Masked Definitions (20 page)

“Good.”

His long, powerful legs carry him to the door in a few steady strides. Ripping it open, he turns to look at me, his eyes confused and wild with anger. I see him open his mouth but quickly shut it again. He stands for a short moment longer as if debating whether he should speak, but he doesn’t. He exits the room and attempts to slam the door behind him. The anti-slam mechanism saves the innocent object from damage, though his effort certainly did not go unnoticed.

I’m a fucking mess. A stupid, slutty fucking mess.

Pulling a pillow to my chest with my good arm, I bury my face in it and cry. The stress of the events of the night weigh too heavily on my conscience. My body begins to shake and tremble as if it only happened moments ago. Memories of the smell of his breath, the scent of his musky, unclean body rubbing against mine, the feel of his fingers grabbing at my flesh…

Then comes Elijah’s face as he admits to me I’m nothing more than a fling to pass the time until somebody better comes along.

I know I’m a hypocrite for hating that, considering the fact I promised myself to another. I just can’t help it. I hate feeling the way I do. If there were an off switch, I would press it in an instant.

What a mess I have created for myself. All because I wanted a more thrilling life.

This is well-deserved karma.

I’ve hardly slept when Max comes home. I feel tired and my arm throbs in any position. It has already started swelling. Max, as expected, hardly acknowledges me upon entering the bedroom. He’s still sour about our argument yesterday. I knew he would be.

“I slipped at work.” I hold up my arm. He glances over at it. “It’s broken.”

“Are you okay?” I’m surprised that he is asking. He comes over, his brow crumpled with concern.

“I will be. It hurts.”

His fingers gently trail over the dark blue splint. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Would you have cared?”

Sharp eyes hit mine, accusation in their depths. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” I mumble, not in the mood for an argument. I now know what it means to be emotionally spent. The thought of even feeling a zap of anger or annoyance, or anything really, makes me want to curl up and sleep.

“No, I’m not having it. For the past couple of weeks you’ve changed. You’ve been moody and distant and suddenly you’re acting like I’m your enemy.”

“Max…” I try to halt him, wishing he’d just be sweet for a while, but karma has other plans.

“I’ve had enough,” he yells and throws my phone across the room. It shatters against the wall. “I just want us to be how we were!”

“I just broke my arm.” I try to soften my tone but it comes out forced. “Can we argue tomorrow? I’m so tired.”

His eyes scan me up and down for a long moment. I take this as agreement and lie back in bed, wincing when my arm throbs with an ache I can’t describe. I elevate it on a pillow and pray that it’ll stop hurting so I can rest.

Max sets about getting ready for bed. His eyes drift to me numerous times, though he remains silent, which is unusual. Uneasiness sets in. Max is usually everything but silent.

I watch him under heavy eyelids that sting with exhaustion. I listen with ears muffled by soft pillow as he brushes his teeth and washes his face. I turn as he pads to bed, turning the light off on the way. My eyes close when the bed dips behind me. His sigh is heavy and mournful. The covers are tugged back and he slides under them. I wince whenever the bed is jostled as he gets comfortable. Another heavy sigh lets me know that he wants to say something but he’s holding back. His body turns towards mine and I feel his groin against my arse.

It’s when I feel his solid length pressing through his boxers and against my arse that I realise exactly why he hasn’t said anything.

He’s horny. It isn’t because he suddenly has a conscience or because he suddenly cares about my welfare. It’s because he’s horny.

“Really, Max?” I hiss quietly when he grinds against me and grips my breast with his hand.

“So I’m not allowed sex now either?” He scoffs, pulling me onto my back.

“I just broke my arm. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re never in the mood anymore.”

My mouth falls open, his selfishness astounding even me. I should yell at him and leave the bed but he’d only get worse, so instead I file it away for another time and tell him, “I’m going to sleep.”

His fingers slide from my breast to my hip. Once upon a time his touch ignited something in me other than loathing. “You won’t even have to…”

“Goodnight, Max.” I snap and pull my body away from him.

“Do you even love me anymore?” He asks, his tone full of disbelief.

“Would it even matter?” I murmur and shift further away from him.

“You’re just being a bitch. You’ll love me again in the morning.” He shifts back into my space and pulls me into his body. “Night, Liv.”

“Night.”

Sleep still does not come.

However, the morning does, all too quickly.

“I’m not sure what’s more annoying, the fact that I have to show up unannounced in order to meet this sibling of yours, or the fact that I’m hearing about the divorce from Mother.” Comes a high pitched, feminine voice from the entrance area. I take it she’s a sister, seeing as she said Mother instead of
my
mother. It would imply they have the same mother.

