Dark Light (The Dark Light Series) (29 page)

For a moment I am still, savoring the feeling of Dorian inside of me, stretching me, filling me to capacity. I look down at him, the most gorgeous man I have ever seen. All I want to do is please him. And I do. Rocking back and forth, slowly at first, Dorian lightly moans my praises. I roll my hips, let him feel me contract around him, squeezing him. I’m careful to keep an even pace, not wanting this to end too soon. Dorian bites his bottom lip, concentrating on my languid movements. I can feel him building inside me, can feel him pulsing within my walls. He’s on the edge, just like me. 

For some unknown reason, I am compelled to lean forward and let my hazel eyes burn into his blue, just he has done with me. I channel all the passion, ecstasy and bliss he gives to me and pour it all back into him. Dorian’s pupils dilate and his face reflects utter contentment when I pull away. He is high- intoxicated from the pleasure I give him. The exchange is euphoric and our moans increase with ardor. I can’t hold on much longer. The edge is so close, and I want to let myself fall. I want to fall with Dorian.

My movements grow with intensity, and Dorian grips my behind to level the rise and fall of my hips. We both know that we can’t hold on forever; we have to let go. I begin to quiver, feeling the force tugging at me, beckoning me to give into this pleasure. Dorian feels it as well and the strained look on his face is telling me that he, too, must submit. I gyrate my hips forward and feel his unbelievable growth, telling me that it’s time for our sweet surrender. And with a final cry of passion, we fall, hand in hand into our own piece of paradise.

“Forget about it, Dorian!”

We are at a boutique in downtown Colorado Springs after Dorian insisted he replace my torn panties. I tried to assure him that it wasn’t necessary, especially after waking up this morning and finding that my overnight bag had somehow ended up in his suite. Dorian wouldn’t take no for an answer, plus he thought it’d be a good idea to get out and explore the charming little shops together. I was happy with spending the entire day in bed, especially with these dark, cloudy skies indicating imminent rainfall. 

“What? These are for me, not you!” Dorian chuckles holding up a skimpy lace thong. I shake my head at him, smiling. A sense of humor is the last thing I’d expect Dorian to possess. But I’m not even surprised; he is perfect after all. 

“Sure, buddy. They’d match perfectly with your feather boa,” I laugh. Even with this dreary weather, it’s hard for me to be in a sour mood when I’m with Dorian especially when he’s being so playful. 

“What about these?” I ask him, picking up a practical pair of lace-trimmed cotton boyshorts. Everything in here is so expensive; it was the first pair of underwear I spotted with a semi-reasonable price tag.

“Well, not really my color. I need something to bring out my eyes,” he winks.

“Not for you! Me, silly!” 

Dorian strolls over and takes the pair of panties from me. He rubs the modest fabric between his fingers and inspects the delicate stitching. “Nope,” he shakes his head.

“Why not?” Dorian ignores my question and motions towards the sales clerk.

“Yes, Mr. Skotos?” the beautiful blonde asks, batting her eyelashes. Her blouse is unbuttoned dangerously low at the top and she is very obviously trying to poke out her perky breasts.
Skanky much?

I can’t help but grow annoyed at the rising suspicions in my head. How the hell does she know his name?
It’s a women’s clothing boutique for crying out loud!
How often could he come in here? Does he frequently bring other women here to shop? After he’s ripped their panties? I can feel my face heat with jealous rage.

“Allison, I need you to pull some intimate pieces for Ms. Winters. Only the best. I want her to look more dazzling than she already is,” he beams down at me. When I don’t return his smile, his eyes narrow with question.

“Yes, Mr. Skotos,” Allison purrs, and she scurries to do as she’s instructed. 

“What?” he asks, once she’s out of earshot.

I shake my head, trying not to feel so irrational. Who he’s dated and who he chooses to spend his money on is none of my business. But I can’t help it; the girl in me just won’t let it go.

“Just wondering how many other women’s panties you’ve had to replace. Seems like you come here a lot,” I say coolly.

“I come here enough. But only when I have to.” Dorian pauses to take in my disgusted expression. Then he has the audacity to chuckle. “I own it, Gabriella. Well, most of it.”

Once again, my size 7 foot has found its way to my big mouth. I sigh and look at Dorian’s amused face. He likes it when I embarrass myself. “Sorry. I have a habit of jumping to conclusions.”

