Chapter 36

Oh fuck. I'm so fucked on so many levels.

The chant is on repeat in my mind as I sweep her up in my arms and stride toward the staff corridors hidden throughout the building after I zipped up my pants and rearranged her tattered clothes. My mind is a mess of rioting thoughts ranging from how can I ever walk away from her now that I know how it feels to be with her to what have I done?

I'm riding on the highest of highs from the most intense sex I've ever had in my life, and I don't want anyone to see her like this but me. Her knees are all battered and bruised, the hem of her dress ripped and dirty from the damp earth underneath us moments ago.

She emits a satisfied moan, her body softening against mine, and my heart flutters in response. Her warmth, her yielding, her softness in my arms.

It feels so right. Even though this is decidedly wrong.

I didn't even fucking use a condom.And I don't think I can ever have anything in between us now that I know how it feels to be inside her bare.

I push open the hidden doors and step into the corridor, which is flooded with bright lights. My lungs seize when I take in her face and neck—swollen lips, dreamy eyes, a soft smile, hickeys, and scratches dotting her pale skin. She looks thoroughly fucked, used, so thoroughly mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

My cock twitches again.

Fuck.

She was so perfect. Exceeded all my fantasies when I fucked my fist in the shower to the thoughts of her, wrenching out one unsatisfying orgasm after another, unable to slake my desire for her.

She submitted to me so beautifully and I still remember every clench of her walls against my cock, the passion in her fight, the anger and strength in her eyes. The connection between us moved beyond the physical. It was a cathartic release of emotions, purging the poison accumulated in the deepest crevices of our hearts.

I've never experienced anything remotely like it.

I came undone, and she didn't run away. She wasn't scared or disgusted. She took it and she bore it so perfectly.

My beautiful lark, a phoenix in disguise.

My heart riots inside my chest, each thump sending an intoxicated warmth through my veins, much like the first sip of perfectly aged whiskey washing down my throat. The heat spreads from my cold chest to my extremities until all my senses are all filled with her—her smell, her taste, her touch.

And if this is a dream, I never want to wake up.

I want to stay in this utopia with her, where the real world doesn't matter, where there are no stakes, no ethics, no morals, no responsibilities, and no unimpeachable reputation to uphold.

No prison.

Just her and me in this heaven, our hearts pounding in unison, our breathing intertwining and in sync. That's all I need in life.

Her eyes blink open, her lush lashes fluttering, and she bestows me with the most breathtaking smile. My heart lurches in my chest. She's the first ray of sunrise to my dark twilight. She's the first sign of life poking through the thick snow after a harsh and dreary winter.

My voice is stuck in my throat, the words at the tip of my tongue. I want to tell her everything; I want to show her all my scars, all my darkness and burdens. I want to bare my soul to her and let her see every ugly corner, every corrupted edge, all the festering wounds and poisonous thoughts.

My selfish, ungrateful thoughts.

"Ryland," she whispers, and lets out a breathy sigh. She presses her hand to my chest.

"Yes, little lark?"

Her cheeks pinken at my endearment. Like that's the thing that'll embarrass her after the savage lovemaking in Noire just now. She's so cute and sexy it hurts for me to look at her sometimes.

But my gaze doesn't turn away from hers as I carry us to the employee elevators. The staff, all taught to be seen and not heard in this exclusive establishment, duck back into the rooms and corridors they came from, everyone giving me a wide berth as they see me carrying the most precious thing I've ever held in my arms.

Normally, I take care of my partners after a scene in one of the standard Rose floors suites designated for aftercare, where I ensure the person has access to the spa amenities in the suite, any healing ointments if needed, or admission to the several full-range luxury spas on the other floors. I don't stay for long, but I'll thank them for their service or participation. There will be a hefty tip waiting for them in the embossed linen envelope after they exit from the bathroom post cleaning up. It'll be civil. Unemotional.

But with Millie, everything is different. The burgeoning feelings inside me are far from civil and are most definitely not unemotional.

I'm not taking her to the standard suites. That's not where she belongs. Instead, I press the button to the top floor.

"I'm so happy," Millie says, her dulcet voice curling around my heart, but instead of chains, her voice is a soothing, life-giving balm, an antidote to the corruption inside. "You chose me."

A sharp guilt slices across my chest with the swiftness of a sword, but my heart pounds at her words. I know I shouldn't have succumbed to my inappropriate desires for her. I should've been stronger. I'm the older, more mature person between the two of us. I know what's at stake.

