Ascension (16 page)

After a few minutes, he takes my arm in his hands and runs his fingers over my skin.

"Eve." He bends down, covering the cut with his mouth, licking it and it's so sexual, I can't help but respond. "Why do you hurt yourself?"

"Because I'm such an idiot."

"Shh," he says and takes my face in his hands and kisses me softly. Soon, the kiss becomes more intense, his arms more tightly around me, pulling my body against his.

When his hand reaches up under my dress, which has bunched up around my waist, touching my bare skin, I gasp and pull away, but he keeps me there, his cheek against mine, his hand on my skin. His breathing is heavy in my ear.

"Still not interested?"

"Julien, I-" I say, trying to find the words.

"No, it's OK." He pulls away, his hand withdrawing from under my dress. He takes my hand. "It's late. You're tired. Go to bed. I have to go out anyway."

I nod and wipe my eyes.

He stands and holds me in his arms for a moment then he releases me and leaves me alone.

When he's gone, I slip into the shower and wash off the tears from my face and dust from the floor under the bed then brush my teeth, staring at the red eyes and nose of my reflection in the mirror. I slip into my nightgown and go outside, tiptoeing to my bed. As I lie under the covers, I remember our kiss in the bedroom, how tender it had been at the start, and how both of us moved so easily into desire. The natural thing would be for me to have fucked him them, and I once more shut him out – even after he opened up and told me about his own pain. It makes my throat tight with emotion, my heart filled once more with regret.

I wake in the middle of the night, uncertain of what woke me at first, and then I realize Julien's standing by the bed, just watching me. I close my eyes quickly and try not to give any sign that I'm awake. After a few moments, he leaves and goes over to the seating area, sitting in the darkness facing the windows.

As I lie there wondering what he's doing, why he isn't asleep, I remember his kiss, I remember how passionate he'd been and how willing he was to let me decide, not pushing any longer. Maybe he does care about me just a little. Maybe more than he expected.

I feel so incredibly lonely lying there in the huge empty bed with him sitting all alone just a few yards away. In truth, I realize I want him. I want to have him on top of me, I want to feel his skin against my skin, to kiss him, to feel him inside of me, in my mind and in my body. To feel that sweet oblivion with him that I felt with Michel.

He's not Michel. He's himself. I want him.

I fight with myself, torn between desire and guilt. But the overwhelming sense I have is one of want for him, a need for him that finally overcomes my sense of what's right, what's acceptable.

Breathless, I slip out of bed and remove my panties, dropping them beside the bed, determining to leave my anxiety behind as well. I cross the floor to where he sits. When he sees me standing there, he startles a bit.

"Eve. What's the matter-"

I kneel down between his thighs, my arms slipping around his waist. He exhales loudly as I press myself against him and his hands slide down my back, then up beneath my nightgown and along my back.

"Oh,
God
," he says. His hands slip back down to my bare buttocks and he pulls me closer. We stay like this for a few minutes, not kissing, just touching, and I can see his startled expression, and it sends a thrill through my body.

"How did you know?" I whisper, watching his face, remembering the words he spoke to me in my apartment when he broke out of the SCU. "Why were you so sure this would happen?"

He shakes his head.

"I didn't know. I only wanted. And when I want something," he says and runs his hands up along my back again. "I do everything in my power to get it."

"I want you," I say and lean in, my lips searching for his, finding them soft and open, his tongue right there, touching mine. My body responds immediately to the feel of it, of his hands on my bare skin. This is the moment – he told me I'd remember what he said, word for word, and I do.

"Julien," I whisper when the kiss ends, and he just sits there waiting. "Please,” but he stops me, pressing his finger against my lips.

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t say it.” He pulls me up and into his lap, kissing me deeply, one hand sliding around to my breasts. The feel of his hand cupping my breast, his fingers on my nipple, squeezing it, sends a shock of lust through me, my flesh throbbing in response, my breath catching in my throat.

Then he stops. "This is no good," he says, his voice thick.

"What?" Alarm fills me – what's he doing? Will he reject me now in some kind of twisted revenge?

"No, this won't work." He shakes his head. "I need more light. I'm not fucking you in the dark."

