Page 57 of Dark & Deceitful

Turning around like a total pain in the ass, Dark presents me with his back. You know the men who wear form-fitting shirts that seem to cling to all their sculpted muscles? That’s him. So now I get a view of his incredible backside as I reclaim the stupid razor blade and get this over with. Slicing my cheek about an inch, I hiss as blood bubbles to the surface and trickles down my pale face. To add to my battered victim façade, I slap myself a few times and collect a bit of blood on the tip of my finger. I use it to coat the inside of one nostril to give the illusion I also had a nosebleed.

Not wanting to appear too obvious, I gather more blood and flick a few dots onto my blush-colored dress. You can’t see them from far away, but the specks are there, up close like a subtlemisfortune.Whoopsie, I didn’t notice I bled on myself when my new owner beat me.

“You about done?” Dark grumbles, unable to stand still for even a second. I get it. He’s revved up. That makes two of us.

“Are you ready to fight?” I rinse the blade under the water and return it to my makeup bag to hide the evidence.

Dark huffs a slew of quiet curses before he finally answers me. “No.”

“Too bad.” I turn off the sink and shower before he protests further. On the way out the door, I grab his shirt sleeve and drag the pain in the ass into the main cabin where the bugs are planted.

“Please don’t make me,” I fake sob, standing in front of my ex. “I’m sore.” My voice wobbles for effect.

Glaring at me, his cheeks flushed with anger, Dark punches the air. “I’m not giving you a choice, bitch!” he roars, then winces in shame as he paces the room.

If he wants to sell this, he’ll have to do a lot better than that. We have a story to sell here.

Not letting him get away, I shove him hard from behind to turn up his adrenaline and get him into fucking character. We don’t have time to waste.

Spinning on me, Dark grabs me by the throat and slams my body into the closest wall. A picture on the wall rattles as I scream in horror, trying like hell not to be turned on by this because I love being manhandled by him, especially the growly, super sexy, pissed-off version of him. The one that oozes strength and sex appeal. The one that could crush my larynx with a squeeze. It does something to my insides. Please don’t ask me why. I’m fucked up.

“I said, I’m gonna fuck your ass, you whiny bitch.” He punches the wall beside my head hard enough to make a dent,and I gasp, not in shock, but on the cusp of pulling my dress up and letting him do what we both want.

“No. Please! I don’t want this!” I cry in fake terror.

Pressing his body against mine, a ripple of pleasure travels through Dark into me. “Bend the fuck over, slut,” he growls in that low bass that has the air seizing in my lungs.

The dirty part of me wants to do it. Bend over. Submit. To give him my ass. I’m not sore from last night. I could go another round or twenty. When I woke up this morning, wrapped in a warm blanket of Dark, with his morning wood digging into my backside, I was happy, and I hate myself for it. It’s not even about him. It’s about me. The intimacy. The trust. Being the other woman. Where I may never trust Dark with my heart or emotions like I once did, I will always trust him with my body because he knows every inch. Concurring with my sentiment, my pussy pulses as if she is entirely on board with getting fucked another dozen times today, but that’s not why we’re here.

Focusing on the mission, I grapple with Dark. Shoving him in the chest as he pushes me back. Smacking him across the face with my open palm. Redness blooms across his cheek, and we’re left panting as we fight. When he slams me against the wall for a second time, I nearly come. He’s too fucking much, too sexy, too… everything.

Playing into our scene, I pull up my dress, exposing the top of my thigh, to give him something to smack that won’t hurt me for real. With my eyes, I beg him to do it.

“Fuck you!” I spit at him. Well, at the floor, but whoever’s listening won’t know the difference.

Straightening his shoulders and adjusting the erection in his fancy suit pants, Dark nods once, as if he’s resolved to put in a little physical effort. I offer my thigh with a little wiggle, and he doesn’t disappoint when he snarls, “Don’t fuckin’ push me,bitch, or I will kill you!” His palm comes down painfully hard on my thigh. I yelp and stagger to the side to stay upright.

My eyes water, as does my nose, and I breathe through the onslaught of genuine agony. Dark’s there, holding me up, looking like he’s really gonna throw up this time. I know he wants to ask if I’m okay, but we can’t break character. I have to go with it. So, I do. I think of all the awful things he did to break my heart. The first day I saw Abby. The day he ruined us. Using that pain aids a genuine cry. Fat tears roll down my cheeks, and Dark can’t take my distress when he threads both hands behind his head and paces the room as he continues to spew fake bullshit to sell the narrative.

“The next time I tell you to take my dick, and you act like this, it will be your last. Do you fuckin’ understand? I own you.” Taking his jacket off the hook on the wall with a vicious growl, Dark pulls our door open and slams it shut as he departs, rattling the room. Expelling a breath, I set my palm over my pounding heart, close my eyes, and will myself to calm down enough to limp into the bathroom and get a good look at myself in the mirror.

I look amazing.

Red cheeks, swollen, tear-stained eyes, a dried cut, little bits of blood here or there. My hair’s purposely mussed, but it looks more like a disheveled mess. In my makeup bag, I extract the most important item of the day—my loose-setting powder.

Inside the front of my dress, between my boobs, I hide it there for later. This dress and bra conceal it well. Not wanting to go today without proper protection, I add three important boob rocks to the underside of my breasts—black onyx for intuition, jade for luck, and blue aventurine for courage and security.

It’s showtime.

Before I leave our room, I slip on a pair of blush patent leather flats. Two of Darmond’s goons keep a lookout in thehall when I exit, likely doing their rounds. They did that on his personal yacht, so I can only assume they do that here.

Smoothing down both sides of my dress, I swipe the tears from my eyes so they witness me doing it. Then, I steel my shoulders and approach the closest one.

“Has everyone already had breakfast?” I sniffle.

Staring down at me from his substantial height, the goon’s brutish face shows no emotion when he replies a simple, “No.”

I nod thanks and find my way to the kitchen, where Romeo and his sous chefs are busy preparing breakfast.

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