Chapter 21

T onight is the fundraiser, yet another extravagant affair like the previous one.

Lauren carefully applies her peach lipstick in the mirror, looking nothing short of a goddess in her green cocktail dress, which hugs her every curve.

Curled tendrils of hair frame her heart-shaped face when she peers at me in the mirror. “I think some of the rebels will attend tonight.”

I pause, the perfume bottle inches from my pulse point in my neck, fresh notes of magnolia and lotus flowers saturating my nostrils. “The rebels?”

She zips away the lipstick in the makeup bag and spins around. “It’s a possibility. This is a big event. All the major players will be in attendance.”

I turn away from Lauren to hide my expression, my movements stiff as I spray perfume. While it wouldn’t be the first time the Antichrist has infiltrated an event to spy, it’s the first time the thought of it makes me feel this level of unease. The last thing I want is to place Darian and Sinclair in harm’s way.

“I can’t believe it. You’ve been compromised,” Lauren says, stating the obvious. When I fail to turn around, her heels click on the floor. “The Exodus killed your father, or have you forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” I bite out as I feel her behind me.

“Darian is no better than them.”

Her concern is palpable in the air, and I hate how it stirs the guilt I’ve festered over the last decade. I couldn’t have stopped the events, but I still feel the weight of it.

“He’s an Elder, Cecilia. Do you know what that means?”

Steeling my jaw, I turn around to face her. “I’m fully aware he’s an Elder.”

“Are you?” She shakes her head, and notes of bitterness bleed into her voice. “He knows what happened to your father. They all do. Yet here you are, spreading your legs for him.”

“First of all,” I say, pointing a finger at her, “careful! You’re my friend, but I won’t let you speak to me like that. Secondly, look around you. We’re trapped. Our options are very limited. I may not be a Pawn, but I’m still a pawn in this cruel world, the same as you.”

Lauren watches me swipe my clutch bag from the bed and inspect my red dress in the mirror. When I’m satisfied my hair hasn’t escaped my updo and my boobs are contained in the corset, I breeze past her.

She calls out, “I’m sorry for what I said.”

“No, you’re not,” I reply, smiling at her sadly. “You were right; I’ve been compromised. But that doesn’t mean I won’t play my part when it comes down to it.”

“Really?” She sounds skeptical as she walks closer. “You would betray Darian if you had to?”

I raise my chin. “I want revenge like you.”

My thoughts are a jumbled mess. I’m not lying to Lauren, but maybe I’m lying to myself. One moment, I thirst for revenge; the next, I question what I’m fighting for. My father is gone, and he’s not coming back. The Antichrist and other rebel groups have fought the Exodus since the first Reckoning in an ongoing, never-ending war. All I’ve seen so far are casualties in the name of revenge. Does anyone ever achieve it? Does anyone actually feel like justice has been served?

Despite these doubts, I still look Lauren in the eye and say, “Believe what you want, but we’re fighting on the same side.”

As I leave the room, a spike of adrenaline rushes through my veins.

Darian is waiting for us downstairs in a pressed tux, a bowtie, and slicked-back hair, accentuating his sharp cheekbones and jaw.

I draw to a halt, admiring his masculine beauty and effortless ease with which his commanding presence fills a room. Maybe it’s an ancient curse to lure women to their deaths.

He finally senses my presence, and my heart thuds harder, called forward by his lure. I hold on to the railing as I descend the stairs.

Darian does a double take, his eyes widening, and he loosens his bowtie as he swallows hard.

I pause on the last step when he clears his throat, blind to the woman behind me. “You look…”

Before he can reply, Lauren breezes past us and disappears outside with an air of silent disapproval.

As the door shuts, Darian clears his throat. “You look beautiful.”

I roll my eyes, about to say something snarky in response, but then my cheeks heat, and I dip my chin, relishing his compliment. “Thank you.”