He stands, lifting me up with him, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me over to the office. "Vasily," he calls out. "Wake up."

Vasily sleeps on a fold-out cot in a corner of the office space. He sputters awake. I press my face in Julien's shoulder, embarrassed that Vasily will know what's happening.

"What's wrong?"

"Go sleep downstairs and turn on all the lights on your way out."

"Turn them
on
?"

"Yes. Hurry." Julien carries me over to the bed. "Hurry, Goddammit," he whispers in my ear. I can't stop from smiling, my body responding to the urgency in his voice.

The lights flash on, one bank after another, making me blink in pain from the abrupt change.

He
lays
me down on the side of the bed, leaning over me, kissing me, his kiss intense from the start, his tongue insistent. Then, he stops to pull my nightgown up and off me, so that I lie naked beneath him, my arms beside my head. He stands up, pulling my legs away from his waist, one hand on each of my knees so that I lie completely open for him to see every part of me. His face takes on such an expression of desire that I can't help but respond.

He runs his hands down the inside of my thighs, his fingers soft, slipping beside but not touching my sex, then up over my belly, sending a sensation of such lust through me that I gasp, my breath hitching in my throat.

He touches me all over, my breasts, my nipples, my neck, down my arms to my hands, kissing me as he lies on top of me for a moment, then his hands move back down again, his eyes hungry, and he starts to remove his clothes, ripping open his shirt and removing his pants, his underwear and socks. Then, his fingers explore my sex, slipping over my mound, fingers sliding between my outer lips, his thumb finding my hard clit, his groan of delight when he does, the sensation making my back arch.

"You're so fucking perfect." He lies back on top of me, his mouth now moving over my body, kissing me, the skin on my neck where he bit me, my throat, tonguing my nipples as he cups my breasts, running his teeth softly over each nipple, coaxing them to hardness, sucking each one in turn, each time making me gasp with increased desire.

He pulls me up farther on the bed, and I lean back on my elbows, watching as he begins kissing my belly, his hands pushing my thighs apart, kissing each thigh in turn, his fingers searching out my sex, spreading me open, finding my clit once more with his tongue, the sensation so sweet that I feel momentarily dizzy and I lie back, letting the feelings of his mouth on me, his tongue on me, wash over me, building my lust even higher.

"Eve," he says, between kissing and tonguing me. "Why did you deny me for so long?"

I gasp when he slips fingers inside of me, stroking me while he tongues my clit, sucks it, and I can feel my orgasm is close.

"I'm going to—" I say, biting my bottom lip.

"Oh, no you're not," he says and stops what he's doing. "Not yet."

I groan when the sensations stop, unconsciously moving my hips, searching for the sensations of his fingers moving inside me, of his mouth on me.

"Just relax for a minute," he says. "This is too fast, even if I've waited too damn long. Breathe."

I swallow hard, trying to comply, but my flesh aches so much, feels so swollen, ready to burst, that I can't help but move just a bit.

"You're a greedy little thing," he says, his voice a mix of amusement and lust. "I like that."

I lie waiting, wanting him to continue, my breathing shallow, my body so ready.

"Please."

"Please, what?"

I'm barely able to think let alone talk,

"Please don't stop."

He lowers his mouth to me once more and soon, the pleasure builds inside.

"Tell me when you're close again," he says, stopping his motions.

His tongue touches me lightly then withdraws and I can't help it – I strain, pressing my hips up, searching for the sensation. My body's shaking as I try to find him, my face flushed.

"I'm going to come," I say once more and he stops, withdrawing his fingers, rising up to lean back over me, kissing me.

"Just breathe, Eve. The longer you wait, the better it'll be."

"I've waited long enough."

"Oh, you have," he says and leans over me, pulling me back down so that I'm positioned at the end of the bed once more. "And so have I."

He kisses me again and presses his erection against me, pressing it between the lips of my sex, and I thrust against him, hungry to feel him inside of me. He stands up and rubs the head against me, the slick wetness of it feeling almost as good as his mouth. He thrusts his hips, running his length against me, stopping to tease the opening to my body, repeating the motion until I feel as if my head will burst.

