Unfed
1121 Words
Selene Vale awakened in silk and sweat but not in love.
Her body was satisfied. Her skin was warm. But her heart was like marble left outside in winter unchanged, flawless, uninjured.
Damon lay with his arm still stretched across her waist, weighing her down with sleep. His breath was soft, his mouth opened just enough. He looked calm. Like s*x with her had meant something.
It hadn't.
She eased out from underneath him, barefoot on the cold marble floors of her penthouse suite. The city pulsed outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon blues and reds spinning across her bared shoulders. She glided through it all like smoke, like you couldn't hold on to her.
The robe was slung across the back of the velvet chair. Black silk. Made to order. Like everything she owned. Like nothing, she owned.
Damon stepped behind her.
"You always do this," he whispered. "Run."
Selene did not turn around. “You always say that as if it should stop me.”
He sat up and ran his hands through his unruly hair. Muscles bunched beneath golden-hued skin. He looked like the sort of man everybody would want.
But she didn't want him.
She wanted what he gave her. His body. His loyalty. His silence.
“Stay,” he whispered softly.
She turned around, tying the robe slowly, methodically. “Stay for what?”
He didn’t answer. He never did. Because they both knew the answer.
Damon Cross was addicted to her. Selene was addicted to being needed.
The espresso machine was hissing in the kitchen.
It just worked. The only thing in her life with a purpose she never doubted.
Her phone buzzed.
Nico
His name made her lips curl up.
Voice mail.
“Dad's still undecided. You think you’ve won already? Well, this is no marathon for the swift. It’s the marathon of the strong. You can enjoy your penthouse. Some of us actually work.”
She deleted it without hearing the rest of it.
Nico Blackwood. Three years older. Bitter for eternity. He loathed the fact she was younger. Loathed also that she was superior.
He was the golden boy of the family. Before, she turned the golden into flames and made everyone watch.
She looked at her calendar and scanned the day’s itinerary. Meetings. Events. PR rehearsals.
Nothing that would make her feel anything.
Damon came in behind her. Shirtless. As always, shirtless.
"You're thinking too loud," he replied.
Selene didn't answer.
He edged closer. His fingers caressed her waist. “Take me somewhere this weekend. Somewhere with sand. Quiet.”
She almost laughed. Damon looked calm.
Selene yearned for noise. Anything to break the silence in her chest. "Why on earth would I want silence?" she puffed out, "when the only thing noisier than quiet is you begging me?" He winced, although only slightly. But still, he grinned. He always smiled. "You know I'd still choose you. Even if you never loved me back."
Selene turned. Kissed him.
Not soft. Not sweet.
She kissed him like she wanted to remind him whose man he was. Her fingers delved into his hair, yanked. His lips crushed into hers. He pressed her back against the cold marble countertop, grunting into her mouth like he hadn't been with her hours ago.
Damon’s hands gripped her around the waist, as if he’d lose his hold if he didn’t. His lips moved along her neck, soft and adoring, following the line of her jaw, then her collarbone, then down. He moistened the edge of her ear with his tongue and whispered "I want you so badly".
Her phone vibrated on the countertop where they sat.
Selene withdrew it absently from her pocket, her arms still locked around his neck, mouth still agape. She read the message and laughed.
"What?" Damon breathed softly.
She tapped her screen and smiled. "Just been invited out. See?" She waved the notice in front of his face in mock taunting. "It seems I do have plans."
Damon blinked. "Now"
Selene shifted one of her hands down to his chest and pushed him back gently. “Yes. Now.”
He scowled.
She kissed his cheek with a grin. “You’re sweet when you think I care.”
Midnight
Selene sat in the rear of the car, pocket mirror at an angle in one hand and red lipstick in the other.
She sat forward with lips parted, staining her mouth with promise.
Every stroke was perfect. Every inch of her is luminous.
She didn't need praise. She gave her own testimony.
She hung up the mirror, straightened her dress, and stepped outside into the darkness.
The club was already aglow with low bass and warm light.
She spotted her friend near the VIP staircase with long nails, long legs, and her laugh made the men beg.
Selene came close to swaying and sultry.
They kissed their cheeks. Laughed. Moved themselves to an out-of-the-way lounge where the lighting was low and the vodka colder than most of the room.
“Your brother is so f*****g pathetic,” her friend LOL-ed, crossing her legs. So I heard the guy attempting to bribe the board with the small offshore pitch deck of his. God, to have so much ambition and still be so dull.”
Selene sipped her drink, grinning. "He has never despised me more than he despises me now. Which means I am doing absolutely everything right."
They laughed again. She could taste it in her chest: light and bubbly and with an edge to it. Good to be wanted. Better still to be feared.
Then she stood up. “Bathroom,” she said, sliding her heels off the edge of the table.
“Try not to fall,” her friend teased.
The hall was too long. Or maybe the floor was slower than she desired. Whatever the reason, Selene walked as if gravity had opinions.
She turned the corner and judged the step incorrectly and nearly ran into the wall. The heel of her shoe became wedged in the rug, her body pitched forward.
And as she was going to fall to the ground, someone caught her by the elbow.
Strong. Rocky. Cudd
Selene gasped as her breath caught in her throat. She gazed up.
And gazed into the face of a man who didn't smile.
Didn’t flirt.
Did not stare at her like she was meat to be eaten.
Simply looked. Like he was reading her and not gazing.
She would always remember this moment.
Not from the manner he treated her.
But because of the way he didn't.
Because this....., this nothing was going to be everything.
The beginning of the end.
For her.
For him.
For all in their turn.
- Writer
