Chapter Eleven

A fter draining some of the iced whiskey I helped myself to from one of Roman's crystal tumblers, I dive in the pool and emerge in the muggy night, the moon half-lit as I take a few laps around, loving the feel of the warm water on my skin as I work out some of my aggression.

Frustration runs front and center as I exhaust myself, trying to come up with any reason at all why they would take such great care to disappear. The deceit, the humiliation; I've made a fool of myself over two men who haven't bothered to show up for me in endless months.

And for what? The high?

Now all I feel is the crash, the inevitable burn. I tried for the last few months to convince myself that I was moving on, but in truth, I've been waiting.

I will no longer lie to myself, and I can't keep loving in vain.

Neither of the men I'd pledged my heart to have stepped out of the shadows to claim me.

I was delusional to believe that I had a future with either of them.

How strong could any of their feelings truly be with so much deception between us? What we had was beautiful in my eyes, but over time has been painfully proven to be one-sided.

It's been a little over eight months since I danced with Sean in the street. Months in which I've attempted to live normally. In hindsight, it had felt so real. That's what kept me hanging on.

But that's what addicts do, they deny the problem and coat it with excuses. And it's up to me to save myself.

So, I'm done.

I'm done with my unhealthy fixation on the two men who are undeserving of eight months of unreciprocated devotion. I no longer want to understand their motives or the cruel reasoning for their absence.

At this point, I just want to snap the thread and free myself of the burn of being in unrequited love.

Exhausted from my workout and lulled by the whiskey, I step out of the pool and under the outdoor shower to rinse the chlorine from my hair. Towel wrapped around me, I head upstairs and am halfway up when I sense that I'm not alone.

Annoyed, I round the corner to see Tobias flipping through the book on my nightstand. He's dressed in a suit, his tie loose around his collar, his hair perfectly combed back. I bypass him and drop my towel, heading toward my dresser to pull out some shorts and a T-shirt. I stop my hand in my dresser when I feel his gaze on me.

"Are you here on business , or is this about my punishment ?"

He snaps the book closed. "You got the answers you expected. They made their decision."

And it wasn't me.

Acceptance. That's one of the five steps of grief, right? And so, I don't let the sting of his words penetrate my hardening heart. Instead, I search my drawers for clothes.

Seconds pass, and he stands mute, but I can feel his steady gaze.

Intent on nullifying his attempt at intimidation, I turn to face him and untie my bikini top before I let it fall away. The same top he held hostage to humiliate me the day we met.

"Anything else? Another lecture about peas, or pawns?" I stand, nipples drawing tight, water trickling from my skin and suit collecting at my feet on the carpet. He stands at the edge of my bed, seemingly unfazed by my nudity and brazen attitude before I slowly untie the bow at each of my hips, letting the material fall to my feet. It's nothing he hasn't seen, but I can see the surprise light up his eyes with the lift of my chin when I face him fully exposed. I refuse to let him bully me any longer.

It's time to snap the thread.

He ogles my naked flesh, his jaw tensing as he gauges the war I'm waging.

"I know who you are," he finally speaks, his voice tinged with the warning dancing in his eyes.

"Do you?" I challenge. "I don't think so."

He takes a step toward me, and I refuse to flinch. The air thickens as he unapologetically traces the hard lines and curves of my body with hungry eyes. The draw becoming harder to ignore the closer he becomes.

"Cecelia Leann Horner, born June eighth, nineteen ninety-five, five feet nine inches tall, a hundred and forty-three pounds." He takes a step toward me and then another as the water rolls in rivulets down my back. "Daughter of CEO Roman Horner, and Diane Johnston, never married."

He's visually devouring me as I feed on the gravity that threatens the closer he draws near.

"Is this supposed to impress—"

"A timid girl who grew up reading love stories and living vicariously through her best friend while her mother collected boyfriends and DUIs."

I hold my swallow as he takes one last step to tower above me, citrus and leather filling my nose. He raises a hand and cups my chin, sliding his thumb over my bottom lip before dipping the pad of it in my mouth, running it along my teeth. I turn my head as he leans in on a whisper.

"The picture of neglect, you grew up estranged from your absent father and made it your mission to care for your mother, all the while playing it safe. A good girl—that is until curiosity got the best of you and you skipped your junior prom because you were too busy giving away your virginity."

I turn back to face him, utterly shocked.

"Maybe because you felt he had waited an acceptable amount of time, not because you were seized by the passion you so desperately crave."

My eyes dart away as he bends to capture my gaze and holds it—holds me—hostage as my body responds to him, pulsating with a mix of anger and rapidly building desire as he caresses my face with a gentle hand while dissecting my life choices in a play-by-play.