But I can't fight it anymore.

This need for her that is becoming a necessity, like oxygen to my lungs and food to a starving man. Everything pales compared to her—all the responsibilities and shackles, the rules of the family trust, the lure of the honorary doctorate—everything that used to mean the world to me.

And under the cloak of nightfall inside the dark forest, away from NYUC, she and I are just man and woman, two people who are drawn to each other like moths to a flame.

What choice do we truly have?

And now, with her in my arms, it's as if she belonged there all along.

My voice is thick and hoarse as I reply, "I…I feel the same way."

And it's true. The only true thing in my life. The emotion I feel with every ounce of my soul. If I were to die now, I'd be a happy man.

The elevator doors silently glide open, and I stride to one of three doors on the floor before pressing my palm against the palm reader. Instead of staying at the estate like Dad and Maxwell, the rest of our siblings, myself included, have opted to live in our apartments either within The Orchid or elsewhere in Manhattan.

The door automatically opens, and I carry my princess inside my haven of dark marble and reclaimed timber.

"Sir, welcome home." Gretchen, my housekeeper steps into view from her attached en-suite quarters, dressed impeccably in her usual uniform—a navy pencil skirt and a white blouse, her salt-and-pepper hair perfectly arranged in a bun. The elderly woman alternates her hours with others on the housekeeping team employed by The Orchid to serve the apartment owners on the top floors.

Her sharp brown eyes take in Millie in my arms and she immediately asks, "Do you want me to prepare a bath?"

I nod. "Thank you, and yes. In the master bath, please."

Millie gives me a shove, her face flushed crimson as she lifts her head off my chest and smiles at Gretchen.

She whispers, "Put me down! I'm not an invalid!"

"Hush. You're mine to take care of now."

The words come out with no forethought, but they ring very true to my ears. I want to take care of her.

As long as I can. Until I'm not allowed to.

Gretchen smothers a smile as she walks discreetly toward the master suite on the far right and Millie hollers, "Thank you!"

Another little elbow shove from my squirming vixen. "You caveman. I can walk by myself."

I bite back a satisfied grin as I look at her in my arms, her large blue eyes blinking at me with so much heat and tenderness in them, and my heart doubles in size.

"You poked the bear. Now you need to bear the consequences."

Millie snorts and rolls her eyes. "Har. Har. The pun." Then she snuggles back into my chest and emits a satisfied sigh. "I love the way you smell."

Smirking, I stride past the spacious living room, which is dim except for the light from a crystal floor lamp on top of the navy Persian rug, past the chef's kitchen I rarely use, down a wide corridor and I make a sharp left through the double doors of the master suite. I hear the water running and smell the soothing scents of lavender and tea tree oil wafting through the air.

Gretchen gives me a terse nod as she exits the en-suite bathroom, efficient as always, and murmurs, "Everything is set up, sir."

"Thank you."

She hurries away and closes the door behind her.

I stride inside the bathroom, where a bubble bath has been prepared in the deep spa tub. A tray containing a simple fruit platter of watermelon and grapes, something she typically has on hand for me, two glasses of water, and two flutes of what looks to be champagne, is set on the side of the tub, completed with a few sprigs of daffodils.

The same type of flower I've kept in my apartment after Millie visited my office hours in ULA. The ray of sunshine in the dark space and now, its owner will finally see them.

Setting Millie down, I bite back a smile as I watch her gape at her surroundings, even though it's only your standard luxury bathroom with all the furnishings.

"This is bigger than our living room in SoHo." She gasps, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Isn't your brother Adrian Scott? Shouldn't you be used to luxury by now?"

I walk to the bathtub and check the temperature. Hot enough to soothe the muscles, but not scalding. Perfect.

She shakes her head as she trails her fingers over the white marble countertops, skating over the clear glass stall of the two-person jet shower, her mouth parted as she takes in the separate sauna room before glancing at the bathtub.

"Daffodils!" She fawns over the flowers, reminding me of Persephone breathing life into her surroundings, giving warmth to the god of the underworld.

Her hair is a tangled mess cascading over her back, her dress is ripped and covered in dirt.

But she looks perfect. Especially here in my haven, in the space I've taken no woman outside of my family to. I want her to stay here. I want to wake up with her by my side.

And perhaps, for tonight, I can pretend.

"Come here," I command softly, and she whirls toward me.

Her smile slips from her face as she takes in my serious expression. A spaghetti strap slides off her shoulder, and my cock twitches at the effortless seductive sway of her hips, her pouty lips parted as if she's reading every thought in my mind.

