Chapter 27
TIFFANY
Iam damned to hell, and yet I wouldn’t change a thing. As it turns out, sex is addictive, and when Joseph pushed inside me for the second time, I was desperate for it.
Despite the fact that my pussy is on fire, my insides scorched and ripped apart, he is right, pain is pleasure in this instance and knowing I bring him pleasure is strangely thrilling.
He is in deep, hard, and with purpose, and this time I savor the moment knowing I can cope with it. It’s not that hard or scary. It’s natural, a pleasure even.
This time, I grip his hair and pull him in deeper, groaning as my tits rub against his hard chest. Dragging out my pleasure, taking control of the situation, empowered by the fact that I can do something that always terrified me in the past.
I am controlling a man who is an enigma. Dispassionate, cold, cruel and yet beautifully ugly inside. He has a kind soul that he refuses to acknowledge, and it appears when least expected, like salve on a burn.
It doesn’t take long to jump off the edge into oblivion, his skill as a lover steering me through the unknown journey. I cry out as my soul shatters into pieces, his roar of release strangely satisfying to me.
This time it’s more urgent, almost in haste and as he bites down hard on my neck, a delicious shiver of pain ripples through my body, waking it up, recharging the adrenalin.
He pushes in deeper, his climax my reward as he thrusts faster, harder, violently even, draining him of his power, my body a mere vessel for his pleasure.
I’m good with that. I want it even because one thing’s certain. Joseph Ravera is hiding a great deal of pain, and it’s tearing him apart inside.
With a growl, he pulls out, with a low ‘fuck’ and lies panting on his back, his breathing hot and heavy, tension filling the air. It’s not because of me. I understand that because I’m merely the spectator observing his struggle.
I lie beside him, leaving him space because it’s obvious he is waging war with himself right now.
Once again, it feels awkward, and so I say timidly, “I’ll um, well, clean up.”
I make to leave, and he snatches my wrist, pulling me down beside him but utters no words.
It’s as if he doesn’t want me but also can’t bear to be alone, and I lie awkwardly beside him, my mind racing as fast as my heart.
His grip on my wrist is tight, almost painful, and we must lie here for many minutes before his grip relaxes and his voice is cold as he whispers, “You’re right. We should clean up.”
As soon as he releases me, I waste no time in leaving, not turning once as I head for the door.
The moment I’m in the bathroom, I lock the door, leaning heavily against the wood, wondering what the hell just happened.
It’s as if he couldn’t bear for me to leave but wanted to be alone. I kind of know how that feels, and it hurts me inside.
Something bad happened to Joseph. It’s obvious. Su Yin, the screams from the black room, his cold personality, and the yearning in his expression when he’s late in disguising it.
My wedding band gleams against the pale skin of my finger, leaving me doubtful of my choices right now. My body is on fire, my mind working overtime, and yet the inner glow that he put there is something I would happily wear for the rest of my life.
* * *
When I resurface, he’s gone, and it’s not long before Mrs. Harrington appears.
“Mrs. Ravera.”
I blink as she accompanies her words with a small smile.
“Please follow me. Mr. Ravera has asked that I help you prepare for your guests.”
I follow her out of the room as she bustles down the staircase and heads toward the guest room where my closet is. I’m amazed when I follow her in and note the bulging rails, all coordinated by color, and the ever-increasing shoe display that has definitely doubled since I was last in here.
“I take it Harrods made another delivery.”
I stare in amazement at the designer outfits begging to be worn.
“Mr. Ravera insisted. If there is anything that doesn’t fit or displeases you, I’ll arrange its return.”
My heart is empty as I stare at the rows of elegant dresses, casual trousers, tops, and silk lingerie.
None of it is mine.
I’m just somebody else’s doll, exactly what Morgan promised I would be.
The air is thick in here, so stifling I can’t breathe.
Memories of Morgan’s closet, not dissimilar to this one, merging with the memories of what happened in there.
Joseph replacing the man powering into her, me replacing her as he thumps inside me, surrounded by material possessions, the weakness of so many.
“Are you okay, Mrs. Ravera?”
I shake my head, a panic attack gripping me from out of nowhere, and I sink down to my knees, my head in my hands as Morgan’s cruel taunts reach me from the past.
“Hurry up, Tiffany, you’re taking too long.”
A pain in the back of my head as a stiletto catches me off-guard.
“You’re so ugly, inside and out.”
“No wonder your mother left; she couldn’t bear to look at you.”
Thumping, groaning, moaning, sex, tension, danger.
It all swirls around me, and only a gentle hand on my arm steers me away from the abyss.
“Mrs. Ravera. It’s okay, nobody is going to hurt you.”
I raise my stricken gaze to the kind face of the housekeeper, fresh tears spilling down my face as I whisper, “How do you make the nightmares go away, Mrs. Harrington?”
She drops down beside me and pulls me close, her arms wrapping me in comfort as she strokes my hair, whispering soothing words.
“It’s okay, my darling. Nobody can hurt you. I’m here now.”
I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, wishing that were true more than anything. But she’s still out there, plotting my downfall, and Joseph’s words cut deep.
I’m to be sold as a sex slave because I’m broken and discarded like an irreparable toy. How can one woman be so cruel? How could my own parents be so cruel?
My breathing is fast, and Mrs. Harrison whispers, “Take deep breaths, darling. I’ll fetch you a nice cup of tea to calm your nerves.”
She pulls back and smiles softly.
“Has it passed?”
I nod, hating how quickly the attack gripped me this time. The room is now in focus, and the beautiful clothes no longer appear threatening. The closet no longer scares me, but it’s still not what I want.
I exhale deeply.
“A cup of tea sounds good. I don’t suppose you could choose an outfit for me and leave it in my attic room. I could use a moment if you don’t mind.”
“Of course.” She stands. “I’ll bring the tea to your room with the change of clothes. I won’t be long, but take all the time you need.”
“Thank you.”
She disappears, leaving me feeling like a fool. What must she think of me?
As I stand, I make my way to the one place I can be alone, and as I slip inside the black room, it’s as if all my problems remain outside.
As I approach the bench, I slip off my robe, fresh from the shower, all traces of Joseph scrubbed away. It’s as if I’ve been reborn, and as I lie back against the hard wood, I empty my mind, allowing my thoughts to drift, knowing I’m safe and nothing can touch me in here.
My fingers run over my body, remembering how alive I was when Joseph did the same.
A tingle between my thighs, a shiver inside.
My nipples are hard, my pussy soft and as my fingers probe the sweet depths, I imagine Joseph in their place.
When I’m there, in that special place, nothing can touch me.
I am somewhere else entirely. No problems, no threats, and no danger. I can fly.
Images of his hot kisses, his wicked breath dusting my face. His soft lips sucking, bringing me pleasure, his fingers probing and destructive.
My mind is awash with him. He has replaced the other demons and become the most important one in my life.
He is my savior and my persecutor, my jailer, and my obsession.
He is my husband and as he replaces the bad memories with happier ones, a soft orgasm rolls through my body like a gentle wave on a sunny beach.
In darkness, I am home.
In wickedness I thrive, and life outside the convent is way more invigorating than the one inside it.
I am where I need to be. Where I ache to be, and with the person I desire to be with. My nightmares can’t hurt me here because he is standing between me and them, and I don’t rate their chances against a man such as him.