“I see. You really have nothing to worry about. How many times do I have to tell you? No one is as important to me as you. I don’t want anyone else,” he says stroking the line of my jaw with a single finger. The sincerity in his eyes enraptures me for a moment, and I yearn to touch my lips to his. But before I can, Allison interrupts us.

“I have a room ready for Ms. Winters, Mr. Skotos,” she says.

“Great,” Dorian replies as he ushers me towards the dressing area. Allison has filled it with an array of lingerie, from white frilly pieces to dark shiny PVC. I step in and look back at Dorian who is wearing a naughty grin. “I’ll be right out here,” he says, closing the door. 

I begin to peel off my jeans, ribbed tank and cardigan when I hear whispering on the other side of the door.

“Mr. Skotos, Ms. Órexis came by for you. She wanted you to have this.” I hear the rustling of paper.

“Thank you, Allison,” Dorian replies with a hushed voice.

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Skotos. If there’s anything you ever need, I’d be more than happy to oblige,” she breathes seductively. 

Oh hell no!
I’m two seconds from pulling my jeans back on and kicking that
slore
of a sales clerk’s ass when a light tap on the door stops me in my tracks.

“I’m out here waiting to see you. Don’t be shy; come model for me,” Dorian says softly.

I try to stow my temper, deciding not to reveal what I heard in fear of appearing like a jealous nag. 

“Are you crazy? I’m not coming out there dressed like this!” 

“Well I’ll just have to come in there then.” 

With that, Dorian cracks the door open, leaving just enough space for him to squeeze through. His eyes dance with delight at the sight of me in a pearl pink satin slip with black lace cutouts on the sides. It hugs my frame perfectly and stops halfway up my thigh.

“Do you like it?” I ask meekly. I feel so exposed being on display for him. I can’t even look him in the eye.

“Do I? I love it.” Even the word ‘
love
’ falling from his lips gives me a flutter in my stomach.
Sigh, wishful thinking
.

“I don’t know how this ended up in here being that we came here to shop for panties,” I say uncomfortably. 

Dorian is still sizing up my body appreciatively and I’m starting to feel like a raw steak in front of a hungry lion. “I’m sure glad it did, though.” He takes a step forward then stops, visibly battling something in his head from the slightly perplexed look on his face. He sighs. “You shall have this. And everything else in here. As much as I want to see you try on each piece, I’m already two seconds away from taking you right here and right now.” 

Dorian licks his lips, taking another eyeful before shaking his head. “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll wait for you out here.” He leans forward and plants a tender kiss on my forehead before tearing himself from the dressing room.

When I emerge, I am nearly floored by Allison standing at the door, waiting to collect the lingerie. She gives me a phony smile before brushing past me and I am tempted to turn around and snatch the pretty blonde hair right off her head. Not out of jealousy though- for the simple fact that she blatantly disrespected me by hitting on Dorian when I was only a few feet away. And who the hell is Ms. Órexis? Another shameless admirer? 

Chill out, Gabs. 

I need to stop getting ahead of myself. Dorian isn’t officially mine and he didn’t introduce me as anything more than Ms. Winters. I could be his cousin for all she knows. Allison’s locks are safe for now, but if she crosses me again, I can’t make that same promise.

After shopping, Dorian stows my bags in his car and insists we walk down to one of the nearby restaurants, even though it’s drizzling. I don’t complain; he’s in such a jovial mood, there’s no way I’d risk ruining it with my superficial concerns. We stroll into a little Italian restaurant, complete with red checkered table cloths and candles propped in empty wine bottles. A little cliché but the charm is not lost on me. 

“You heard what Allison said to me,” Dorian says once we’ve settled in with glasses of wine.

“I did. Not my business,” I say simply, looking at the menu. I avoid eye contact to purposely show Dorian that I am not ruffled by the encounter, though it is far from the truth.
Ugh!
Why does it even matter to me?

“It is. I don’t want you to feel like I’m hiding something from you. Like I said, I will always be honest. Plus, I have a proposition for you.”

“Oh?” I say with a raised eyebrow, looking up at his beautiful face. Even dressed in simple jeans and a lightweight sweater, Dorian takes my breath away. How can I
not
be mesmerized by him? 