Quietly, I trail my hands over her shoulders, relishing the soft gasp and the pebbling of goosebumps gracing her skin. I slip off her dress from her lithe frame, a heady heat traveling south as I see the smooth expanse of milky skin, the way a lacy bra hugs her curvy tits, the red scratch marks, and pinkish bite marks over her cleavage.

Closing my eyes, I pull her toward me and inhale her scent of jasmine and vanilla, now laced with the seductive smell of the forest, and my cock hardens in milliseconds. I press my lips to her neck, my teeth scraping down her sensitive column and she lets out a soft moan, which inflames my senses.

"I'm obsessed with you," I rasp against the pulse fluttering there, my hands unhooking her bra and molding around her swollen tits.

"You're my whirlwind, Ryland," she whispers, tilting her neck back for me as I trail kisses down her cleavage and capture her nipple, a perfect shade of brown, in my lips.

"Oh my God, I feel so sensitive. I ache for you," she whimpers.

A growl sounds from my throat, a curl of possession wrapping around my chest.

I want to be the only man to see her this way.

Hoisting her up, I swallow her gasp of surprise, my mouth tasting those sweet lips once more, my tongue laving the bite mark I left earlier in Noire, noticing the hint of metallic taste from the spot of blood at the corner of her mouth. Gently, I set her in the bath and she lets out a moan of satisfaction.

"This is heaven." She sighs, her eyes fluttering shut, and she leans against the soft headrest at the end of the tub.

Layers of bubbles cover her body, the jets emitting a low hum and Millie moans as the hot water is no doubt soothing her sore muscles.

Lust snakes through me and I quickly shrug out of my clothes and step into the bath with her.

Her eyes snap open, her gaze flaring and trailing down my chest, her mouth dropping open. Her pupils dilate and a pulse flutters rapidly on her neck, an enticing swath of crimson spreading over her pale skin.

Smiling, I lean forward and tug her toward me so her back is flushed against my front. She lets out another breathy moan as she settles in place. I pluck a grape from the tray and feed it to her luscious lips.

She takes in the fruit, her tongue licking my fingers before her mouth closes around them in a lusty suck.

"Fuck," I murmur, my cock as hard as steel again, pressing between the smooth swells of her ass. "I was wrong about you all along."

"Hmm…" She gyrates her luscious behind on my cock, moving up and down my throbbing length, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

"I thought you were a goodie-two-shoes, the sweet, bright soul against my darkness…but now I see, there was a slutty schoolgirl inside you all along," I rasp against her ear, my fingers traveling around her waist and reaching between her legs.

She winces as I slide my finger up her slit and gently massage her pussy before reaching up and angling her head toward me. "I'd fuck you, but you must be sore from the scene just now."

I press a soft kiss on her lips as she wiggles her luscious bottom against my cock.

"Stop driving me crazy, my little lark." I punctuate the statement with a thorough kiss, my fingers gripping her long hair, curling it around my hand as I taste her once more.

She sucks and licks, kissing with fervor, and a newfound euphoria pulses through my veins. I soften my kisses with gentle pecks and suctions, tasting every drop of heaven I can reach until I'm dragged back into the real world.

Shifting her in my arms so she's sitting upright, I reach for the shampoo and gently lather her strands, followed by conditioner, then spread body wash onto her body, massaging the tender globes of her breasts, her soft belly, my mouth pressing kisses onto every scrape and wound I can see even though pride streaks through me at the visual claim of ownership.

She turns around to face me and grins at whatever she sees on my face. "Feeling proud of yourself?"

My tongue swipes over my teeth and I smirk before responding, "Very much so."

Her fingers trail over my face, caressing my jaw, my nose, my lips, as if memorizing me by touch. I close my eyes, enjoying her gentle touch on my skin, feeling her light seeping into my body with her healing grazes. Her hands trail down my neck, over my Adam's apple, to my chest, and then she pauses.

I open my eyes, finding her staring at the pendant in her fingers, her thumb grazing the tiny diamond studded key within the silver lock.

"It's beautiful," she murmurs.

Mom's words float to my mind.

"Someday, you'll want to give your heart to someone else. That's what love is, you know? To have your heart live outside of you. It's scary…but beautiful."

Visions of her wearing the key around her slender neck, her eyes reflecting love toward me, flood my mind and the lump grows in my throat.

Dreams. These are dreams within the utopia of today. Only for today.

