Page 20 of Lust

“Valentine!”

“The music,” I pant. “The music is doing this. I need...”

He turns his head from me and angles his ear upwards. It’s clear he doesn’t hear anything beyond the sound of water pounding on the bathtub and my cries for release.

“Please,” I finally muster again. I grip onto him as his fingers begin to work against me…finally. His face is black as thunder and I know I’m going to pay for this later, but I don’t care right now. I just need some blessed relief from whatever this is. I rest my head on his neck, unable to keep it upright as I slump against him. It has the added value of me not being able to see his face looking at me through those dark eyes of his. He steps over into the bathtub as I cling to him, my fingernails digging into his black t-shirt.

Then this insanity that’s wracking my body isn’t the only thing I feel. Pain wracks me as he slams me against the wall of the shower. His hand is on my throat, holding me to the wall and practically holding me up. I’ve never seen such darkness in his eyes before. Not even when I accidentally pushed him over the edge of the tower when we first met. For a brief second, I forget that my body is trying to kill me and wonder if Dade has taken over the trial to save my body from the trouble. I stare at him in a way that I hope tells him that I’d welcome it. Orgasm, pain, death. Whatever Dade wants to dish out, I’ll welcome it, because anything would be better than this.

His hand squeezes tighter, locking me in place but not cutting off my airway. Water pounds both of us. His clothes are soaked through and his long hair is sticking to his to his face, making him impossibly hot. What a way to die.

“Please!” I cry out, although I no longer know what I’m asking him to do.

His free hand rips down my trousers and, quite possibly, right through my panties, but I can’t care as he inserts his fingers inside me, leaving his thumb free to work my clit. My neck might be pinned to the shower tiles, but my hips aren’t. I push into him, begging him. His eyes don’t leave mine the whole time he works me and the anger in them never leaves. I’m locked in the most intense staring contest and neither of us is backing down. Hate matches hate, but it’s a contest I can’t win.

He doesn’t take long, as I predicted, to hit that sweet spot. The orgasm rips through me, leaving nothing but distaste in its wake as I cry out Dade’s name. It’s not even pleasant though it’s certainly powerful. I let out a keening yowl as I break apart on his fingers. My eyes flutter closed because there’s no way in the world I can go through something so intense with my eyes open. He releases his grip on my neck and I fall forward, no longer able to hold up my own weight. My fingers grip into his skin and think I actually chew a hole in his t-shirt as I bite down. The music begins to break up at about the same time I do until there’s nothing but the sound of water pounding down on us. He brings his hands from between my legs and grips me tightly, pulling me to his chest. I hold on, knowing that if I let go, my jelly legs will give way beneath me. The room begins to darken, and the Earthery starts to give way to the nothingness before we have to leave. In the darkness the bathroom disappears around us, the sound of the shower evaporates and Dade lets go. I fall to the floor, still soaked in water, sweat, and my own juices. Dade has gone, and it’s completely dark. I let out a low sob as the lights begin to flash, telling me it’s time to leave. My cheeks flame with embarrassment as I pull on my soaking pants and head to the exit alone, dripping wet and fresh from the most powerful, if not the best… and worst, orgasm I’ve ever had in my whole life.

11

HELL IN HEAVEN

ROWENA

Being locked in a room with Felix is worse than being with a caged animal in a zoo. It’s not like either of us wants to be here, but all we have to do is get through a couple of hours or so. We don’t even have to look at each other. As trials go, I’ve been through worse. Now I just have to hope that he keeps his mouth shut. I follow him with my eyes as he storms from one side of the room to another, before turning on his heel and storming right back again.

