Dark Light (The Dark Light Series) (22 page)

Dorian’s hand moves from my neck just so he can take a handful of my long tresses. He pulls down on my hair hard forcing my head backwards and leaving my entire throat open and exposed.
Shit.
He could slit my neck right now and I would die in sweet ecstasy. He keeps his grasp on my hair, using it to level himself as he continues to punish me viciously. His other hand frees my ass and finds its way to my neck. He holds on tightly and I feel his lips on my ear.

“IS. THIS. WHAT. YOU. WANT?!” he grunts through clenched teeth. When I don’t answer he pulls my hair harder, pushing himself even deeper. I didn’t think it was possible.

“YES!” I scream. 

He lets his hand leave my throat and rewards me by finding his way up my dress and to my breasts. He begins to fondle my erect nipples through the thin mesh fabric.

“IS. THIS. WHAT. YOU. WANT?!” His voice is so severe, almost menacing. There’s a dark element to it. I do not dare to hesitate this time.

“YES!” 

Again he rewards me, this time by moving south to my clit, stirring its swell. He releases my hair from its captivity and moves back to my throat, this time gripping it tightly. The sensation is… pleasurable, and it scares me.  

My senses are on overdrive. The room is spinning and I feel dizzy from my rapid breathing. My neck is strained so rigidly, I can barely make a sound. The intense tingle from my hypersensitive clit, the throbbing penetration that Dorian delivers, his firm hold on my neck- it is too much for me to endure. I can’t hold on any longer. The feeling is drowning me, taking me under. I have to climb higher. I have to escape this delicious misery and find release. 

Dorian’s breathing is rougher; he is searching for freedom of this torment as well, though he is the vicious tormenter. I feel him swell inside of me as he slows his pace and tightens his grip around my neck. I try to cry out but only a hoarse garbled stream of praise escapes. His growth is my defeat and I violently release a flood of intense passion, shuddering wildly. He loosens his grip and wraps his arms tightly around me, steadying himself in anticipation of his undoing. I am nearly limp in his arms when he finds his own sweet surrender, drawing me into him and gently leaving a trail of kisses on my neck and shoulders.

“How do you feel?” Dorian asks me after several minutes of listening to the sounds of our own ragged breaths. We’ve collapsed on the couch and he’s still positioned behind me.

I think about my answer for a beat then smile. “Ruined.” I can feel Dorian’s lips spread slightly at my ear. “And
hot
!” I still have on my sweaterdress and boots and the fabric is beginning to itch against my dampened skin. Dorian reaches down and pulls my dress up over my head, and I instantly feel cooler. He strokes my scanty bra.

“
Mmmm
, nice,” he murmurs at the romantic detailing. He kisses where my bra strap meets my shoulder then slides it to the side, leaving another kiss on the indention left behind on my skin. It’s sweet, tender. A total 180 from the Dorian that just choked me while pounding me hard from behind. He really is an enigma.

“Tell me something about yourself,” I say after a long minute passes. I really know very little about him and if we’re going to make this a regular thing, I should probably confirm that he isn’t an ax murderer.

“What do you want to know?” Dorian replies, playing with a tendril of my hair.

I take a deep breath. Ok, here goes. “About your family. What are they like?”

Dorian instantly goes rigid and releases my lock of hair coiled around his finger. I hear him take in a sharp breath and know that I’ve hit a sore spot. “What about them?” he says flatly.

I’m torn. On one hand, I want to press for information now that I know the subject affects him so much. On the other, I want to forget I ever asked him about his family and laugh it off in an attempt to keep this light and casual. I go with my gut. And my heart.

“Are you close with them?” I ask timidly. I stow my brazen nature for his sake and pray that my reticence puts him at ease.

Dorian takes a thoughtful moment to ponder his response. “I used to be,” Dorian mutters. 

I hear a hint of emotion in his voice. He abruptly clears his throat as if reading my thoughts. “My parents had high hopes for me. I was bright and strong-willed,” he laughs stiffly. “But I was stubborn. I rebelled and chose not to follow the path they had chosen for me. Didn't want to enter the family business, so to speak. Being the eldest son, that was a huge scandal.” He recalls the memory as if it were decades ago, the nostalgia in his voice resonating through his words. This recollection is
real.
 

