Page 52 of Cruel Pleasures

I writhe, twisting and turning, falling further.

Then it’s like I’m soaring among bright stars. I’m flying freely with no end destination in mind. I’m simply captured by the euphoria that’s washed over me. Hot, blistering pleasure that’s inescapable.

My mind’s fuzzy. My heart’s lighter than I’ve ever felt it. A soft moan escapes my lips and I’m saturated all over again. The intensity magnifies ’til I’m seizing up. It’s like I’ve reached my fill and can’t stand another second. I blow.

Explode.

I’m screaming. My head tilts back and eyes open to darkness. Heavy, blinding shadows of my bedroom… or some dreamlike imagining. But I’m not alone—the pleasure’s staring back at me, peering at me through the dark wall that closes in.

“Ohhh!” I cry out, my hands bunching up in the sheets.

And the stars return, whipping past me. In and out, they flash like their own signal. A language only my body understands.

Orgasmic delirium that blurs all. Everything’s erased ’til nothing but the tingling pleasure remains. Hours might pass and I couldn’t tell you.

When the morning light shines, I’m still lost. I’m wrapped up in sheets in my bra and panties feeling like I’ve been through heaven and hell. My body’s sore enough.

It takes me several minutes to orient myself enough to sit up in bed. The room’s startlingly silent and calm. If I didn’t know any better, I’d feel relief. I’d feel the same sense of peace that lives in the air.

But, as I rub sleep from my face and blurry bits and pieces come back to me, I’m left more lost than ever.

What the hell happened last night?

I do what I usually do after a night of heavy drinking or partying—I put myself under the scalding, sobering heat of the shower head.

The events come back to me one by one, though a dreamy tint remains. More like I’m recalling what happened in my sleep than when I was wide awake. The dinner and then the sex show at the Market. Our hot and desperate make-out session. The passion we shared outside by the hedge maze.

The spice!

Archer had inhaled some and my curiosity grew until I couldn’t help myself. I’d sampled the stimulant myself.

No wonder I feel so off.

I’d experimented with drugs in college. I’ve drank and partied more nights away than I can count.

But, in the back of my mind, I’ve always been aware of how certain vices run in my blood. Mom had lost herself to depression and addiction for years.

I’ve vowed to never let it happen to me. I survived college without letting it happen. I can’t fuck up now.

Archer’s the first person I seek out when I venture out of my room. The winter season has decided it’ll make itself known today. There’s little sunlight to be found outside. Just a dreary, colorless sky and chilly air as I wander onto a second floor balcony and survey the isle.

The entirety of the small piece of land can almost be seen from anywhere you go. I turn my head from one end where violent dark waters crash against the rocky shore and then shift to my left to see the same in the distance.

What I can see of the touristy town beyond the iron gates looks more like an abandoned relic from the past. They meant it when they said the town shuts down for the winter…

No matter who I ask or where I go on the estate, I can’t find Archer. Several of the staff members shake their heads and claim Master Hurst, as he’s referred to, hasn’t been seen since last night when he was at the Market with me.

“Can you leave him a message for me? Or tell me what room?—”

“I’m afraid he’s unavailable,” says the staff member I’ve stopped. She presses past me, pushing along the room service cart she’s out to deliver.

It begins to feel like I’ve been duped again—someone I’ve spent time with, even if temporarily, has decided to ghost me.

First Lyra, then Francesco, and then the other Kaden I’d met at Oasis. Now, Archer.

Francesco was always a means to an end and Kaden was a drunken one night stand, but their abrupt disappearances aren’t lost on me. Did Archer decide after our tryst high off spice last night that he no longer wanted anything to do with me?

“Story of my life,” I mutter under my breath.