Page 5 of Lord of the Dark

He nodded, but I saw the disappointment in his eyes. "Of course. I just wanted you to know how I feel."

"I know," I said quickly, placing my hand over his in an attempt to soothe him. But deep down, I knew I was lying—to him, and to myself.

The silence in the car during the drive home was like a viscous substance filling the space between us. Carter attempted to lighten the mood with trivial remarks—something about traffic or a new restaurant he'd discovered. But his voice sounded strained, and I could feel the tension wrapped around us like an invisible thread. It was a stark contrast to the grand gesture he'd made earlier. His smile no longer shone as brightly, his movements slightly less assured.

When we entered the apartment, the oppressive silence seemed to creep in with us. Carter closed the door behind us and pulled me into an embrace. "Fiona, I love you. I'll give you all the time you need." His voice was soft, almost pleading, and I could feel how desperately he was trying to reach me.

I wrapped my arms around him, returning the hug, but inside, I felt only emptiness. His understanding was admirable, yet it only made everything harder. I should have been grateful to have such a considerate man by my side. But increasingly, I found that very consideration suffocating.

Carter seemed determined to avoid conflict at all costs, while I often longed for a challenge—for a partner who would push me, confront me. Not just in our relationship, but in life. I felt a natural urge to prove myself, to test my limits—professionally and personally. But Carter... he was different.

He wanted only peace, only harmony. And he seemed to reinforce that with a certain smugness he couldn’t, if I was honest, afford.

"I love you too," I murmured finally, but the words tasted bitter in my mouth. His grip loosened, and he searched my eyes, his own full of hope, as if those words could fix everything. But they weren’t enough.

He kissed me gently—a kiss meant to convey comfort and security, not passion or desire. His lips brushed tenderly over mine, and I returned the kiss out of obligation, not conviction. Loving Carter was like a calm river—peaceful, but without current, without depth.

We moved to the bedroom, and Carter tossed his jacket onto the armchair in the corner. I sat on the edge of the bed, slipping off my shoes and placing them neatly side by side. Meanwhile, Carter undid the top buttons of his shirt and smiled at me. It was a familiar moment, a ritual we’d shared countless times. But tonight, it felt monotonous, almost like a scene from a moviewe’d acted in too often.

"Fiona," he said softly, stepping closer. He sat beside me, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was, as always, tender, full of respect. I knew he desired me, but he was always cautious, as if afraid to ask for too much.

I kissed him—longer, more demanding than usual. I wanted to feel if there was still something there. His lips were soft, as soft as ever. Familiar. Gentle. But nothing that truly reached me. No electric spark, no pull deep inside. Just this mild warmth that came and went without leaving a trace. I let my teeth graze his lower lip—a playful bite, a last attempt to lure him into something I barely dared name. But the moment I felt him stiffen, I knew I’d lost him—at least for now. He pulled away, looking at me with an embarrassed, almost guilty smile.

"Not so rough, Fiona," he said quietly.

Something inside me sank. Like water slowly slipping beneath the surface.

I sat up slightly, trailing my fingers over his chest. "I just thought... maybe we could try something different."

He raised his eyebrows slightly. "What do you mean?"

"A colleague told me her boyfriend tied her up. Not brutally or anything. She said it was... incredibly intense. That it completely overwhelmed her." I tried to keep my tone casual, but my heart beat faster. I wanted—too much—for him to respond openly. Or at least with curiosity.

His expression shifted. First confusion. Then unease. His brow furrowed slightly as his eyes scanned my face. "I'm not a sadist, Fiona. Or whatever you need for that kind of thing."

He didn't laugh. But there was something in his voice that pricked me like a needle. Not dismissive. But not curious either. More like I'd confronted him with something that overwhelmed him.

I swallowed. Tried a second time to reach him.

"I didn't mean you should hurt me. I just thought... maybe we could explore it together. Maybe we'd like it." I knew I was revealing too much. Or perhaps too little. But I wanted so desperately for something to change.

Instead of answering, he leaned in and kissed me. Gently. Tenderly. As always. "I love everything about you," he whispered against my lips. "Even what we have. Even our sex life."

I closed my eyes. Not from arousal. But to hide my disappointment. It wasn't his fault. He meant well. He loved me. But he didn't know it wasn't enough anymore.

He carefully pushed me onto the bed, began undressing me. His hands were warm, but they followed a familiar path. The same touches. The same kisses on my neck, my shoulders, my collarbones.

Soon his body was on mine. His movements were careful, steady. Nothing about it was wrong. And yet everything was wrong.

When he entered me, I closed my eyes again, tried to focus on the moment. I rolled my hips, took him deeper because I knew he liked it. He looked into my eyes, full of love, full of devotion - and I smiled. Automatically. Like a machine. Like a woman who's learned to play the role expected of her. I counted silently in my head. His thrusts. The steady breaths. The trembling in his arms that told me he was close. And when he came, he whispered my name as if I were his greatest treasure. I whispered his back. Because I had to. Because playing along was easier than being honest.

I lay still as he settled beside me, his arm around my waist. His breathing grew calmer. Content. I stared at the ceiling, my body still warm from him. Inside me, something had come loose that no longer wanted to return to its place.

I turned on my side and closed my eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. I wondered how much longer I could keep up thischarade.

The next morning, I could see the usual workweek hustle etched on my colleagues' faces while a strange emptiness churned inside me. Normally, this sight would comfort me—an organized chaos mirroring my own structure and control. But today was different. My steps dragged slower, the clarity I usually found in my work now obscured as if by a veil.

I climbed the broad staircase past glass-walled conference rooms where the day's first meetings were already underway. The murmur of voices behind closed doors and the clatter of keyboards blended into an unceasing stream of noise. I loved losing myself in this bustle, disappearing into spreadsheets, plans, and presentations. Today, my vision felt clouded, my thoughts drifting relentlessly.

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