Page 26

Shelly and Tia gather their things and scurry out the door, followed by Ainsley, who hesitates as she crosses the threshold. She turns toward me. “I’m sorry, Charles. I hope she wakes up.”

Forcing out a smile, I nod at her. There’s no reason for me to air out my problems to a teenager. “She will because she’s a Vaughn and we’re a tough bunch to break.”

Ainsley relaxes, and I give her a wink. She flushes again before darting out of view.

The smile slips off my face as I stare into the empty VIP lounge. If Firefly were here, she’d insist on tagging along and helping with the tour. She’d call it an adventure. The Vaughn siblings against the big bad press.

Maybe she’d even drag Liam here to do her bidding. He’d come if she asked—tattooed, piercings and all, looking completely out of place in the world of pink tutus and classical music.

“You know, you don’t need to smile and pretend everything is fine,” Taylor mutters. She hands me a tissue.

My brow hikes up and she motions to my lip. I lick the wound and my taste buds register the familiar metallic taste of blood. Taking the tissue from her, I press it against the cut.

Slowly, she sits down next to me, her sweet scent of vanilla flooding my nostrils. She sneezes and grabs another tissue before wiping and tossing it on the ground.

It’s disgusting.

Yet, refreshing.

She truly doesn’t care how the world views her.

“Ainsley isn’t a kid and the real world is a tough place. There’s no point in hiding that from her. The sooner she learns that, the better,” she murmurs.

“Why make others uncomfortable when there’s nothing they can do?” I close my eyes and rest my head against the wall, listening to the quiet sounds of her breathing. “In my world, it’s better to keep things close to your chest. Vulnerability is a weakness, something people can exploit. Connections are made based on how you make others feel—trust, acknowledgment, confidence.”

“I’m just hearing you use fancy words to describe insincerity and wearing a mask. Maybe it works in the business world.” She scoffs, and I can feel her body move next to me, even though we aren’t quite touching. “I wouldn’t know. Your world is smoke and mirrors to me. Rich getting richer and poor getting poorer. But for the people who care about you, you aren’t doing them any favors. I doubt they want to see you like this—hiding away.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing, minx? Hiding away just like me?” Perhaps that’s why I’ve always had a strong emotional reaction whenever I’m around her.

Like recognizes like.

A gasp slips from her lips. “I’m not. I wear my emotions proudly. You’re the one to call me a brat and other names for expressing myself freely.”

I chuckle, my eyes opening, and I turn and stare at her, finding her facing me. The soft light from the lamp renders a beautiful silhouette of her face—the delicate nose, her skull piercing telling me she’s probably in a foul mood today, the glow catching her mesmerizing eyes, which are now intent on mine. Unlike other times, there’s no vitriol in her gaze, only curiosity.

Like she cares about what I really think of her. Under my mask and forced smiles.

My heart clenches as I take a good look at her. In this quiet moment, I don’t want to lie.

“Maybe it’s because you’re getting too close,” I whisper, “tearing down my masks like they’re nothing, torpedoing my defenses. Why you?”

Her lips part, a flush crawls up her face. Her eyes dart to my lips and her pink tongue slips out and I swallow a groan.

“I have a feeling you hate me because I see through you,” I murmur, fascinated at the way her pupils slowly dilate. “And you don’t really hate me.”

“N-No?” she asks, dazed. I graze her lips with my thumb.

“No. You’ve wanted to let someone in for a long time. Didn’t you tell me bottling up your emotions is unhealthy? Surrounding yourself with loneliness…that’ll kill you slowly, Tay.” I would know.

Her breathing quickens, a flush crawling up her neck, and there’s that tongue again, wetting her luscious lips, the sweetness I can almost taste.

Fuck.

I want more.

“Let me in, minx,” I rasp.

I want her to stare at me like this—vulnerable, defenseless, trusting. I want her to look at me like I’m someone she can take a chance on, someone she can depend on, someone who won’t disappoint her.

