Page 53 of When Hearts Awaken

I felt safe, like I’d never felt in a long time.

“Have you ever considered you’re wrong about me?”Have I? A voice deep inside me knows the truth—I just don’t want to admit it, because admitting it would open my heart up to pain.

I want to experience sex and pleasure, the real thing on my terms, but my heart, my emotions, those are out of bounds.

“What are you hiding, Taylor? Tell me so I can fix it!”

For one weak moment, I wanted to tell him what I’d told no one else other than Alexis and Camden. Because I wanted to rest on his sturdy shoulders.

I wanted him to fix me.

It was then I knew this man could break down the walls I’d painstakingly built around me—each brick a testament of survival and strength.

And if he toppled my defenses and ended up hurting my battered heart, I didn’t know if I’d have the strength to stand back up again.

Chapter 24

Dried leaves of goldand brown scatter around me as I push through the double doors to ABTC a few weeks later. I rub my hands together, icy from the sudden chill descending into the city. It’s only the beginning of September, but it appears fall has arrived. I check my watch—I’m still early for my meeting with Uncle Ian to discuss the progress of the tour as we prepare to leave for Paris in mid-October for the first international stop.

It doesn’t matter, I’ll just work in the VIP lounge upstairs to wrap up some contract approvals I didn’t get to finish in the office.

My dress shoes squeak against the marble floors as I make my way into the opulent main hall. It’s only seven in the evening, but with the sun setting earlier, the space is shrouded in an eerie darkness, punctuated by occasional murmurs from dancers out of sight.

This building is a statement of old-world grandeur and mystery, completed with vintage lighting fixtures and massive crystal chandeliers, which are currently turned off, no doubt to conserve energy. I clamber toward the grand staircase spiraling upward from the center of the hall.

Reaching the lounge, I push open the door and step inside. But instead of the usual tranquil silence, I’m met with faint sounds of giggling and conversation. Frowning, I look around, not seeing anyone in the room.

“Stop it, Tay. You’re messing with my design,” a voice complains from a far corner in the space.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you and trust me, there are no plums on the Sugar Plum Fairy costume.”

The hairs on my forearms rise at the familiar sardonic voice of Taylor, the woman who has interrupted in my sleep too many times—my fevered mind always imagining her sprawled on top of the pristine white sheets on my bed, her raven hair spread over the pillows, her dark eyes glowing like embers as I rammed into her.

Over and over again.

“More!” she’d scream at me.

“Don’t you hate me?” I’d growl, the pleasure rising like a tsunami. I could practically smell her sweat and tears.

She’d respond by digging her nails into my back, drawing blood.

But I’d wake up before my release, my cock throbbing to the point of pain. And nothing would satisfy it even as I’d fuck my cock in my hand to memories of the dream or of us on the dance floor.

How long does insanity last? Or is this affliction permanent?

Frustration lances my insides as I walk toward the voices, past the burgundy velvet armchairs scattered throughout the room, not bothering to turn on the brass sconces in the darkened space.

A door designed to blend with the dark mahogany paneling is popped open in the back of the room, a warm light filtering out into the main area.

I quietly stand by the entrance to see what’s going on in there. Taylor is with Ainsley and a few other girls I don’t recognize.

A loud sneeze echoes in the room.

“Dang, Tay. You don’t look so good. Do you want to go home and rest?”

“It’s nothing. Let’s get this done. You guys don’t have much time left.”

Taylor is on her hands and knees, her hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun. A pile of used tissues is scattered on the floor near her. The hem of her loose gray shirt has ridden up, exposing a large swath of milky white skin. She’s hovering over a sparkly costume, her fingers nimble as she works a thread and needle over the dress. Blood rushes in my ears as I drag my eyes down to her tight ass, perfectly displayed in the soft black leggings she has on.

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