He enters me finally, his entire length filling me up, and begins thrusting, and it feels so good, so sweet, that I feel as if I'll pass out, groaning, closing my eyes when our minds connect and I feel his lust on top of my own.

"I'm going to-"

"No, don't close your eyes," he says, his voice shaking as he leans over me. He takes my chin in his hand. "Look at me. Look at me when you come."

I open my eyes and watch him above me, his eyes on me, sweat on his forehead, and feel the sensations build until the sweetness of it overtakes me, making me tense up, me body spasming around him as he thrusts, my eyes closing despite my best intentions, a cry escaping my lips.

He groans as my orgasm crests and starts to subside, and he rises up, pulling my hips lower, thrusting harder, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me to meet him with each thrust. Then he grimaces in pleasure, grunting as he comes, his body shaking.

He collapses on top of me and kisses me. My emotions overwhelm me, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes because as much as I enjoyed this, it should be Michel. I turn my head to the side, not wanting him to see me, but he turns my face back and kisses me.

He already knows how I feel.

He leaves me in the night while I’m asleep and I wake, my body feeling finally some relief but the empty bed makes me feel empty inside. I wanted him here when I woke. I’ve been alone so long.

When I get up for the day, I peer out into the main living area, where Vasily is sitting drinking coffee.

“Where’s Julien?”

“Gone out of town.”

I frown. “For how long?”

Vasily shrugs. “He didn’t say. Maybe one week.”

I go back into my room and sit on the bed, an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach.

CHAPTER 15

“Love possesses not nor will it be possessed for love is sufficient unto love.”

Khalil Gibran

The week goes by
, each day the same as the one preceding it. No word from Julien, nothing from Vasily. I'm now angry as well as hurt. By Saturday, I'm numb to the whole business. My feelings about him – whatever they were – were misplaced. Of course they were – he's a vampire and once again I think about my traitorous heart. Like Michel, the mission comes before everything else.

I decide to blot him out of my memory. I needed a dose of reality. He gave it to me. I should thank him. I'll act as if nothing happened between us if he does come back. That his being gone was noted but that I haven't fallen apart. If he tries to touch me, I'll just let him, and not respond positively or negatively. I'll just let him do whatever he wants. It won't be because I've begged him or chosen him.

That's what he wants, after all. My compliance.

It's while I'm practicing the Ballade that he arrives back at the apartment. When I hear the door open, I know it's him, and for a moment, just a second, I wonder how to respond. Should I stop playing and wait for him to come over? Should I keep playing as if I didn't notice him being back?

I decide to keep playing but to acknowledge his presence when he comes over.

He takes his coat off and boots and comes to join me at the piano. I try with all my might not to trip up in my playing. I don't want to give him the pleasure of knowing how upset I am, and I realize I am upset.

And I am so upset, despite all my best intentions. I breathe deeply when he approaches to calm my beating heart. He stands at the side of the piano watching as I play. When I come to the end of the piece I stop and just sit there.

He says nothing, and so finally I look directly at him. He looks haggard, if a vampire can look tired. He's dressed in something a bit more formal, black pants, a black jacket and a white shirt open at the collar, the tie undone. He's so attractive that my heart does a flip-flop and I hate myself.

He smiles, his eyes hooded.

"You've been practicing like a good girl."

"I'm not a girl. Besides, I want to play it better – for myself."

"Why don't you put something pretty on? We're going out for dinner."

A shock goes through me at that. He's just going to act as if nothing happened?

"We are? What about security?"

"Don't worry about that," Julien says. "All taken care of. I'm hungry and I'd bet a thousand that you’ve barely eaten anything but rabbit food today."

"You go ahead. I'm not really hungry." I touch the keys. I play the beginning of Ballade again. I feel as if I couldn't swallow a morsel.

"That's fine. You don't have to eat. I want company. Just go," he says and waves his hand towards the bathroom, "and put something pretty on. My eyes are hungry, too."

I stand and comply without a word. I wonder what game he's playing – is he just reinforcing how he's in control and I have no choice but to comply?

Does it really give him that much pleasure?

Of course it does. I'm such a fool. Give up your silly romantic fantasy world. He's a vampire and a killer. A monster, as even he admitted – he'd kill me if he felt it was justified. Yeah, he'd fuck me and enjoy it. But he'd kill me, too.