Unable to help myself, I reach out and tuck a few wispy strands of hair behind her ear, relishing her soft shiver when my finger grazes her cheek. So soft. So silky.

She’s so goddamn beautiful.

The air in the room thickens with tension. The fluttering in my heart morphs into a maddening rhythm as my pulse riots in my ears.

I want to hold her and kiss her—watch her come apart in my hands.

“You and I both wear masks—yours are made of fire and mine of ice,” I whisper. “What would it feel like if we take them off…together?”

Her dark lips part. Those perfect plump lips, made for kissing, biting, tugging. I want to smear her dark lipstick on her pale skin—I’m the artist and her body is my canvas.

Taylor swallows, her face flushed. “I’m not wearing a mask,” she whispers as I lean in, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“It’s okay, you’ll tell me when you’re ready,” I murmur. “I understand.”

How would it feel to be burned alive? Was this how the moth felt when he stared into the enticing glow of the intoxicating flame?

Her eyes widen before dipping down to my lips. She lets out a shuddering exhale, a small sound escaping from her throat. I feel that vibration all the way down to my stiffening cock. Reaching out, I glide my hand over her arm, skimming the goosebumps pebbling her skin. My other hand curls around her nape, my fingers digging into the tender flesh.

Taylor whimpers, her eyes fluttering shut, and with a guttural groan I seal my lips over hers and taste the fire at the source.

Fuck, she tastes like heaven. Sweet and addictive.

Her hand flies out and clutches my suit jacket as I angle my body toward her, afraid to spook her, afraid she’ll fly away if I push too hard. My lips tangle with hers—a slow dance—the beginnings of our own sensual tango. Her fire spreads to my veins and the blood inside me simmers, then boils.

She lets out a sweet moan—the same one I heard when we were dancing the Argentine tango—and I take advantage and lick the seam of her lips before invading.

I need more. I need everything.

Grunting, I curl my arm around her waist and haul her on top of my lap. I fist her hair, tugging it out of her bun and wrapping it around my wrist as I deepen our kiss.

“Minx. You drive me insane,” I mutter as we break for breath. My other hand clamps her round ass so she sits on top of my lap, aligning her legging clad pussy on top of my aching cock. “I’ve fantasized about this for so long, kissing these dark pouty lips, and nothing compares to reality.”

Taylor whimpers, her sounds driving me wild. Her hands flutter to my chest, and I pull her tighter against me as I take control of the kiss. The beast inside me roars to life, its talons extending, clawing, needing more.

Conquer. Obliterate. Immolate myself with her fire.

I swallow her whimpers and give in to my urges. My hips thrust up into her pussy, moving against her automatically, my tongue simulating the fucking I want to give her, and the kiss quickly spins out of control.

She moans some more and I growl, deepening our connection. Molten lava floods my veins and I could barely hear anything other than the hammering pulse in my ears. My heart thrashes, as if wide awake after a long slumber, and my cock is so hard it almost hurts.

More. Fucking more.

My mind is swallowed by a storm of lust and heat as our bodies gyrate against each other…harder, quicker, the pleasure climbing. I angle her head to the side, taking the kiss deeper, swallowing every sound from her as madness churns inside me.

But out of nowhere, she yanks her hand free and slaps me across the face.

Stars appear in my vision as shock rears through me. I quickly let go of her and she clambers off my lap, her lithe frame trembling—no, shaking.

I watch in horror as I see the moisture pooling in her eyes, her lips bee-stung. She clutches her hand over her chest and backs away.

Terrified.

As if I took her unwillingly.

“Have you been paying attention, Charles?” Liam’s words barrel into my mind.

I’m oblivious. Swept up in the tide of emotions and ignore what’s in front of me.

Again.

Horror slams through me as a thought registers in my mind, and I hate myself for not figuring this out sooner. The answers were in front of me all along. Her hatred of men. Her baggy clothes and how she hides herself from the rest of the world.

The terror in her eyes right now.

She was abused by a man. Perhaps sexually.

