Page 1 of Unleash Hades (Ungoverned Spaces #5)

Hugo

Strathlachlan, Scotland

T he old carriage house was dark and cold. Just the way I liked it.

While my colleagues were in their beds, sleeping in the mansion just a stone’s throw away, I sat in the darkness, staring into the screens that were my eyes and ears to the world.

It was long past midnight, closer to dawn than dusk. Nocturnal creatures like me were out.

In the solitude of the night, I could do this without shame. Without explaining myself to anyone. At night, I could look all I wanted without the irritating distraction of life and work, and all the things that kept me from my true passion.

From her.

She was in her penthouse, half a world away. She wore nothing but a bleach-white towel that practically glowed in the black and white image of the screen.

I liked to watch her like this. When she was alone, she was herself, without the mask that she wore for the world. She didn’t wear the fake smile for her husband or fortify herself to be strong for her children. For a moment, in the dead of night, alone in her room, she was just herself.

She slipped the wrapped towel off of her head. Her moistened curls fell over her bare shoulder, and I imagined rivulets that I could not see cascading down her skin.

I wished these cameras had been in color. Then I’d see the beautiful glow of her tanned skin. But I had installed them early in my career, before the company had the means to acquire better tech.

For these moments, I had to settle for a grainy black and white picture.

My cock throbbed with anticipation, awaiting the show that was my ritual, like an evening prayer.

I undid the button of my jeans and unzipped my fly. I palmed my growing erection in my briefs and waited.

Would I deprive myself tonight? Would I torture myself with hunger, then deny myself release? I wasn’t sure. I savored the pain of things, sometimes. The pain that gave my desire a physical ache. That was a pain with an antidote.

The other ache… well, that was harder to relieve.

She undid the knot of her robe, then let it slowly slip down her shoulders, then her arms, revealing the curve of her graceful back and plump hips that begged to be squeezed and worshiped.

She did it so teasingly slow. I imagined that she knew I was here, watching.

The temptation of the pomegranate that would pull me into the Underworld.

The robe fell to the floor. Sweet temptress…

I was given the delectable view of her rear, and it was more glorious than all the great statues and all the world’s wonders.

The view of snow-capped Alps was nothing compared to the dimples at the base of her hips.

The lush rainforests of the Amazon were nothing compared to glory that lay between her shapely thighs.

She pulled back her bed sheets and lay down. She placed her legs beneath the duvet and spread her thighs, her stomach and breasts still uncovered for my viewing pleasure.

Did she know? Did she feel me watching her?

She couldn’t, of course. The cameras were installed in secret. But there was still a magnetism, even through the air waves. A thing that pulled us together.

She slid her hand to her swollen breasts, teasing her nipples.

My tongue grew heavy as I longed to taste them. To wrap my tongue around her delicate bud and suck it in my teeth. I wanted to mark her body with bites and show the world that she was mine.

But I couldn’t… yet.

She spread her knees. Her other hand slid down her abdomen, to that precious mound of trimmed hair, then between those gorgeous lips.

Were they as wet as I thought they were? Fuck these cameras for not letting me zoom in! Fuck them for not giving me the taste, scent, and touch that I craved.

My sweet, loving woman had so much more to offer than just sight and sound.

But beggars could not be choosers.

Madmen and addicts took what they could get and would still come out starving. Watching her as she touched herself, lightly moaning as the sun sank outside her window, was like snorting powder, thinking it’s cocaine - only to realize it was fucking flour.

But I’d take it. I’d take it every single time.

I squeezed my throbbing cock in my fist, pulling it into the cold air, and hissing as the angry member heated with desire for her.

My darling goddess closed her eyes. Her hips began to move in rhythm with her finger as she stroked her clit.

“Hugo,” she whispered.

I thought I would go mad. That I had gone mad.

Her back arched, her hand left her breast to clamp over her mouth and silence her scream. Her hips thrust as her body gave in to her own ministrations.

I clenched my teeth, fisting my cock harder and harder as she came down from her orgasm.

Her hand should have been my hand. Better yet, it should have been my cock plunging between her wet folds.

I wanted to shut my eyes and give in to my imagination. To imagine her breasts at my mouth, her legs around my hips, her heat around my cock. But that wasn’t reality. That wasn’t the truth.

That was why I needed the cold. It's why I never shut my eyes. I had to remind myself of what was real – she was far away, and I was here… waiting like a fool.

I released into my hand, never letting myself think for an instant that she was here, not even in my dreams.

She was across an ocean, through a screen. I watched her through a camera she knew nothing about. And her little whisper of my name? Probably a hallucination. A wish. A hope…

I had lived the last ten years in suspended animation. Waiting… wanting…

That way madness lies.

Desires weren’t real. They were figments of our imagination, as temporary as smoke.

I chuckled to myself as I wiped my hand on my pant leg, zipping myself up.

I’d clean myself before the others got here after dawn. For now, I would sit, and watch her sleep, and hope that she had pleasant dreams.

And the fire that continued to burn inside me would fuel the vengeance I was waiting for. For the war that I was waiting to start.

In the morning, she would bring a sandwich and a warm drink, or a leftover bag to the homeless man that slept at the alley outside of her building. A man on my own payroll.

I wondered if, like me, he slept there to wait for her.

How many people in the world planned their day around Calissandra Davenport? The number must be staggering.