Betrothed By Blood, Bounded By Love

A Night To Forget

The low, crimson light washed over the room, through the villa’s tall windows, and there were shades of soft, cool moonlight with the color of spilled red wine.

The light, like having physical hands, had a warm caress with a whispering of forbidden desires.

Allison could feel the air, heavy with the lingering scent of mint and rose, running through her nose and filling her taste buds, and for a moment it looked like an escape from a truth that brought nothing sorrow to her heart.

She needed to escape the overwhelming pull of his presence. "Could you... Show me to the shower?" she asked, her voice filled with an unspoken conflict, a desire to commit a forbidden lust raged inside her, the excitement of being consumed by a desire she knew was wrong.

“It's over there, sweetheart,” he said —his voice sending shivers down her spine, the tone causing tremors of dark desire within her as she gets more sweaty.

She stepped into the shower, his voice still echoing right into her ears as a low hum filled with pleasure. As the water pours against her skin, it brings a moment of welcome relief. However, the fire of desire was still red-hot inside, unquenchable it was at that moment.

Her hands followed the shape of her curvy body as the water poured over her —a body that felt foreign to her now, longing to be owned by a total stranger.

Each droplet of water felt like a kiss, a caress that merely readied someone for a touch more intense. This shower didn't bring escape; instead, it was a burning coal that flamed it up.

Allison steps out of the shower with a towel on, still wrapped in clouds of desire —the steam still clinging tightly to her skin, the droplets of water glistering around her shoulders.

More telling than any words, his breath hitched –a sharp, audible intake of the air, the sight of her white hair made him pause, for a brief second, a flicker of something unreadable—recognition? Confusion? —crossed his face.

But he quickly dismissed the idea. It was probably just one of the many low-life born around the city, he thought —the bastards of a Shelby or a Wenston, born on the streets and forgotten, as his gaze traveled on.

The gaze traveled from off her face and on down through the elegant curve of her neck, lingering upon the slope of her hips. His body's stillness was more charged than any action, even though he didn't move.

The silence was not a void; it was a living presence, heavy with an unspoken language of want.

He meets her with a glass of red wine, as he leans forward, gently sweeping her hair from her neck, and his lips tracing a path down her neck. “For you,” he whispered, as he pressed the cool glass into her hand.

Allison's hands trembled as they fastened on the glass of wine. He wrapped his hands around her curvy waist, drawing her into himself until her body touched his.

The intoxicating scent of him had erased all of Allison’s worries about duty and obligation. All that she could think about was just the taste of his own lips, just the feel of his soft touch, and also the desperate, burning need for this moment to consume her.

The night quickly turned into a blur of intense desire, a dream of desperate passion. Allison had given herself over to the moment — a stranger, a complete surrender of her body, soul, and spirit so complete it looked as if she had ceased to exist.

He eventually led her to bed, and in a blur of touches and kisses, they made love. At that moment, Allison felt alive with quiet moans escaping her lips.

For a few erotic hours, the relentless pull of her duty and her fears simply vanished.

The next morning, Allison wakes up but feels exhausted and wonderfully alive at the same time. She noticed she was alone, as she looked over at the other end of the bed, and found breakfast in bed just like how it happens in the movies.

She also noticed a piece of note right next to the nightstand. She picked it up, with her heart pounding a familiar beat, as she read it.

Thank you for this beautiful, memorable night.

The memory of you will be something I hold on to. Be well —A stranger

Allison's POV

A bittersweet taste loomed inside me. I'd developed a crack in my heart, because I wasn't going to see him anymore. Still caught up in the flame of desire, I realized I had to get back to my hotel. My father’s driver will be arriving soon.

As I got to my hotel room, my mind was still a whirlwind. I couldn’t get the event of the night off my head. I held myself tightly, as if to feel his touch one last time.

A part of me was desperate for him, and I was consumed by the desire to have him close again. I could still smell him on my skin.

A few moments later in the room, I heard a knock on the room door. It was a hesitant tap. I got to the door and found my ride back home. At the other end, the driver had come to pick me up.

However, a desperate feeling pulsed through me, a need to shove the door closed, turn the lock, and pretend I hadn't seen him, just to wait back and have a glimpse of the stranger one more time, but I realized I had no choice but to go.

As we drove out of the Citadel, I got lost in the fiery memory of last night, the forbidden affection, the heat of it, the reckless passion —it turned me on.

"Why can't I live an ordinary life?," I whispered. The question brought a bitter taste to my mouth, as the reality of my betrothal to Michael crashed back in.

The closer we drove to the house, the more my heart leaned backwards, toward the Citadel, toward the forbidden desire I couldn't dare speak about.

We finally got to the mighty Wenston’s Mansion. As I was walking right through the front door, servants and my father's men all greeted me with a smile.

But then, a sharp intake of breath caught my throat. He was there —the stranger.

My heart seized, the stranger was walking out of my house. He was there, dressed as part of father's men. I wanted the ground to swallow me up as I caught a glance at him. My mind screamed aloud with a silent prayer: Please, let it all be a dream..

My father came towards me and gave me a sweet welcoming hug, as he was glad to see me back home, yet I was lost in the denial of what I'd just seen. I eventually sat down, and could hear talk of a dinner party that was supposedly meant for me.

But all I could think about was the man who had just left my house—the stranger from the Citadel