Period.

I sort through my clothes, unsure what to wear. I don't have a lot of pretty things, as most of my money during college went to rent and expenses. The only piece of clothing I have other than Luke’s gift that is the least bit pretty is a black dress I wore last Christmas for the party for students in the pre-med program. It's a bit too dressy, knee-length, with a sleeveless wrap bodice made out of black lace with a deep cut neckline and fitted skirt.

Whatever. I put it on, glance at myself in the mirror. I decide to put my hair up, clipping it up in back with a barrette.

Fuck him. I'm his hostage even if I've fucked him. That's Stockholm Syndrome. I've been totally dependent on him and am at his mercy.

I walk back out to the living area and wait while Julien finishes speaking on his cell. When he looks up, he tilts his head to one side as if appraising my choice. He comes to me and takes my hand, then turns me around in a pirouette. He whistles softly.

"You look lovely."

My cheeks burn and I have to glance away.

"But I think your hair should be down." With that, he pulls the clip out of my hair and my hair falls down around my shoulders and down my back. "Look how nice it is against the black lace. It looks like silk."

Julien helps me into my coat. Damn him – why is he being such a gentleman when I want him to be a jerk so I can hate him?

Dinner is a quiet affair, with Julien eating as if he's ravenous, his focus on his meal, while I content myself with nibbling on a salad and drinking a glass of white wine.

The wine does me good, for it relaxes me a bit, warms me up. He pours me another glass from the bottle he ordered, and I drink it down as well while he works on his food, and now, I’m beginning to enjoy the buzz I get from the wine. I've never been a drinker except on the rare occasion when I was with a man and sex was involved. I found that two or three glasses was about all I could handle before becoming a giggling drunk so I stop, covering my glass when he tries to pour more.

"No, really," I say, "I can't drink any more."

"Why? You've only had two glasses. Live a little."

I sigh as he pours yet another glass, but I'm determined not to drink it. I'll just pretend. I don't want to get drunk and lose control for fear I say something I'll regret.

Julien finally pushes his plate away and leans back, his own glass of wine in hand. He appraises me from overtop of his glass as he drinks – his eyes feel so judging. I sip at my wine, trying not to look him in the eye. He doesn't look like a monster tonight. He looks like a very pale and very handsome man.

"So, Eve," he says and leans forward, licking his lips, his tongue lingering a little too long on his bottom lip. "Did you miss me?"

I put my glass down with a bit too much force and the wine sloshes around, a few drops spilling out. Bastard! I mop it up with my napkin and then look at him, trying my best to keep my face neutral.

"Did you miss me?" I say.

"I sure missed those sweet dimples of yours." He smiles, not wide, just a bit, his expression dark, lusty. "And your nice round ass."

I can't help it – my body responds to his words. How is that possible? How could he affect me like that with just a few words when I was hating him?

Despite my resolve, I take a sip of my wine, a big sip. I say nothing, just glance around at the deserted restaurant, at the white tablecloths, the good silver cutlery, the dark mahogany woodwork, the polished hardwood floors. Anything but his leering face.

He holds up his wineglass.

"I propose a toast, to me, to my success on my trip."

I hold my glass up and touch his.

"Congratulations."

I take another sip. The wine is rather nice, not that I know anything about wine, but it feel smooth against my tongue and has a nice aftertaste. I relax a bit more and lean against the deeply cushioned banquette seat.

Julien tries to pour more wine into my glass.

"No, please," I say, trying to cover my glass, but he insists. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"You seem to need a bit of softening up so I thought I'd ply you with liquor." He fills my glass almost to the rim. "Besides, all work and no play makes for a dull girl."

"I feel dull," I say, the warmth in my belly and in my veins making me lose my resolve not to engage him. "Mentally dull."

"You think too much. Just 'be'," he says, waving his fingers at me. "Let life happen. Don't always try so hard to be in control. Give in."

"Give in to you."

He smiles, his eyes narrowing.

"Now you're talking."

I sigh, the wine making me feel loose.

"Why should I give in? I need to have some self-respect."

"Eve," he says, leaning forward. "You like it when a man takes control. You get off on it. You need it to really allow yourself to feel." He leans a little closer, looking at me over his wine glass. "Really."