“So I take it they’re very old fashioned. What was the family business?” I am genuinely interested. 

“Politics.” Dorian says amusingly. I’m intrigued as to why that would be humorous. Must be a family inside joke.

“So you rebelled, and they what? Disowned you?” 

“More or less. I was sent away for some years, cut off from everyone and everything I knew,” Dorian replies. “Hence the career change. We take tradition very seriously. In order for me to reclaim my place as their son, I have to become what they want me to be.” His voice is filled with pain, though I know he is trying to make light of the conversation.  

A piece of me hurts for Dorian. No child, no matter what path they may have chosen, should be abandoned by the people who should love them the most. When two people come together and make the conscious decision to create a life, they have an obligation to protect and love that child until death. Like Alexander and Natalia did for me. Tradition or not, there is nothing that Dorian could have done to be undeserving of the love and support of his parents. In an attempt to soothe his forlorn thoughts, I turn around to face him, letting his light blue eyes meld into mine. I just want to be his comfort in this moment. I just want to take away his pain. I only wish I knew how to.

I let my hand stroke Dorian’s cheek. It’s smooth with the prickly threat of stubble, leaving tiny tickles on my fingertips. Dorian closes his eyes and nuzzles his face into the touch as if it is his source of sustenance. He inhales the scent of my skin and lets out a serene sigh. He automatically unwinds and looks back up at me with grateful eyes. It’s odd, how I can bring him peace with such a modest gesture. I don’t question it though. I know he needs this; he needs this contact. 

“If you could, would you have done things differently?” I ask, unable to come up with anything better. I just want to keep him talking. 

Dorian’s mouth twists as if he is thinking. The gesture is adorable and makes him seem youthful and playful. “Yes. No. I can’t say.” He then looks at me, all humor gone from his eyes. “If I did things differently, you would not be here now.”

“Why do you say that?” I whisper. Something about the coldness in his tone stops me up short. 

Dorian closes his eyes and shakes his head lightly. When he reopens them, his eyes are no longer icy and grim. “I wouldn’t have come here. We would not have met,” he states simply with a shrug of his shoulders. The man is seriously complex. In the span of this short conversation, he has probably had 10 different mood swings. It’s hard to keep up.

“You never know. It’s a small world,” I say optimistically. I have to believe that everything happens for a reason. If Dorian and I were meant to be here, to share this moment, our paths would have crossed sooner or later.

“Not as small as you think,” he mutters. “Enough. I need you to put your dress back on,” Dorian says sitting up. He reaches for his pants and begins to slide them on. 

The fuck?
Is he really kicking me out like some cheap hooker? My face heats with rising fury. I sit up straight and snatch my sweaterdress from off of the floor and put it over my head in a huff, visibly annoyed. When I look back up, Dorian is smirking at me as if he is on the verge of laughing.

“What?” I snap coldly, standing up to face him.

“Just wondering what got into you. Besides me of course,” he chuckles though I don’t return his amusement. “Seriously, you have something against dinner?”

Shit
. Me and my quick temper. I smooth my dress over my hips, taking extra time to avoid eye contact and try to appear impassive. Here I was, thinking Dorian was dismissing me after sex, and all he wanted to do was take me to dinner.
Stupid, stupid, stupid
.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

“For what?” Dorian asks quizzically, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He knows why I am apologizing yet he wants to hear me say it. He wants me to admit my weakness.

“I thought…,” I begin timidly. I clear my cracking voice and pull my shoulders back, looking Dorian straight in the eye. “I thought you wanted me to leave. I was just having a
girl
moment,” I say shaking my head, as if to reject the notion.

“Well you
are
a girl, correct?” Dorian looks amused at my guffaw and my carnal instinct is telling me to smack that smug look right off his beautiful face. I opt to tease him instead. 

“Oh, that and so much more,” I say seductively, with hooded eyes, channeling my inner sex kitten. Dorian instinctively licks his lips. I expect him to push me back down on the couch but instead he grabs my hand, leading me out of his suite and to the elevator. 

