VENGEANCE IN HIS BED

Episode 7

The cool night air of California did nothing to soothe the frantic ringing in my ears. I continued to watch Ethan across the room, the light hitting the sharp line of his jaw as he offered a curt nod to a senator. He looked like a king, but all I could see was a man who collected secrets and kept them in velvet-lined graves.

He caught my eye and gave a subtle tilt of his head. The signal, it was time to leave.

I moved toward him with a speed that bordered on desperation, my heels clicking sharply against the marble. The limo was parked right outside the hall and we got in instantly, the chaffeur shut the door, making the world a vacuum of leasther and silence.

The interior of the limousine was bathed in a dim, sapphire ambient light that made the midnight-blue silk of my dress look like deep sea water. He looked at me with a heavy gaze, hooded with a dark intensity that made my breath hitch.

He reached for the console, pulling out a bottle of vintage red. He poured himself a glass, the liquid looking like dark blood in the blue light as he took a long, slow drink, his eyes never leaving my corner.

I just want to get back to Leo, that was the only way I would be at peace tonight. My mind was a hurricane of pine boxes and silver lockets, but as he took another sip of wine, his eyes fixed on the swell of my breasts above the neckline of my dress, my skin began to hum.

He set the glass down carefully. With the car still moving, the city lights blurring past the tinted windows, but inside, the air was thickening.

"Come here!”

I should have stayed in my seat but the fear, the rage and confusion I had been feeling all night suddenly surged into something else. I slid across the leather seat until I was inches from him.

He didn't hesitate as he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me into a kiss that tasted of expensive grapes and raw, unadulterated hunger. It wasn't the slow burn of the study, but a complete firestorm. I returned it with a ferocity that surprised us both, my tongue tangling with his, my hands digging into the fine wool of his tuxedo. It was a collision of two people trying to outrun their own ghosts.

He pulled the silk of my dress down, exposing me to the cool air of the car. He didn't wait for me to be ready before his hands were everywhere, rough and possessive. He lifted me, settling me over his lap so I was straddling him, the midnight silk bunched around my waist.

"Tell me you want this," he growled against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin where the hickey from last night still pulsed.

"I do," I gasped, the lie and the truth blending into one.

He didn't bother with the seats, he just stayed seated, his hands gripping my hips with enough force to leave bruises. When he entered me, it was a slow, agonizingly deep thrust that made my head fall back against the roof of the limo. His thick d**k massively stretching me, filling the void with a rhythmic, consuming heat.

It was rough, a desperate, grinding friction that felt like an exorcism. I moved with him, my nails drawing lines down his back through his shirt, my moans muffled against his shoulder. He increased the pace, his breathing becoming a series of guttural rasps, driving into me with a relentless power that made the car feel like it was spinning out of control.

It was the most consuming connection I’d ever known, slow enough to feel every inch of him, yet rough enough to make me forget my own name. When he finally cums, his body tensing into a cord of steel beneath me, I followed him over the edge, my vision sparking as I collapsed against his chest.

The silence that followed was broken only by our jagged breathing and the hum of the tires on the driveway. I looked out the window and realized with a jolt that we were already parked in front of the estate. The driver was gone, discreetly waiting elsewhere.

The reality of what I had just done hit me like a physical blow. I scrambled off his lap, my hands shaking as I pulled my dress back into place and fumbled with the zipper while he sat there in the shadows, his face unreadable, watching me intently.

"Leo," I whispered.

I didn't wait for him to speak, I quickly pushed the door open and ran. I ran through the grand entrance, my heels echoing like gunshots in the silent foyer.

I expected the house to be empty, but as I reached the living room, I froze.

Leo was there laying on the long velvet sofa, properly tucked into a thick, cream-colored duvet. He looked small and peaceful, his breathing steady.

Sitting right opposite him in a wingback chair was Mrs. Holloway. She had a book in her hand, her glasses perched on the edge of her nose. She looked up as I burst in, her gaze traveling over my disheveled hair, and perhaps the wrinkled silk of my dress.

She didn't say a word but just stared at me with an expression that was part pity and part cold, clinical observation.

I didn't give her the satisfaction of a greeting or acknowledgement. I rushed to the sofa, checking Leo’s forehead. He was cool, I carefully gathered him into my arms, duvet and all. He stirred slightly, murmuring "Mommy?" before falling back into a deep sleep against my shoulder.

I turned and carried him toward the elevator, heading back to the safety of our chambers. I didn't look back at Mrs. Holloway, but I could feel her eyes burning into my back, a silent witness to the mess I was making of my mission.

I laid Leo down on his bed, the thick duvet from the living room still smelling faintly of the main house’s expensive cedar polish. He didn't even wake as I tucked him in, his small face finally free of the pallor of sickness. I stood over him for a long moment, my own heart performing a jagged dance against my ribs.