"You drifted through your teens playing the role of the responsible adult in your household, and purposefully failed a final, placing you third in your graduating class from Torrington High School. Either to avoid the spotlight to spite Daddy and go unnoticed for your perfect attendance and scholastic accolades, or to keep your mother from feeling guilty she couldn't pay an Ivy League tuition in case Daddy didn't come through. After all, it was much safer to stay under the radar and use your mother's mistakes as an excuse not to take any chances."

"That's enough," I snap.

I can't look away at all now as he analyzes my life, my decisions.

He moves in so I'm pressed to him.

"The silver lining? You used your mother's psychotic break as a reason to liberate yourself from being the parent while still gifting yourself the ability to play the martyr. Which leads us here. Where you claim to be for your mother's sake, but the truth is, being here gave you an escape . It gave you your first real taste of freedom."

Raw, stripped beyond my nudity, he grips my face in his hands.

"And now you're hiding again because taking chances and really living for the first time in your life didn't turn out the way you hoped it would. But I see you, Cecelia. I. See. You. You keep trying to give yourself, your heart, your allegiance away to anyone who will have it for reasons you can't understand, but it's so painfully clear. Your mother is a selfish narcissist, your father dodged his responsibilities, you feel that my brothers used you and abandoned you, and you're putting on a brave front all the while you're fucking dying inside."

He tilts my chin with his thick finger, as a lone tear runs along my cheek. I grant him the sight of it, the last of my weakness gathering before he gently swipes it away with his thumb. "You're sad and lonely, locking yourself up in this house day and night, and I shouldn't give a shit, but I know I'm partly to blame. I ransacked your life and—"

The crack of my palm against his cheek is sickly satisfying. He roars, gripping my wrists and pinning me to the dresser.

Eyes locked, I glare up at him a second before he slams his mouth over mine. It's noteworthy from his kiss that he's high from my pain, and all I've done is reward him with my reaction, my angry tears. He loves my opposition, and the sadness he's inflicting with these heavy truths—his angle to take me down, just as psychological as it is strategic.

I rip my mouth away, shaking my head, disgusted. "You're getting off on this, you sick fuck."

"Sadly, so are you," he counters, possessing my mouth again in a way I can't—don't want to escape. And I kiss him back because my body never listens. After all, he's right. My heart was begging for love in all the wrong places, lurching in any direction for a home. But it's not my heart he wants. It's my spirit he's intent on destroying.

He lifts his free hand to cradle my face and I grip his wrists, trying to tear myself away to no avail. He's stripped me bare, robbed me of more pride with his easy appraisal. I hate that he can see it so clearly, see me so clearly.

Or that he did.

Because I'm no longer the woman I was yesterday or even an hour ago.

His words come out in a whisper. "You are a fighter. I'll give you that." His lips inches away, he searches my eyes. "But you give too much for not enough. You trust too easily because you've been lonely your whole fucking life."

"Says a lonely king to the lonely little girl."

Our chests rise and fall collectively as we watch one another for long seconds.

For the first time in my life, I'm in the deep end and I no longer want to find my kick; all I want to do is drown...in my enemy. He's the way. The only way.

And once I do this, there's no going back.

It's as if he senses my decision when he lifts a hand to wrap the hair at my nape around his fist and pulls, exposing my neck. His breath hits a second before his full, warm lips land on my shoulder lapping the droplets of water away. Greedy, he draws them into his mouth as I tamp down the whimper on my tongue.

Snap the thread, Cecelia.

Leisurely, he moves across my collarbone drinking in more, savoring the water along my torso and down my stomach as angry tears threaten and I bite back a sob.

Determined to see this through, I sink my nails into his scalp as his hot mouth blazes a trail across my flesh. He devours, covering every inch in his path before he parts my thighs with his palms and begins licking at my core.

Fisting his hair, I cry out at the force in which he sucks, his thick locks tickling my thighs before his tongue darts out, separating me, spearing my clit with precision. And with one sure swipe of his tongue, I go boneless, my back crashing into my dresser as I throw my head back and begin to ride his face.

"Damn you," I pound his shoulders with open palms as his licks increase speed before he slips a probing finger into me. He eats me, his hunger fueled by my cries as I silently sag against my dresser, the knobs digging into my back. Soul aching, my desire for him consumes me as I begin to tremble uncontrollably. An orgasm threatens, and I deny myself, hating him, hating me, hating that nothing has ever felt so fucking good.

"Tu te retiens." You're fighting.

This much I understand.

He flicks his gaze up to mine as he works me with slick fingers. The sight of my wet heat coating his digits sets my blood on fire. "Je gagnerai." I will win.

Lust overtakes me as he drags me down to the carpet spreading my thighs wide while he hovers above. Silent, he commands my eyes as he lowers his head and begins a second round of assault. With the beckoning of skilled fingers and one more long pull on my clit, I detonate in his mouth. He rims my pulsing core as he draws out every bit of my orgasm with the lap of his tongue.