She's the glorious bird who has just learned how to spread her wings to take on the world. The skies are her limit.

Some birds are too beautiful, their feathers too bright, to be kept imprisoned. I can never be the one to take that away from her, to lock her in a gilded cage, to ensnare her in a trap she can't escape from.

A more selfish man will say fuck it and be with her like this forever. In the shadows until she graduates and afterward, as a man and a woman together in love, no marriage, the ultimate middle finger to the terms of the trust. But the gentleman in me can't. It's not right to string her along if I can never marry her. It's not honorable.

Dad tried this before, with Grace and Taylor's mom. The relationship ended in heartbreak and my half-sisters were raised in poverty. Their mom died years later pining after Dad and the love they lost. It was a tragedy.

It is also a lesson for me. Don't do it.

If I can never give her the Anderson name because if I marry her, she'll have to give up her dreams and be trapped in the same prison with me, then isn't the right thing to do is nip this in the bud?

But for today, I can pretend there's no tomorrow, that this one moment will stretch endlessly until the end of the galaxies, until the last grains of sand run out in the hourglass governing the world.

This memory can sustain me for the rest of my life, especially on the lonely days and nights when I'm peeking out from behind my gilded bars and staring at the glorious meadowlark soaring in the endless skies, singing the most beautiful song.

"It was my mom's. She bequeathed it to me before she died."

Her fingers freeze over the pendant, her large eyes lifting and staring at me. Her nose flares and her delicate brows furrow with sympathy. "Oh, Ryland."

"She was the most wonderful soul. Vibrant. Happy. Patient. She had so much love to give and I was blessed to be on the receiving end of it when she was alive." I can drown in the depths of the passionate pools of blue in her eyes.

"This pendant symbolizes eternal love, the key being the only thing that can unlock the padlock of the heart," I rasp, my voice thickening. "I think she had hoped, someday…someday, I'd…I'd…"

I can't speak. The words won't come out of my mouth.

Millie's eyes glitter with unshed tears as she shifts closer and presses her soft lips against mine in a tender kiss. "She hoped you could find someone to love and unlock your heart as well. Of course she would."

She pulls back and clasps the pendant in her small hands. "You deserve to be loved, Ryland Anderson. You deserve to be filled with light and to live for yourself."

I curl my hand over hers so our hands are both wrapped around the pendant, the pendant I desperately want to pull apart and see the key hanging safely around her neck.

Dropping my forehead against hers, I whisper, "How can I when Maxwell won't ever experience the same love? How can I listen to my heart and leave the burdens to my siblings?" How can I take away your dreams? How can I make everyone I care about lose everything?

Her forehead pinches. "Maxwell? Won't he want you to be loved as well?"

Closing my eyes, I swallow the breath trapped in my throat. "He will. He's selfless that way."

I sigh. "The men in our family aren't lucky in love, especially the eldest male heir." I can't tell her about the curse or about the family trust. Not yet anyway. It's a heavily guarded secret in our family.

"Maxwell is older than me by seven minutes and he has experienced more tragedy in his life than he deserves. Because of his role in the family, he has trapped himself in our palatial estate, hiding himself from the world, protecting what's left of his heart. But you see," my eyes flicker open and I grab her hand, "he saved my life. Do you see the scar on my eyebrow?"

She nods, her fingers gently touching the faint slash above my eye.

"It was a horrible hunting accident. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't even be here. And because of fate, or whatever you want to call it, my brother spends his time hiding from everyone."

Millie's eyes soften with empathy, and she cradles my cheek in her palm. I lean into her healing touch and whisper, "He'll never find love, nor does he want to. His nature won't let him shoulder the public burdens of the family. If I don't do it, he'll need to step into my shoes. But isn't it cruel to ask him to give up solace, the one thing he has and can control, so I can go after my selfish desires?"

I tell her about the hunting accident and how Maxwell, without a second thought, threw himself on top of me, how he barely survived the boar attack. I mention how he also lost someone he loved dearly, besides our mom.

"But Ryland…you don't need to atone for sins you didn't commit. He won't want you to." She releases a shaky exhale, her eyes brimming with tears. "Don't be your worst enemy."

Tears for me, the selfish monster.

Her warmth wraps around my bleeding chest, stemming the flow of blood from a wound that has never healed. The bandage may be temporary, but I relish every second of her healing touch.

Perhaps she is right, and the devil inside me is myself. But he has my life clenched within his hands, his talons digging, choking, and I can't seem to escape from his clutches.