The sounds of live music lure us to the Tavern and we are instantly greeted by a friendly hostess. She greets Dorian by his first name casually, even asking him a few questions about the opening of the salon as she leads us to our cozy, intimate table.
Hmmmm
.  So Dorian has been friendly with her.
How
friendly, is the question.  I quickly dismiss the thought, reminding myself that I, in fact, am not his girlfriend and have no right to ask him. Once we’re seated, the hostess, who Dorian calls Tiffany, hands us our menus and leaves us with a warm smile.

“How very informal of you...seems like you're pretty casual with the staff here,” I smirk. Dorian raises a curious eyebrow at me and I realize that my comment has come out much more snarky than I intended. He looks a bit offended. I perk up into a smile and decide to change my tactics. “So you must eat here often. Is the food as good as the music?” A band is playing the smooth sounds of a jazz piece, emitting a sultry, sexy vibe. 

“Eating in the suite gets old, so when I do get a chance to enjoy a meal, I like to come here. Much more
informal
than some of the other restaurants.” 

Crap
. So I have offended him. I engross myself in the menu to avoid eye contact. Let’s hope I’m able to eat anything seeing as I keep putting my foot in my mouth.

Dorian and I spend a few quiet minutes scanning the menu though I am mentally cursing myself the entire time. Maybe he’ll see I really am too crass and immature to deal with and he’ll dump me before I embarrass him further. The thought causes a clenching ache in my chest and I stifle an uneasy gasp. By the time our waiter arrives for our drink orders, I’m unprepared and stammering.

“Oh hi, uh…I’ll, um…,” I begin. 

Luckily Dorian swoops in and saves me, ordering bottles of wine and sparkling water before I really make a fool of myself. I am red-faced and mortified once the waiter leaves to retrieve our beverages. 

“Thanks,” I mutter. Shit. I’ve got to get it together. I’m not used to caring this much about what someone, especially a guy, thinks of me. It makes me feel weak, and I don’t like it one bit. 

“This place has excellent steak and seafood. Would you like me to order for you?” Dorian asks, a reassuring smile lighting his gentle eyes. He knows he’s totally unraveled me and now he pities me.
Ha!

“Please,” is all I can seem to choke out. 

When our server returns with the wine and water, Dorian turns to him and orders our entrees. I’m so preoccupied with my own conflicted feelings that I can hardly make out what he’s saying, not that I have much of an appetite anymore.

“Something wrong?” Dorian asks after a few strained moments of silence. 

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” So
am
I being honest with him? Yes. What else do I have to lose? “I just don’t like feeling so self-conscious. You make me so…uneasy.” I take a hearty sip of wine to reduce my anxiety.

“I do?” He sounds surprised.

“Not intentionally, at least I don’t think so,” I shrug. “I, uh, care too much. About what you think of me.” There. The cards are on the table. He knows that my affections go beyond just mind-numbing sex.
I care
. The exact thing I swore I wouldn't- I couldn't- do. I can't afford to.

“So because you care, it makes you uneasy?” I can see the makings of a smirk creeping onto his lips. Great, he finds me amusing.

“More or less.” I sigh and shake my head.

“Why does that bother you?” Dorian looks at me inquiringly as if I am some rare breed of girl.

“Because it’s not a feeling I’m used to. Feeling so...vulnerable,” I cringe.

"And that's a bad thing?" He folds his hands in front of him and rests his chin on them, gazing at me intently.

"Yes," I nod. "Especially when you don't have much experience with....
feeling
."

“How is that possible? Surely you’ve opened up with boyfriends in the past,” he says incredulously.

“You’d think so, but no. There were a few but nothing serious.” 

The reality that I’ve never had a serious relationship or whirlwind romance hits me and I have to swallow my forlorn thoughts before they consume me.

“So you’ve never been in love?” Dorian looks a bit sad for me, the exact reaction I was trying to avoid. 

The question is a complicated one for me. I have been in love. With Jared. At least I think I was. But so much as changed since meeting Dorian and finding out that I am some Dark-Light crossbreed.
Am
I still in love with Jared? 

“Let’s just say I was never in love with someone who was in love with me.” I try to tack on a bit of buoyancy at the end but I know Dorian sees right through me.
Oh great, he surely thinks I’m pathetic now! 

Before we can delve deeper into my lack of relationship experience, our waiter returns with a large bowl of clams and mussels in a tomato sauce and Shrimp Cocktail with possibly the largest shrimp I have ever seen.