Chest heaving, he releases me to pull off his jacket before he slowly starts to unbutton his shirt. Eyes piercing, he reaches back to pluck a condom from his wallet before he tosses it next to where my head lay on the carpet. I flick my gaze to where it sits, a clear threat of where this is going if I don't stop it.

With this one act, it will break all ties, destroy us, and any lingering hopes I have left. From his side, I'm a threat and he wants me gone, and this is the way of ensuring I have no place, no future amongst them. It's up to me to stop it from going any further.

But I don't. And I won't. Because I no longer have a reason to hold on.

And because I am an addict.

A destitute product of my own imagination, of my own making.

Needy.

Sick.

Insatiable.

And with Tobias, it's like inhaling energy, each breath I draw grows heavy with it, pulling me further into him, into a place I've never been.

He unzips his slacks, unleashing his engorged cock, stroking it as I look on before he starts the slow roll of a condom. I catalog him, consuming every naked inch that my gluttonous mind is demanding I memorize. Dark olive skin stretches over his expansive and fully defined chest, a light smattering of hair is dusted between his pecs, and ribbed muscles line his taut abdomen and trim waist. An insanely deep V encases a trail of hair down his pelvis. Once fitted in latex, he lifts my neck in his palm, tilting my head to give me a clear view. He wants me to bear witness to the end, to his assumed victory.

And this, I refuse to deny myself, but for an entirely different reason.

He pauses briefly, a few seconds for any objection before he begins to press into me. Inch by thick inch, he takes up the whole of me and I lose my breath due to the stretch, the size of him. Cursing, he drives in further, watching intently as my mouth parts and a barely audible hiss escapes him. His features twist with restraint as his body vibrates with residual anger. And there's no mistaking it.

This is his revenge, on my father, on the brothers who disobeyed and purposely deceived him. On me for having an unknowing hand in it. And I'm letting him have it. I'm allowing my own degradation.

Once again, I give myself over to my devil, but this time, this time is different because this time, I've already made peace with it on my terms. I allow him this purposefully, with every intention to see it through. And if I'm damning myself, I'm going to enjoy the burn.

He inches in and I cry out at the intrusion, the unimaginable stretch as he rolls his hips, slowly working himself into me. "Putain de merde." Mother Fucker. "Tellement serrée," So tight.

"Br?les en enfer." Burn in hell. The words pour from my mouth in perfect pronunciation, and my enemy's eyes widen a fraction before he drives into me fully.

It's then I feel the snap...and get consumed by the afterburn.

We collectively groan before he curses in a mix of English and French pulling back entirely and thrusting in again, burying himself. Connected fully, his hot exhale hits my neck as I claw at his shoulders, breathing through the discomfort, reveling in the stretch, and indescribable pleasure.

He palms my thighs, spreading them further before he drives in again, his eyes dropping to where we connect. I bellow, my body shaking, as he drags himself along every sacred place inside of me, drawing me out. Within a few more thrusts, I spasm, fighting it, but all it takes is a shot of amber flames and the press of his finger and I topple over the edge.

I revel in the descent, my orgasm taking over, my release streaming between my legs as an ecstasy-filled cry leaves my lips. Back arching, I convulse, cleansing in a white-hot fire that unfurls throughout my limbs as my body trembles in the aftermath.

His eyes slam shut, and he throws his head back, mouth going slack as I milk his cock, the resulting turbulence shaking us both. It's when his hooded eyes open and latch onto mine, that he loses control.

And then we're fucking—hands clutching, gasps and groans mingling, sweat glistening off our slicked skin as he tears through me lust-crazed, possessed. Pain subsiding, I meet him thrust for thrust, fucking him with fervor until a second orgasm hits, taking me by surprise. I tighten around him as his eyes go molten.

"Putain, putain," Fuck, fuck, he curses, his hands covering my body, his touch pure electricity, as I begin to build again with every powerful drive of his hips. Sparks fire and ignite from cell to flesh as he pistons into me, the slapping sound tipping me over as another orgasm threatens. With its arrival, I bang on his chest, the friction too much. Jaw trembling, I come undone, pulsing around him as he picks up speed, his fucking unforgiving while he claims my body wholly. My hate fuels me as I scratch at his chest, determined to collect some of his flesh beneath my fingernails.

And with every sure and damning thrust of his hips, adversary or not, I know I'll never again crave the touch of another like I will his.

Trembling with this knowledge, my back arches again as he swells inside me on the verge. His hand tenses on my breast with the first pulse of his orgasm. His body tremulous as his eyes open with the onslaught. He stares down at me, gasping out his release, unmistakable terror in his eyes.

And I'm thankful for it.

I'm thankful for every vulnerable second of it because I see the recognition when he realizes what I already know.

He didn't want to feel anything, and instead, he felt everything .

We've just ruined ourselves with our hate for each other.