His touch on my hand deepens my blush. He lifts it to his lips and softly kisses my knuckles. “I mean it. You look like a dream.”

I nervously chew my lip, then stop when I remember my red lipstick. Darian steps closer and invades my senses with his woodsy cologne and consuming presence, which demands my full attention. He lifts my chin with his fingers, and my lips part as he stares at my mouth with so much longing that I’m growing dizzy.

His thumb brushes over my lips in a gentle, barely-there touch so as not to smudge my shade of red. “I would donate my fortune tonight to see these succulent lips wrapped around my cock.”

My breath stutters because of the assured, possessive way he handles me, and he smirks knowingly, still bewitched by my mouth. “There’s no price I wouldn’t pay.”

When he holds out his elbow expectantly, I circle my arm through his, barely able to stand upright because of my jelly legs.

“I’m not an escort, Mr. Delacroix,” I reply. “Besides, you couldn’t afford me.”

His chuckle drifts over me like a warm late-night breeze.

As we exit the house, his driver tips his hat and opens the passenger door.

I glance around. “Where’s Lauren?”

“She left in a different car.”

“Oh.”

Darian’s touch burns hotter than the sun, despite the silk layer separating us as he guides me inside the vehicle with his hand on my lower back. It sears through me for long moments after he has settled beside me.

The car rocks gently as we leave the premises. Darian stares out the window, seemingly lost in thought. I study his profile, acutely aware of the content on the USB in my bodice. It’s like I’m seeing him in a new light, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask questions. As his wife, I want him to indulge more of himself from a place of trust, which is ironic, considering how I came about this information.

The squeal of leather sends my heart racing down a hill when he turns to look at me, and my chest heaves as I try to control my body’s reaction to the hungry yet cautious look in his eyes. He parts the slit in my dress to reveal my bare thighs, and I glance at the partition.

“It’s closed. No one can see. Spread your legs.”

My dress is too tight, so I lift my ass and pull the silk fabric higher until I have enough room to follow his order. Darian hums and slaps his big palm down on my thigh, reddening my skin.

I ease back against the seat, feeling the cool air on my core as his hand kneads my skin, soothing the burn from his smack.

“I love my mark on you, Mrs. Delacroix.” He dips his fingers beneath my panties with practiced ease and slides them aside to reveal my pussy then hums as he slaps his big hand down on my thigh again, squeezing my muscle to the point of pain. “Fuck yourself, wife. Get yourself off.”

I gasp as I squirm beneath his possessive, lascivious gaze.

Something about how he looks at me with such total devotion and admiration makes me want to please him. Instead, I say, “We’re almost there.”

What if he asks to see my breasts? What then? I can’t let him discover the USB.

“We won’t exit the car until you’re done. Either way, we’re not leaving until I’ve watched you come on your delicate fingers.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask as he reaches out to grab me by the side of my neck in a possessive hold.

Staring at my pussy and licking his lips, he watches me circle my clit. “I like to practice self-control in all areas of my life, Mrs. Delacroix. You’re proving to be my biggest weakness.” His flexing fingers on my neck betray his urge to touch me, which emboldens me to slide my middle finger inside me.

My toes curl with pleasure, and my thighs quiver while Darian runs his thumb over my pulse point and whispers, “So beautiful.”

I notice the growing bulge behind his zipper, and my insides clench in response, but when I reach out to touch him, he grabs my hand and shoves it away.

His rejection stings, but I don’t have time to give it further thought because my walls flutter around my finger, and I bite down hard on my lip and let out a moan, lipstick be damned.

Darian settles back against the door and squeezes his thick bulge but makes no move to free himself. If anything, he looks mildly disinterested in my disheveled state, though the heat in his gaze betrays him.

Rolling my head on the headrest, I study him while rubbing my throbbing clit. My muscles tremble. I feel so empty, and it’s all his fault. If only he would let go of his control and fuck me hard until we’re both satiated and breathing harshly, in a tangle of limbs and sweat.