"I thought you weren’t into dominance and submission."

"I'm into pleasure, and if that makes it more pleasurable for you, I'm all for it. I don't need it but you do. Now, drink up," he says and waves at my glass. "It's time to go."

I take a sip, but there's almost half a glass left and I feel far too warm already.

"No, no, no," he says and shakes his head. "All of it." He mimes lifting a glass to his lips and waits, his eyebrows raised.

I take a deep breath and comply, the wine sliding down my throat, warming my stomach.

"That's my girl," he says and takes my arm, helping my up from the table. He wraps my coat around me from behind and nuzzles his face against the back of my neck for just a moment. He inhales deeply and the touch of his lips on my skin makes my knees feel weak. He practically holds me up as we walk out the door, Vasily paying the bill.

Damn
. I laugh at myself as I plop onto the back seat of the car.

Julien moves my legs over and buckles me up when I fumble with the latch.

"What's so funny?" he asks, smiling.

"I am," I say, my mouth feeling all cottony. I watch him as he sits back and looks at me from beneath hooded eyes. "I'm so naïve."

"Oh, you
are
," he says and leans over to me, his arm around my shoulder. He plays with a lock of my hair. "I like that. I like the prospect of teaching you the ways of the world, Eve. I like the idea of slowly but ever so surely corrupting you. It gets me really," he says and pauses. "
Hard
." He takes my hand and places it on his lap, moving my fingers over his length and I can feel just how hard. It shocks me back into reality.

The car stops at the warehouse. Julien helps me out, his arm around me. We go up the elevator in silence.

Once inside, he turns on the banks of lights so that the entire floor is brightly lit. He pulls me against him after shooing Vasily downstairs.

He takes me in his arms and tries to kiss me, and part of me wants to just give in but I don't. I dig my fingers into my palm. He presses his lips against mine and holds them there, but I don't respond.

He lets go and just stands there, looking away. He doesn't say anything for a moment, his hands on his hips staring at the apartment. Finally he turns to me.

"You wanted to fuck me the other night. You want to fuck me now." He shakes his head. "Just fuck me."

"And if I say no?"

"Why would you say no?"

Now it's my turn to shake my head.

"If someone offers me a line of cocaine, I'd say no. Why? Because it would hurt me."

"You see?" he says, throwing his hands up. "That's where you're wrong. You need to say yes to experiences. How can you know what's good and what's bad unless you try?" He walks in a circle as if he feels trapped. "Do nothing, risk nothing, choose nothing, and nothing is your responsibility. Being 'good' is not really your choice if you never actually make it. If you never really know what's bad – really know – and choose not to do it."

"I don't have to do something bad to know it's bad."

"Eve, how can pleasure be bad?" He stands there, his hands extended to me. "How can fucking me be bad?"

I'm unable to comprehend how he can't comprehend.

"Because," I say, turning away. "You'll break my heart. I don't need to have it broken to know that."

He grabs me by the arms and turns me to face him.

"Then break your heart. At least then you'll know you have one. Isn't that why you cut yourself? Because you turned off when you were a girl and now you need pain to feel anything other than a desire for revenge?"

"Why did you leave without saying anything?"

There. I said it. Having that last glass of wine was a mistake – I knew it was, but I did it anyway. It's the story of my life since I met him and his brother.

He lets go of me.

"That's what all this is about? Because I didn't leave you a little note saying,
'Dear Eve, Off for a week. Hugs and kisses
, you're in a state?"

"Would it have hurt to do something?"

He takes my coat off and hangs it up, takes his own off and does likewise. Then he grabs my hand.

"Come here," he says and brings me over to the seating area, pulling my down on his lap, my legs straddling him, my arms on his shoulders. Moving so fast makes me dizzy and I have to hold my head for a moment.

"Eve," he says, lifting my chin so I have to try to focus on his face. "I went out of town for important business. Yes, I do actually work. It really doesn't matter why I left. I leave when I have to. I didn't know I'd have to leave for a week at the time. Something came up. An opportunity – one that yielded some good information. I didn't have time to come up and leave you a note. And you can't expect me to. You can't expect anything from me."