I stand in the kitchen, pain pills in my hand and a glass of water ready to gulp down, thanks to Mildred.

“I only filed for divorce the day before yesterday,” Elijah growls and even though I can’t see him, I know he’s tense. “How on earth did Mother hear about it?”

“Smith, who else?”

Who is Smith?
I wonder as I swallow the tablets, mindful of my arm. It hurts badly. I’m just fortunate that it isn’t my right arm.

“And your new sibling? What’s your excuse for avoiding me at every turn?”

“I wanted to become acquainted myself before you started sticking your nose in.” I hear their footsteps near before they step past the kitchen, oblivious to my presence.

Or so I thought. The woman with Elijah who, surprisingly, considering his dark features, has blonde hair and skin as pale as snow, double takes as she passes before grinning at me. “Ah, the wife!”

“Hi.” I raise my good hand in a small wave but she steps into the area and soon takes up residence in my bubble of comfort.

“Olivia, I presume?” Her accent is so… posh. There is no other way to describe it. She speaks the Queen’s English; that is for sure. “I’m Georgia, the gorgeous sister of the Duke. Lady Georgia by birth, but my friends call me Georgie.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I glance at Elijah over her shoulder. He has his arms folded across his chest and is scowling at me. “I didn’t realise Elijah had a sister.”

“He doesn’t talk about me often on account of the fact that his wife fucked my husband and I like to tell people, purely to remind him what an idiot he is for staying with the cretin.”

My lips part. “I… umm…”

“Georgia,” Elijah barks, coming towards us. He takes his sister’s elbow in his hand as if to lead her away but she ignores him and looks me up and down. “Well, aren’t you a pretty one? Max must be every ounce as handsome as Elijah if he managed to hook you on a ball and chain.”

“Thank you?”

“What on earth happened to your arm?” She tilts her head and places one hand on her hip. Her dress is making me envious; it’s a black and white peplum style dress that I wish I owned in my meagre closet.

“She broke it at work, now come. Leave Olivia in peace. Max is in the games room.”

No surprise there.

“Don’t be rude, Elijah. I’m introducing myself to your guest.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. He so clearly doesn’t want to be around me right now. I can’t say that I blame him.

“Let’s have breakfast. Mildred,” Mildred bows slightly after turning to the blonde haired beauty. “Whip us up something special, could you?”

“Of course, My Lady.”

Georgia rolls her eyes to her brother. “Still uses titles, I see.”

“Leave her alone. She enjoys using manners, unlike some.” He rolls his eyes to me after letting that insult directed at his sister take effect. She only seems amused as opposed to insulted. “I apologise for my sister. She’s crass and blunt. Her brain to mouth filter didn’t fully register at birth.”

“I like it,” I respond honestly and smile at Georgia who smiles back.

“See?” Georgia grins and moves to stand by my side in a show of unity. “I told you they’d love me.” Her elbow catches me in the ribs. “Well, the wife does.”

Elijah rolls his eyes once more and sighs heavily before turning to exit the kitchen. “I’ll leave you ladies to chat while I fetch my brother.”

I watch his back as he leaves, wishing he’d give me more than what he’s giving me. It’s my own fault though. I pushed him away and for good reason. Whatever transpired between us just couldn’t continue.

“So, how are you liking my brother?” Her question startles me because I don’t take it in the way she means it. Unfortunately, ever since I tainted my relationship with Elijah, even the most innocent of things about him no longer feels innocent. Every thought I have, every word I speak, seems to be layered in thickening guilt.

“He’s… umm…” I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry as I think of the many compliments I could say about the man I’ve taken into my body on too many occasions. “Generous.”

She looks unimpressed. “He isn’t generous. He has too much. What he gives doesn’t make a dent in what he takes.”

“Oh.” I’m unsure what else to say so I say nothing.

Fortunately Mildred saves the day by offering us both a beverage. I decline but Georgia asks for coffee and then has me direct her into the living area. Apparently this is a home of Elijah’s that she hasn’t yet visited. I wonder briefly how many homes he owns. It isn’t something that I’ve thought of asking but it does make me feel a little better about accepting a house from him.

“Hey,” Max steps into the area and his eyes cut to Georgia but they mostly linger on me. He looks worried, concern etching his brows, and that familiar nagging begins in my heart.