“As I said, I’m only part owner of the boutique. The person who actually runs the day to day stuff may be gone for a while. I wanted to see if you’d be interested in running the store. And if you like it, maybe making it a permanent thing. In that case, I would purchase the boutique in full.”

“You’re kidding,” I say, clearly stunned. 

“No, I’m not,” Dorian responds, folding his hands in front of him and then resting his chin on them. “I need someone I can trust, and I got the idea that you weren’t interested in working at the mall for much longer. You still haven’t told me what you plan to do after graduation.”

“Because I don’t know myself,” I say with a hint of shame. Truthfully there aren’t many things I am certain about. And with the recent revelation of my identity, my ambiguity is at an all-time high. I take a hefty sip of wine in hopes of swallowing my insecurity. “So this offer isn’t out of pity, right? You just need someone for the job that you can trust?”

“Correct,” Dorian nods.

“Ok, well in that case, I’ll think about it. Thank you for considering me,” I say a bit more formally than I intend. “Are you sure you don’t have another friend better suited to run a high-end boutique?” The opportunity would be great and would definitely provide me with the funds to move out. I just want to be sure.

“No, I don’t,” Dorian states stiffly.

I give him a cynical look. “You don’t trust anyone or you don’t have a friend?”

“Both.” Dorian’s breezy mood has dissipated and his icy façade has rolled in with the dark storm clouds that threaten to drench us after lunch. But behind his cold demeanor I get a glimpse of something else.
Sorrow
. 

“Dorian, everyone has friends. That can’t be true. Look at how open you were with getting to know me. And if you can trust me, I’m sure there are other people you trust.” I regret bringing it up but if I bite my tongue every time I hit a nerve, I’ll never get to know him.

“No. There’s not.” Dorian reaches over and takes a sip of his red wine. Then his eyes burn deep into mine. “I had a friend once. My best friend. More like a brother. But his weakness and self-loathing led to his death. I could have stopped him; I should have. But I didn’t. I wasn’t a very good friend to him,” Dorian says quietly. 

I’m taken aback by his sad account. His best friend died and he feels somewhat responsible. How do I respond to that? I reach a tentative hand towards him and let it rest gently on his. 

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say. The fact that Dorian has chosen to open up to me warms my heart. He really does trust me.
Why?

“I had a feeling you’d say that,” he smirks, shaking his head. “Nothing you or anyone else could have done. He made his choice. I remember how incredibly stubborn he was.” Dorian chuckles at the recollection. He looks so thoughtful and nostalgic; I just wish I could share this memory with him.

“Scusami Signor, Signora,” the friendly, rotund Italian gentleman, who I’m guessing owns the restaurant, interjects. “Are we ready to order?” 

I quickly pull my hand away from Dorian’s. He slightly flinches in response and nods to the older man, then gestures for me to begin with my order. I opt for something simple: Tortellini alla Panna while Dorian goes for oven baked rigatoni.

“Why did you do that?” Dorian asks after the man has retreated to the kitchen.

“Do what?” I ask, perplexed.

“Pull your hand away from mine.” 

I shrug. “Oh. I don’t know. Reflexes, I guess.”

“Does touching me bother you?” Dorian asks simply. He isn’t upset or offended; he’s curious.

“No. Not at all. It makes me feel…good. I’m just not used to public displays of affection, I guess.” I hadn’t realized it before this moment. And I surely never meant for Dorian to feel it had anything to do with him.

“It makes me feel good, too. To touch you,” Dorian murmurs thoughtfully.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Honestly?” Dorian asks, reaching out to grab both my hands. His thumbs caress my knuckles, sending tiny tingles throughout my entire body.

“Of course.” My voice sounds so different. It’s high-pitched, almost squeaky. A ringing soprano. I clear my throat.

Dorian smirks as if he hears the difference too. “I think we are like two separate powerful surges of energy, and when we collide, we ignite, creating fireworks. Chemistry, my dear Gabriella. Our chemistry is explosive,” he states as if the answer was right in front of my face the whole time.

“You think that’s all it is?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe a bit of fate. Maybe a bit of magic.” Dorian’s lips turn into a devilish grin and I know he’s toying with me.

“That’s right, because you believe in magic.” I’m on dangerous ground. My head is screaming ‘
Abort! Abort!
’ but my mouth keeps on freaking moving. “And your explanation for that is?”