He palms the sides of my head as he stares down at me with something akin to astonishment. It's only a flicker of revelation, but it's there. His eyes drop as he pulls out of me and wordlessly grabs the towel nearby in an attempt to cover me. I bat it away, disgusted by his cowardice. If I have to bear witness to this, so does he. There will be no mercy on either of our parts.

"You have to live with it, too."

My words strike him exactly where intended as his face draws tight, all fear quickly becoming replaced by fury. But I'm not the one he's angry at.

He snaps to his feet, tossing the condom in my vanity trash before gathering himself in his boxers; his expression turns to stone as he begins slowly buttoning his shirt.

Flames fading, he eyes me, securing his collar when he speaks. "You should know better than to read into this. It's sex. And it was business. Don't take it personally."

I roll my head back and forth on the carpet unbelieving of his quick denial. "You really need to get over yourself."

He pauses dressing briefly, staring down at me. "I don't blame you, Cecelia. You were taught from an early age to be a fixer. To crave affection unreturned and somehow believe it will be rewarding."

He nods toward the battered library copy of The Thorn Birds sitting on my nightstand. "But that's the difference between a boy in a book or a movie and a man in the real fucking world. Some of us don't want to know the inner workings of your mind and heart, or throw away our pride, or tell you our secrets and confess our love. Some of us just want to fuck you until we tire of you and move on."

I pull myself from the carpet and don't miss his thorough sweep of my body. "Except you don't live in the real world. You decided to create one of your own. And you'll never tire of me. That's your punishment for betraying them, same as mine."

Face apathetic, he pulls at the cuffs of his shirt beneath his jacket and runs a hand through his thick black hair. "Belle et délirante." Beautiful and delusional.

This, I understand. "I guess I am. After all, I'm just a little girl you couldn't resist fucking ." He wants to hurt me. I can feel it—the hate, the rage—he feels rolling off him.

He went too far, and I went with him, but for a completely different reason.

But I'll share in the punishment.

And I'll crave my enemy.

Because that's what we are.

"I'm not the only one who's delusional," I counter, grabbing my towel and securing it around me as his eyes narrow to slits. "And you're insane if you think I'll ever want to know the inner workings of your heart and mind." I grab his suit jacket from the floor and toss it in his face. "Don't take this personally , but get the hell out." His eyes flame just before I turn and slam my bathroom door behind me.

I stand on my balcony and pull on the joint, gazing at the horizon in the distance, welcoming the calming effect with every inhale.

In seven weeks, I will be free. Free of Roman's watch, free of his position in my life. In seven weeks, I'll be far out of Tobias's reach as well, his scrutiny and his judgment. I have two of the most powerful men fighting for control over me while I occupy space in this town. Until then, I'll give Roman and Tobias what they demand of me to pacify them both until I leave, but it'll be on my terms.

Because I no longer feel the weight of the pendulum swinging overhead.

Tobias had planned to finish me off with our shared act of betrayal, but unbeknownst to him, he liberated me.

Sweet freedom.

Violet clouds move over the end of another day as I tap out the joint I managed to roll with some of the weed I stole months ago from Dominic's bedroom. I don't know why I took it, but as I exhale the last of the smoke, I'm glad I did.

I run my hand along the back of my neck, where a small scar exists from where Tobias ripped the necklace from me. He'd cut my skin, and a scab had formed. And I'd picked it, to remember it happened, to remember that once, someone cared enough to claim me, to call me their own even if it was short-lived.

But the necklace and the meaning behind it means nothing to me now.

It can't. Tobias broke that connection, snapped the thread in half. And I allowed it, so I no longer feel tethered to them.

It was clear what his agenda was, but I had one of my own.

All I feel now is justified; justified in moving on, and ending my wait.

If they came now, they would be way too late. Even so, I will never want them the same way. All my foolish notions and hopes ended the night I let my enemy fuck me on his adversary's floor.

And though I do loathe Tobias, with every fiber of my being, I'm okay with the revelation it brought. I crossed a line that my mind and body agreed to and ignored my heart, all for this bittersweet relief.

So, while my flickering love fades for two men, my lust flames for another. And the best part? I don't have to feel anything.

Shame, remorse, and guilt are my new enemies.

With no apologies, I'm making my own rules to eradicate my weakness.

I may hate him, but he was right on so many fronts.

By pinpointing my shortcoming, he unshackled me from the heart that continues to weigh me down.

A heart that has proven to be worthless.

No one wants it, and I gave it way too freely. It's made me reckless and weak. And so, I'll stop supplying it with hope and lies. I'll deny its existence and stupid aspirations. I'll let it wither, try to take away its strength, and any power it holds over my decisions. And until my time here is served, I'll allow myself to become my father's daughter—cold, cruel, deceptive, calculating, and unapologetic.

But it's the acceptance of one thing that truly sets me free.

My heart has no place here.