“Don’t you want to touch me?” I ask, panting. “Don’t you want to forget about the fundraiser and take me somewhere?”

“Do you know what the fundraiser is?” he asks as he tips his head sideways, watching me curiously.

I plunge two fingers inside me and imagine they’re his. “A boring event with boring people raising money for shady, boring business deals.”

“It’s a battleground,” he states as I squirm with need, the insides of my thighs sticky with arousal.

“If you say so.” I’m barely able to comprehend his nonsensical talk while my pussy grips my fingers so tight I’m seeing stars. He could discuss the apocalypse in great detail and I’d think he’s discussing yesterday’s weather.

Overcast with occasional showers.

“Fuck,” I moan as I curl my fingers, hitting that spot Darian likes to rub.

Darian crawls forward like a prowling lion, manoeuvres me around so that I’m leaning against the door opposite, and spreads my legs wide. When he stares at my pussy with unabashed hunger, a blush creeps up my neck.

“The fundraisers are a show of power.”

I’m panting hard, transfixed by the outline of his cock inside his pressed pants. Why won’t he stop talking and pull it out instead?

“Only the strongest come out on top.” Taking hold of my wrist, he pulls my fingers out of my pussy before guiding them to my mouth and ordering me to suck them clean. “Do you know what happens to the weak?”

My tongue swirls around my slick digits, and I shake my head, listening with half an ear. Maybe I should bite back with a snarky response, but it’s in my best interest for once to act pliant and keep him distracted. There’s a time and place to show my fire. Not now when I have the USB on me.

Why did I even bring it?

In a swift move, he grabs my ankle and yanks me down on the seat until I’m flat on my back.

He keeps his weight off me as he stares down at my flushed face. “They disappear.”

My pussy pulses around my fingers as I sink them into my heat, drunk at the sight of him above me.

Is that what happened to my father?

He disappeared?

“You’ve ruined your hair.” Balanced on one hand, he drags his thumb through my lipstick. “And your makeup.”

“Whose fault is that?” I don’t recognize my voice or the desire running through each note.

What happened to my father, Darian?

Tell me the truth.

“Such a mess,” he whispers, forcing his thumb between my lips. “I need you to be stronger than this, Mrs. Delacroix.”

I bite him, and a muscle jumps in his jaw, but he doesn’t remove his finger or ease up on his grip. “I know you want to fuck me. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Trust me, I want nothing more than to tear this flimsy dress off your body and bury my cock so deep in your tight little cunt that you scream so loud, my driver thinks I’m hurting you. But if I can’t control myself around you now, my biggest weakness, I can’t win on the battlefield in there.” He tips his head toward the window behind him, and it’s only now I realize the car has stopped.

When he leans in, his heated breath drifts across my ear. “Now make yourself come, Mrs. Delacroix. Moan my name as your cunt squeezes your fingers.”

His dark words are my undoing, and when he whispers, “My filthy slut,” an orgasm sweeps through me.

Darian chuckles in my ear, his breath wafting over the side of my face as I tremble beneath him.

With a self-control that could rival a monk’s, he sits back to adjust his bowtie and waits for me to wrangle my ruined hair into submission with my compact mirror. Nothing can be done about my slick fingers. I wipe them on the leather seat, but sex is now my perfume of choice.

“Now that your primal urges are taken care of, wife. Are you ready to mingle with the wolves?”

I snap the mirror shut. “Who said my urges have been taken care of? I’m a woman, Delacroix. You’ve merely wet my appetite.” I smile sweetly. “I would love to mingle with the wolves.”

His eyes narrow and burn into my back as I exit the car.

What did he think would happen? That I would roll over and expose my belly? I don’t know what power game he played earlier, but he’s sorely mistaken if he thinks he can weaponize my sexuality against me or use it as some weird way to keep his control.

Of course, I can handle a couple of wolves. After all, the Exodus runs through my blood.