The silence of the sub-level was deafening. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom press of Ethan’s hands, the rough slide of his palms against my thighs, and the way his voice had broken when he growled my name.

I stripped off the dress, the fabric feeling like a leaden weight. I threw it into the corner of the bathroom, disgusted by how much I had enjoyed being f****d by the man who was supposed to be my enemy.

I stepped into the shower, turning the handle until the water was scalding, almost painful. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the scent of his scotch and the lingering heat of the limousine. I looked at myself in the steamed-up mirror, seeing the dark, plum-colored marks on my neck and the swell of my lips. I looked like a woman who had been thoroughly possessed with demons.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped myself in a robe, my eyes landing on my bag I’d stashed in the corner. I pulled out the silver locket, the metal cold against my damp skin.

This time, with the adrenaline of the s*x faded into a dull, throbbing guilt, I looked closer. I ran my thumb along the edge of the heart, feeling for the seam. There, near the hinge, was a tiny, almost invisible indentation. I used the edge of a small pair of tweezers from my vanity to pry at it.

The back of the locket opened and clicked. A false back popped forward, revealing a hollow space no thicker than a fingernail.

Tucked inside was a microscopic SIM card.

I looked at my laptop sitting on the desk. I wanted to plug it in, to see what was on that card, but I couldn’t. Not when Ethan already hacked my system. The moment I inserted this into a device connected to the house’s network, he’d know. I carefully clicked the false back into place and hid the locket back in the lining of my bag. I would have to wait and find a way to access it outside these walls.

I reached for my travel bag, my fingers digging through the tangled mess of clothes in search of my pajamas. My hand hit something cold, smooth, and solid at the very bottom.

I pulled it out, and for the first time in days, a genuine, breathless squeal escaped my lips.

My vibrator.

"Thank God," I whispered, clutching the sleek device to my chest like a holy relic. I had thought I’d left it behind in the frantic move, but here it was, my little lifeline and my way to stay sane.

I quickly pulled on my gown and crawled into bed beside Leo. He was out cold, his breathing deep and even. I closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to claim me, but my body was having none of it.

Even after the way Ethan had thoroughly, brutally taken me in the back of that car, the friction of the leather against my skin and his large hands pinning my knees back, my nerves were still screaming. My skin felt too tight, my blood too hot. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom weight of him pressing me into the seat, his mouth devouring mine while the city lights blurred outside the tinted glass.

"What is wrong with you?" I hissed into the dark, my frustration boiling over. I was supposed to be his ruin, not his devotee.

The softness of the mattress felt like a lie and I couldn’t stay in bed for long. I got up and grabbed the vibrator from my bag and slipped onto the floor, the cold stone biting into my skin. It was a grounding chill, a necessary penance.

I hiked my gown up to my waist, baring myself to the shadows. I clicked the device on, the low, steady hum vibrating against my palm. I pressed it against my slick, swollen heat, and a rough moan broke from my throat immediately.

I closed my eyes and let the fantasy take over. I knew I didn't really want this plastic but him. I imagined his dark, piercing eyes watching me from the doorway. I imagined him walking over, his silk shirt discarded, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed me whole.

I began to move my hips against the floor, the hard stone providing a punishing friction that the bed couldn't offer. I pictured his hands replacing the device, those rough, powerful hands that knew exactly how to make me unravel. I thought about the sheer, terrifying size of him, the way he filled me until I thought I would break, and the guttural way he growled my name when he lost control.

"Ethan..." I whimpered, the name a sin on my tongue.

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a high-voltage wire vibrating in my gut. I worked the device harder, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps as I chased the memory of his touch. I wasn't Claire Collins, the grieving sister or the undercover spy. I was just a woman, raw and desperate, enslaved by the memory of a man who was likely upstairs sleeping without a second thought of me.

When the c****x hit, it was a violent, crashing wave that made my vision go white. I arched my back, my fingers digging into the rug as the release tore through me, leaving me shaking and spent on the cold floor.

I stayed on the floor for a while, the hum of the vibrator eventually fading into silence. The shame should have been immediate, but it was drowned out by a terrifying realization.

I had my tool back. I had a way to satisfy myself. And yet, as I lay there in the dark, all I could think about was how much better it felt when it was him.

I was in deep and might be losing.

I remained still, my gown still hiked up, my chest heaving. The vibrator lay forgotten beside me and then the shame came eventually, cold and familiar, but it was too weak to fight off the exhaustion. I let my eyes drift shut right there on the rug, dozing off with the scent of him still ghosting over my skin, a traitor to my blood and my purpose.