It’s easy to recognise the cycle that always happens when Max gets ready to apologise. I know it’s coming. He’ll no doubt purchase a new phone for me and tell me he loves me. He’ll cook me dinner or take me out and caress my body with his tongue until I orgasm or until he gets bored. Then I’ll forgive him because I can’t be bothered to deal with what will happen if I don’t. So when he mimes that he’s sorry after introducing himself to Georgia, I allow his hand to slip into mine and, like the weak minded woman that I am, I move on and forget all that he’s done.

I release a breath, tired. Elijah just entered, though he pays me no mind. It’s better this way. I just wish that his steel eyes would come to me just once more.

I see psychiatrists in my future. Expensive ones.

“He is handsome.” Georgia grins, stepping a circle around Max. “Maybe even more so than you, Elijah.”

My immediate thought is to disagree. It weighs heavily.

“You’re only saying that because we’re related.”

Georgia giggles a soft, melodic lilt. “If you insist.”

“Told you so.” Max grins triumphantly at his older brother.

“I’d say that Olivia should get the deciding vote, but she’d obviously choose me. I feel it unfair to play her against her husband,” Elijah jests though I sense sincerity deep in his tone and in his eyes as they finally hit mine, knocking the air from my lungs in a sharp but gentle whoosh. I struggle to draw it back in.

Max glares at him, all humour gone.

I give his hand a squeeze. “Don’t tense, he’s just playing.” Though he relaxes, I notice his eyes cast an uncertain gaze between us, back and forth like a tennis spectator’s they go before Georgia distracts him.

Wandering hands with clawing nails cut at my naked flesh as I try to pull free. I’m trapped in a sea of limbs, nothing but a pole to hold onto in the midst. They grasp at my body, my thighs, my breasts, their moans hungry for pieces of me, all of me. They fight. Wanting. Loathing.

I’m an object to them.

I’m an object to him. He with the icy eyes. His cool demeanour and desperate touch that only I seem to elicit from him. His heavy strides carry him towards me in the dark. The spotlight heats me from above and blinds me so I see nothing more than his silhouette and the shocking glint of malice in those cool, grey irises.

“Take off your clothes,” he demands and the sea of limbs fall away in a wave, leaving nothing behind.

“Of course, My Lord Duke.” I say, monotone, and remove my last shred of dignity. I peel it from my skin leaving behind my nudity for his viewing pleasure.

“Glorious,” he comments and takes another step towards me. “On your knees.”

“That’s right.” Max’s voice hits me like a freight train and his hands push me to the position demanded of me. “Rip my heart from my chest like the whore you are.”

“Maybe she’d like to stamp on it with her stilettos too?” Penelope comments wryly and kneels beside me. Her face is only inches from the side of mine. “I can’t find the second face.”

Tears spill from my eyes and though I know they’re there, I can’t feel them. I’m numb to whatever the fuck this is. I’ve been caught and it’s all on me.

“Are you sleeping with my brother?” Max hisses, yanking my head back by my hair. I feel Elijah’s hardened cock against my cheek for only a second before I’m thrown backwards. “ARE YOU?” Max’s angry, loud voice echoes repeatedly around us all before I’m flung backwards by my hair.

“Please,” I beg.

“Are you sleeping with my wife?” He bellows at Elijah and I see him take the first swing, hammer in hand.

“NO!” I scream, my arms reaching out to shove Elijah out of the way as the vicious weapon flies directly at his head. He hasn’t seen it, too distracted by me at his feet.

It connects with his head and a spray of black flies upwards. I feel spray across my cheek.

“NOOOO!” I scream and lunge forwards in an attempt to escape. I hit a warm body and hands grip my arms as tears fall from my eyes. “Let GO!” I shove against the soft wall, causing pain in my arm. My disorientation slowly fades as I register arms around me and a hand in my hair.

Horrible, gasping sobs leave me, uncontrollable as I try to choke them back. They pain my chest and wrack my body with an agony I’ve never felt. I can’t grasp any semblance of control. Like my life, my body is now falling apart.

“I’m here; it’s okay.” Hands grip me tight, one at the back of my neck and the other around my back. Fingers smooth against my ribs. “It’s okay; I’ve got you.”

I feel myself pushed back onto the mattress. My back sinks into it and cool air bites at my stomach and legs as the covers are pulled back and a heavy, warm body sinks onto me. He rolls us to the right and tucks me tightly to his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he repeats softly, holding me tighter, if possible.

“I don’t ever cry.” I remark angrily, hating myself for being so vulnerable. “I don’t want you to see me cry.”