A nagging impulse tempts me to mutter something to get him to sit down or at least stay still for a second, but I keep my mouth shut. An hour long bickering match might be fun, but I’ve been in enough of those in my time and they invariably end up with a fist in my smart mouth, so I turn my attention to the room we’re in instead. It’s a cozy living room, centered around a well-worn sofa with a pair of matching, faded armchairs, all adorned in a modest floral fabric. Homemade curtains frame a window that offers a view of a serene grassy plain. A vase of fresh white flowers sits on the windowsill. Daisies. My mother’s favorites. It reminds me a little of the house I grew up in, before my parents died and I had to sell it. Our house wasn’t as beautiful as this, but it has the same homely feel. A pang of homesickness hits me. It’s been a long time since I thought of the home I grew up in. It feels like I left that life a million years ago. There are some subtle differences. Our house had a gap under the door so wide that wind would whip up in the living room, sending the curtains and the cats into a frenzy and the furniture wasn’t as well made or as pretty. This room, despite the homely nature of it, reminds me of the homesteader magazines I used to buy and wish I was in. There’s no doubt in my mind that this room has molded itself to me and my psyche somehow. It’s my dream home. Not that I’m going to tell Felix that. It’s clear that this is his personal idea of hell. Ironic really. He probably lived in a penthouse with all metal everything and no personality whatsoever. I vaguely remember Quinn telling me that she saw his house, and it was a mansion somewhere, but all I see when I look at Felix is black and chrome. All the finest things in life, with no life in them. The only thing this room is missing is a handful of children and, perhaps, a dog. And maybe a man whose face isn’t as black as thunder, who is currently wearing a path on the hardwood floor.

“I’ll bet a million dollars that there’s food through that door,” I say, pointing to the only door in the place.

“I doubt you have a million dollars,” he snarls.

“Technically, neither do you anymore,” I reply, rising from the chair and swinging open the door to reveal the kitchen of my dreams. Again, I’m not going to tell Felix that so he can mock me.

He doesn’t follow me in which is more relief than anything. If this whole challenge is to see how he’ll fare in my perfect world, then great. I get to have hours of home-making bliss and he can sit on the sofa like a wounded hound, all miserable and forlorn. What a result!

I turn and breathe in the fresh air that’s coming in through the open window before opening a cupboard to find out what’s inside. I’m not surprised in the least to find all my favorite foods in there. The huge fridge and the pantry are equally filled with foods ready to be made into something wonderful.

The food in Lust is utterly gross. It’s all so sickly sweet and I’ve been craving something with actual vegetables in rather than just pure sugar and fat molded into various body parts and colored pink.

As I’m in my dream kitchen, I decide to make a meal I’ve wanted to try for a long time. It’s one I learned in the cooking classes I took back when I was alive. Beef wellington. I decide to make a soup for starters and soufflé for dessert. If I have to be stuck in here with Felix for hours, I might as well find ways to enjoy it.

My heart brims with pure joy as I lay all the fresh vegetables out on the table and turn on the range oven to preheat.

Literally, every ingredient I need for every part of the meal is here for me. A huge slab of fresh beef is waiting in the fridge. The herbs and spices I want are in the cutest little hand labeled jars in the pantry.

I set to work, my mind set on making this perfect. I wish Juliette was here to taste what I’m about to make. It’s almost a shame I’ll have to share it with Felix, who is the most ungrateful asshole I’ve ever had the displeasure to meet. Still, the pleasure is in the preparing and cooking more than the eating. I’m in heaven as I prepare everything, chopping up the veggies, preparing the beef, making the pastry exactly how I was taught. From somewhere, the sound of a flute begins to play a delightful melody.

By the time the beef wellington goes into the oven, my hair has converted back into its usual frizzy mess and I’ve got sweat running rivulets down my face. I head to the window, cranking it wider and put my face to the cool glass.

When that doesn’t help, I realize something is wrong. I’ve always enjoyed cooking, but I’ve never felt like this before. The room isn’t overly hot, but I feel a flush rising to my face.

“Is it hot in here to you?” I shout through to the living room. It’s the first words I’ve spoken to Felix in the hour I’ve been in the kitchen. When he doesn’t answer, I head into the room to find him laid down on the sofa, his feet crossed at the ankles, a country life magazine in his hands.

“Who writes this shit?” he says before dropping the magazine onto his chest. His eyes crease up with a look of complete disdain when he sees me. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Sweat is pouring down my face and dripping down my chest between my breasts. “I was making a beef wellington and…”

“Decided to whip up a Robert Wellington and skip the beef, did you? You do realize you're not meant to hop into the oven alongside it, right?” His words drip with sarcasm.

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