And I just ground myself against her without a care.

I’m a fucking bastard.

My throat closes like invisible hands are choking me alive. I can’t breathe, my mind a riot of panic and gut-wrenching terror, quickly chasing away the heady arousal dominating my body moments ago.

One minute he was kissing me and I was one second away from ripping off his clothes, the intense pleasure catching me off guard. We were two twisted souls feeding off the darkness no one else could see.

I told myself this was just physical, that he wasn’t getting into my heart. I wanted to experience the sexual attraction I’d never felt before. It felt normal, what a woman my age should feel toward a handsome man.

For a blessed moment there, my mind shut off completely, the sensations in my body quickly taking over. I felt the dominating scrape of his hands on my arms, the possessive grip on my nape. The way his mouth moved expertly over mine—my first kiss since I was sixteen, delivered by a real man who knew what he was doing, not a boy. The way he effortlessly lifted me off the floor and deposited me onto his lap.

Instead of revulsion, it felt like a drug—a heady, sweltering sensation I quickly lost myself into.

It felt freeing, exhilarating. I couldn’t stop touching him, wanting, no, needing the physical sensations I’d been deprived of for a long time.

But then he ground my hips on top of his. For the first few seconds, it didn’t register, the pulsing in my clit delivering the highest of highs. I wanted to chase it, to take control of the pleasure this time because I didn’t know when I’d feel this way again.

Then, I registered the bar of steel—far bigger than anything I’d ever felt before—hitting me at precisely the right angle, the throbbing in my pussy intensifying, hurling me toward the edge of a cliff.

Much like that night.

And the ugliness crept in.

“Fly, Harriet.”

“Look at her…she’s enjoying this.”

“She’s going to come, isn’t she?”

Images of the monster moving above me barged into my mind. The clinking of belts. Peppermint. The pain which morphed into something else—something I still can’t admit to myself to this day.

I feel dirty, disgusting, the throbbing in my pussy reminding me of my body’s betrayal that night. I need to get away, far away from him, from those monsters in my brain.

I’ll never be normal. I want to reclaim my sexuality, but is it a hopeless cause? I can’t think that way. Talk back to your fear, Taylor. This is a trauma response. You know that.

Dry heaving, I’m dizzy, sick to my stomach, as I put as much distance between myself and Charles. The words aren’t sinking in.

He quickly staggers to his feet and reaches for me. “Taylor, I didn’t mean… I thought you were, I—”

“Stop!” I scream. I hate the terror in my voice. I hate how I can’t seem to stand upright. “Stay back. Stay the fuck back!”

Charles stares at me in horror, his face completely leached of color. His hair is in disarray and I realize I must’ve mussed it up in the heat of passion just now. His throat works, his eyes brimming with guilt and regret as he holds hands up in surrender.

He must think I’m crazy. Pathetic. He must regret kissing me.

My eyes well with tears. A headache forms at the base of my spine as I try to blink away the evidence of my fear. I can’t cry. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone.

Charles looks devastated. Completely gutted. The arrogance and mask nowhere to be seen. “Taylor, I-I’m sorry, I—”

I swallow and do my best to even out my breath. My hands itch. My fingers twitch, wanting to find a needle and plunge it into my thigh, to feel the pain I can control instead of these horrid emotions I decidedly can’t control.

“I don’t want to hear it.” I cut him off and spin around. I can’t take it if he stares at me in pity. If he takes one look at me and figures out how messed up I am.

My hands tremble as I gather my jacket from the floor. “This never happened.”

I dart past him, past the one man who was able to make me forget, just for a minute, the one person who made me feel normal. It terrifies me to the core.

Grief slams into me—the precious moment felt like a success, but then it was wrenched away. Progress isn’t linear . The words swirl in my mind over and over again. A sob chokes in my throat as I slam the door shut behind me, leaving him behind, my fingers swiping at the moisture pooling under my eyes.

I won’t cry. I can’t cry. I don’t want to fall apart again.

I’ll never fall apart again.