“You’ve been through a lot.” He pulls back and presses his lips against my forehead. They feel soft, warm and comforting. “I’d be worried if you didn’t cry. Go back to sleep.” His soft voice carries me there, to the edge of slumber. “I’ve got you.”

“Elijah?” I mumble into the darkness and flatten my hands against his chest so they’re tight between us.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

“I can’t live with myself anymore,” I whisper and bury my face into his chest. I inhale deeply, my breath shuddering.

“Not tonight, not while your thoughts are still irrational and sleep driven.” He strokes my side soothingly.

“I couldn’t stand it if something bad happened to you because of this.”

His body stills for a moment before his hand comes up to cup my cheek. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me.” He leans back. I see his eyes in the darkness, full of warmth as opposed to the icy gaze he cast through me in my dream. “And I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you, okay? Whatever happens…” His thumb caresses my bottom lip. “We’re in this together. We’ll figure it out.”

“Until you find somebody else to take my place,” I whisper bitterly. His body doesn’t just tense, it becomes rock solid.

“Go to sleep,” he orders, still holding me, though that gentle warmth and calming energy he was emitting has gone.

“You should go,” I state, realising where we are and what bed we’re in. “Max…”

“Is at work.”

“He could come back.”

“You need me,” he says and he’s right. I want to roll him on top of me and have him erase every touch of that disgusting man from my bruised body. I want to feel every inch of his bare cock sink into my wetness. I’m always wet for him. Always. “I’ll leave when you’re sleeping.” He kisses the shell of my ear and buries his face in my hair. “Besides, you’re warm and I’m comfortable. I’ve had a pretty rough day myself. It doesn’t compare to yours but I’m feeling it in my neck.”

“If I could give you a massage I would.” A loud yawn rips from me.

“I’ll stockpile that note for a future date.”

“Do it. There’s literally nothing that would please me more than being gifted the opportunity to touch every inch of your body with my hands.”

He hardens against my thigh. I smile into my pillow.

“Go to sleep.”

“We could always…” I wriggle against him, trying for humour despite my swollen eyes and puffy face from my mental collapse.

“As tempting as that is,” he kisses my neck and slides his hand down my side, making me shiver, “I have to be up at three.”

I check the digital alarm on my bedside table with a glance. “That’s in two hours. Where are you going?”

“I’m meeting with a friend in Essex at nine.”

“Business?”

“And leisure.” He kisses me again and I can’t help but melt at the tenderness of it. “Do you want to come?”

“Really?”

There is a pause and I know he’s rethinking his offer.

“It’s fine if you…” I begin to say just as he says, “It’ll be fun.”

“Really?”

His breath leaves him in a laugh, hitting the back of my neck, pushing the thickness of my hair in two directions. Using my good hand, I lift my hair out of the way and turn onto my back as his body finishes shaking with his laughter. “You already asked that. I’m certain I just confirmed.”

“Will we be back tomorrow night?”

“Not if you don’t want to be.” Lifting himself onto one arm, he hovers over me and tickles my cheek with his fingers.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m serious. We can stay in a hotel, just you and I…”

“Max.”

His body tenses and a venomous tone leaves him as his hand moves from my cheek to my hair, one I’ve never heard from him. “Oh fuck Max!”

I blink into the darkness. “What the hell?”

“Nothing.”

“What the fuck was that, Elijah?” He moves to sitting and I follow, shifting myself backwards up the pillows as he moves to the side of the bed.

“I’m just tired.” His shoulders slump. I see them fall forward in the dark. My hand reaches out and presses between his shoulder blades, directly over the amazing tattoo that spans his back. I trace it with a fingertip. “I just… Come with me in the morning. We’ll be back by the time Max leaves for work. Okay?”

I tickle the length of his spine, wishing I could alleviate the tension from his body. “Okay.” He stands, leaving my hand frozen in mid-air. “You aren’t staying?”

“No. It’s not right. When I sleep with you, it won’t be in a bed tainted by your sham of a fucking marriage.” And with those harsh but true words, he leaves me frozen, just like my hand was.

Though I should be angry, I can’t seem to muster the emotion. There’s too much elation where anger should be. His words, though harsh, only further serve to prove to me that he doesn’t want this to end, not yet.

“He said
when
,” I whisper into the darkness, contemplating whether to chase him. I decide not to; he needs his space.

I look at the empty space beside me, the space where Max should be, and for the first time I feel no guilt. I only feel suffocated. I wish I could simply walk away but nothing is ever that easy. Nothing. Especially not where Max is concerned.