dream.
But every morning the sun exposes the truth. It’s not a dream. These frightening apparitions are flashes of my past, and there’s no hiding from memories no matter how much you try to dress them up as fiction.
Silence echoes through the empty luxury apartment bouncing off the twelve-foot ceiling of the bedroom. The staff probably haven’t arrived yet, and I close my eyes to revel in the solitude.
More violent scenes flicker in the dark, and I wrestle out of the sheets in frustration and brace my feet on the polished hardwood floor.
For several long seconds I breathe in air saturated by Celeste’s expensive perfume, even though she’s long gone.
Hours ago, she woke me to say goodbye, demanding a quick fuck before leaving to catch her flight. I obliged, feeling especially pleased that she invited me to stay.
“I like the idea of knowing you’re naked in my sheets.”
“Good. Because these are incredible sheets.”
“Of course they are. I’ll have Marta order you a set and get them monogrammed.” Herslender fingers redo themother of pearl buttons on her blouse, then smooth her silky hair.
Celeste is beautiful, even if she does use money to get what she wants. Only fitting that I’m using her.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand and see it’s already after ten. With a heavy sigh, I leave the oversized bed and head for the en suite.
Waking up in Celeste Well’s bed is the crowning moment of my time in Slate City. Just over a year ago, I was wandering the streets of the crime-infested Watershed District across town. I still don’t know how I got there or why, but I’ve been on the hunt for information—and revenge—ever since.
My search led me here, and I’m determined to make the most of this opportunity. Whatever Celeste is hiding, I’ll find it.
Inside the bathroom, I pull open the top drawer on her double vanity and rifle through a wicker basket of condoms, cologne, and other guest amenities. I remove an unopened toothbrush.
It’s no secret Celeste enjoys entertaining. Newly single, with pedigree, money, and one of Slate City’s oldest names—Celeste Wells is near-royalty and has her pick of men to warm her sheets.
Based on her thigh-quaking orgasms and sex-dazed proclamations last night, I should have the exclusive honor for a while.
I chuckle at my reflection when I remember her screams of pleasure.
“Aden! Oh god!”
She doesn’t know the irony of her words or why the sex is like nothing she’s ever experienced. Good thing because she can’t know what I am or why I’m here.
I’m on a time-crunch of my own, so I have no problem using sex to get what I need. It’s not like I had any other currency when I woke up in Slate City with nothing, including my memories.
The horror of those first few weeks haunts me in nightmares. I’m more than happy to spend my waking hours enjoying the few pleasures this world has to offer.
So, I indulge. Often.
It only took a couple of months to ingratiate myself to Slate City’s elite. A brief fling with Carter Johansson, a banking mogul’s son, introduced me to Jasmine Escobar, who didn’t tell her husband about our trips to their private island but simply had to show me off to her junior league friends. I’ve been a coveted fixture at society parties ever since.
It’s an easy game when you specialize in fantasies. The elite already have everything. You just have to be the one thing they don’t.
I step into the shower, a stone monstrosity that looks like it was carved into the side of a mountain. The rock wall juts out, so it doesn’t need a door.
Experimental taps on the wall-mounted controls activate jets on every side. Water blasts from so many directions, it’s not clear where I’m supposed to stand.
I choose the rainforest waterfall and grit my teeth against the cold spray.
Thankfully the water warms quickly, and I tip my face into the stream. The steady torrent soothes the demons in my head, along with the tension in my body. Even if my survival didn’t depend on fucking Celeste, I might have hung around just for the shower.
As I absorb the warmth of the water, my mind wanders from Celeste to the long list of other hookups this past week. The bartender from Sunday whose tongue was magic, until he used it for words. The Averys, a power couple that pulled me aside at the club’s golf charity auction and whispered they were “down for anything.” We’d snuck into the closed pro shop where they’d both dropped to their knees to prove it. That had been a surprise. So was the deputy prosecutor from the Governor’s Ball with the delicious dark side I never saw coming.
Out of nowhere my mind flashes to soft brunette waves and a shimmer of champagne-colored silk.
The rush of blood to my groin is swift, almost painful.
Not pursuing the brunette siren from Sin Gin last night has been a regret since I left her on the dance floor with Cian.
Every glimpse throughout the night revealed another fascinating side that intrigued me. Shiny lips that curved into a smile when she talked to her friends. The hem of her dress skimming creamy thighs as she danced. One minute she was fun and outgoing, intense and deep the next. Shy, then bold. Hesitant, then so self-assured. It was nearly impossible not to approach and offer a hands-on demonstration of what unbridled confidence feels like.
I remember her eyes on me while she kissed Cian, blazing with open lust. It made the urge to have her almost unbearable. Even while I fucked Celeste last night, the wide, hungry stare of my nameless muse was all I could see. If Celeste hadn’t called seconds before I was about to make a move, my night would have gone very differently.
She would’ve been the one I went home with and woke up to this morning. It would be her beautiful face and petite frame waiting for me in this shower. Her hand reaching out to me, eyes wild with need…
I close my own and slide my palm along my stiff length conjuring the fantasy that is etching itself in my mind.
“Come here,” she says.
I barely make it under the water before her mouth is on mine and her hands are sliding over my wet skin. Fingertips clawing, muscles straining.
“Mmm, you taste so good,” she murmurs, her tongue laving water off my chest, then down my abs.
Her lips trail over my hardening cock. Her palm wraps around the base as she sucks the tip into her mouth with a blissful pull of suction.
“Fuck,” I exhale as my real hand braces against the wall. My other palm slides over my shaft while steamy air filters through my lungs. Hot streaks of pleasure surge through me with each stroke. Faster. Harder. I close my eyes to continue the illusion.
My muse takes more of me in her mouth, feasting on my dick like she’s been imagining the taste from the moment our eyes met. Her fingers dig into the dense muscle of my ass as she holds on.
She works my body with urgency until we’re both panting for more. I pull her to her feet walking her back into the wall. Tangling my fingers in her wet hair, I yank her mouth to mine. Kissing. Sucking. I’m drowning in an intoxicating blend of mint, water, and soap.
She writhes against me as I deepen the kiss.Her body already sings from extraordinary pleasure.
This is my gift—carnality, sex. I can mold ecstasy like a sculpture, conduct it like a concerto, wield it like my superpower.
Her palm slips between us to run over my shaft, squeezing and massaging with increasing pressure.
I drop onto the bench and flip her around so her back is to me. She throws a devilish grin over her shoulder as I brace my hands on her hips to guide her down. She moans when she straddles me, rubbing her center over my slick, water-drenched cock.
The friction feels good, but it’s not enough, and I slide my fingers over her pussy before slipping one inside. She gasps and it’s all the encouragement I need to work in another finger.
“Aden, stop playing. I want you inside me,” she groans, arching back to grip my hair. She yanks me forward for a wet kiss, then reaches between her legs to position me at her entrance.
I slide into her, enjoying a sharp surge of euphoria as the heat of her body clenches around me. My head tilts back, my breathing already adjusting to the rapid increase of my heart as she starts to move.
We rock together in a slow, teasing cadence until her fingers press into my thighs demanding more. She leans back, spreading her legs wide to take me deep inside her. Her gasps become moans as she rides me.
“How do you feel so good?” she gasps out. “Fuck, Aden. Ah!”
I feel beyond good to her. I’m a drug, an insatiable craving. My lips, my cock, each sculpted muscle is a tool honed for pleasure. She’s already addicted to the electric current buzzing through every part of her. She grinds in pursuit of more while her light flows through me in warm, soothing waves.
The soft tendrils of her humanity infuse into me, strengthening my body and recharging me.
Her hips are frantic as she chases the growing burn of ecstasy. I grip her thighs to spread her open, driving deeper and harder while she writhes to the rhythm of the pounding water on our tangled bodies.
With my own release imminent, she starts to come, crying out at each explosive thrust. I follow close behind, and she leans back to take every last drop.
A hot stream of cum soaks my fist and draws me back to reality.
My eyes closed, I rest my head against the cool rock wall. The rush of sex flows through every cell of my body.
Touching myself isn’t the same as when I’m intimate with a human. There’s no strength or energy infusing life into me, but it still feels fucking amazing.
I’m tempted to stay here for the rest of the day. Jerking off in a warm, luxurious shower beats almost every other activity this human world has to offer.
My caffeine craving wins out, and after toweling off, I leave Celeste’s room in search of coffee.
The master suite hallway branches in two directions. The right side opens to the main living area, while the left hosts two closed doors I’ll explore later. I’m positive one leads to Celeste’s private office.
For now, I turn right toward the modern floor plan that flows into a kitchen suitable for any Michelin-starred chef. Natural light spills over Viking appliances, walnut cabinets, and granite countertops.
I round a giant island that contains an additional range, prep sink, and multiple glass wine coolers. Their pristine condition supports my theory that a person’s wealth directly correlates to the number of immaculate kitchen features that never get touched.
“I heard you cook almost as good as you fuck. Maybe I’ll have you try these out some time,” she said to me on last night’s tour.
I didn’t love the condescending remark, even if it’s true.
Once the coffee’s brewed, I pour myself a cup and saunter into the living room. Showroom-quality custom furnishings occupy the center of the space, while a spattering of sculptures and expensive artwork add color to the otherwise stark décor.
The greatest treasure, though, is the polished white grand piano propped open as if waiting to be played. I’m tempted to test it out, until my gaze gets caught on the captivating view through the two-story floor to ceiling windows.
As I survey downtown Slate City through the pristine glass, I can’t help but wonder where my brunette muse is located among all this cruel concrete.
Clusters of weatherworn high-rises point like angry fingers at the overcast sky. A clandestine community of wealth and privilege spreads over the rooftops of neighboring buildings. Swimming pools, helipads, and padlocked gardens—this is a world reserved for the rich, hovering above the fray of everyday people.
Even the buildings subscribe to Slate City’s unyielding social strata.
I take another swallow of coffee and approach the glass for a better vantage point.
The cinema of life plays out twenty-seven stories below me as people scurry like ants in the grid of vehicles and lights.
Slate City is deceptively beautiful from this angle, the pieces too small and too vague to display the ugliness lurking in concrete and steel. It looks like a dream, but in reality, there’s nothing about this place I’d keep.
Well, except maybe this view.
There was a time my fingers would have itched for acrylics or a camera to capture and immortalize it, but that was before I lost everything.
Rough stone. Cruel smiles. Cold hands and hot breaths.
With a deep inhale, I shake off the memories.
Sometimes I wonder if humans’ ability to lie to themselves about the dark truth of their twisted world is a weakness or a strength. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that most of them are too close-minded, too small to know the depths of their own story, let alone the horrors of others.
I’m so engrossed in my thoughts I don’t hear the movement behind me.
“Oh, come on. Seriously?” a voice hisses.
Guess Celeste’s housekeeper wasn’t expecting visitors, particularly a naked one.
I can only imagine how good the tanned, lean muscle looks framed against the city skyline. After all, my sculpted, perfectly toned body has lifted me from the streets of the Watershed District to the literal top of Emerald Point.
A cocky smile plays on my lips, and I take a long sip of coffee to give my audience a chance to fantasize about polishing something besides the floors.
“Maybe put some pants on after fucking my mom?”
My brows furrow.
Mom?
I spin around and almost drop my mug.
No. Fucking. Way.