The Dare Collection September 2018. Stefanie London
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I’m going to come on you. I need to mark you, do you understand? I have to do this.”
I nod. For in some primal way, I do understand. Because I want to mark him, too.
I rake my nails along his spine and he comes in a thick hot spurt all over my chest. It’s a royal mess, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Afterward, we retreat to the small bathroom and slide into the steaming shower. For as depraved and ruthless as he was in the bed, now he couldn’t be kinder and more gentle. He takes the bar of soap and drops to his knees, taking his time, cleaning my legs and my aching sex. Then he rises, sudsing my stomach and then my breasts. It’s with some regret that I watch his semen rinse away. I feel like an addict, and Damien is my drug. I want all of him, every way he has to offer. And if he can never truly give me his heart, perhaps this overpowering physical connection will be enough.
And I’d believe the thought if not for the small, stubborn voice in my heart whispering But will it?
“A penny for your thoughts,” he says as he massages shampoo into my scalp.
“I’d expect a prince of Edenvale to be able to afford a bit more than that,” I tease.
His chuckle is low and husky. “This prince would ransom his kingdom to spend another hour with you the way we just were.”
“You’ve been with many women,” I say, hesitantly.
“Not like that.”
“Your first love, Victoria. You were with her like this?” I say the words casually even as they seem to paper-cut my very soul.
“Why do you ask?” His gaze locks to mine as he rinses my hair.
“You loved her. She was your woman. You had sex with her. For Victoria you weren’t some Backdoor Baron. You were Damien. I guess... I’m curious.”
“You know what they say about curiosity,” he mutters.
“It killed the cat?”
“I’m just saying, be careful what you wish for. You’re my lawful, wedded wife. If you are in truth asking to know about Victoria, I will tell you the story. But fair warning, some things, once heard, can never be taken back.”
My next breath is shaky, but my back remains unbowed. “Tell me. Tell me everything.”
Damien
SINCE HER DEATH, I have spoken to no one of my affair with Victoria. Yet I cannot seem to say no to the would-be Nightgardin queen—my wife.
“When it happened,” I start, “my father would hear nothing from me other than the admission that it was true—that I had not only caused the death of another, but that I had planned to steal her away from my brother.”
We lie naked in one of the tiny beds, I on my back and Juliet along my side, her soft breasts pressed against my healing ribs. This way I do not have to see her expression as I reveal the worst of myself.
“Because of jealousy?” she asks, caressing the skin on my chest with the featherlight touch of her fingers.
“No,” I say with mild force. “It wasn’t that at all. Yes, I was envious of Nikolai. He had everything. It was all just handed to him—the looks, the charm, the women. He could have had anyone he wanted. Anyone. But when my father married Victoria’s mother, Adele, and the two came to live at the palace? He suddenly had eyes for no one other than her.”
Juliet clears her throat, and her soothing touch ceases. “But—she was your stepsister.”
I nod. “That was no matter. Once Adele saw that the prince—the heir, no less—had taken a liking to her daughter, it took her no time to convince Father of the match. After all, if Adele was queen, what better way to strengthen the Edenvale bloodlines but to have a second generation match as well?”
I twirl a long damp strand of Juliet’s hair around my finger, but it does nothing to distract me. I know that I am here with her, in this strange place I still cannot believe exists. Yet at the same time I’m taken back six years to when I thought anything was possible. Now, of course, I know what a fool I was.
“Queen Adele,” Juliet says softly. “She is the one who imprisoned Kate and tried to force your brother to marry that baroness from Rosegate.”
“Yes. The family believes it wasn’t just her attempt at revenge on Nikolai—whom she blames for not keeping Victoria safe. Father, my brothers and X all believe it is somehow connected to your country’s attempt at infiltrating the palace.”
I feel her muscles constrict at the accusation.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, and she relaxes against me. “I did not mean to—”
“Just get on with the story,” she says with trepidation. “Before I lose my nerve.”
“It’s quite simple, really,” I say. “When Victoria was betrothed to Nikolai, she was devastated. She thought him handsome, yes. And charming as fuck. But where he found himself infatuated with her, she found herself asked to play a part she did not want to play. By her own mother, of course.”
I do not want to speak these final words to the fucking ceiling. So I slide to my side, stopping only when my eyes meet Juliet’s.
“To this day, Nikolai will not hear me out, so promise me that if anything ever happens to me that you will tell him all of this.”
She breathes in a shaky breath but nods.
“Victoria had no allies in the palace. No friends. No one she could talk to. When the betrothal was made official, she needed a place to go where she could let her true feelings be known. She wasn’t coming to me. I happened to be in the garden maze when she showed up, weeping.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “I didn’t mean to fall for her, but it happened. For both of us. I wouldn’t have tried to run if she hadn’t asked. I wouldn’t have turned from my brother like that if I didn’t think that the first time I fell in love would be the only time. Christ, Juliet. I was a kid—a teenager. I thought I had all the answers and that as long as she and I loved each other, we were invincible. Haven’t you ever done something so fucking stupid all in the name of love?”
I don’t wait for her to answer. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to lock away the memory of Victoria looking to me for solace—to make everything better.
But I don’t see my first love in my mind’s eyes. Instead, I see a broken shoe. An injured knee.
“Damien?” Juliet sounds worried, but I can’t open my eyes. I won’t—not until the vision becomes clear. Because this vision feels more like a memory.
“Damien!” she says again, this time with more force. “What’s wrong? Does something hurt? Oh God, did—did I break something when I—”
The vision fades, and I’m forced back to the here and now.
I open my eyes to find hers wide with worry. She searches my still-bruised face—runs soft fingers over my healing ribs, and I grab her wrist.
“I’m okay,” I say, and I feel a weight lift. Or maybe something in the air shifts.
“Then what was that?” she asks. “What the hell happened?”
“I loved her,” I say plainly, and I can see Juliet try to shutter an emotion, but fear is hard to hide. “But it’s not her I see behind closed lids. Not anymore.”
She worries her bottom lip between her teeth.
I return to my memory, the one that hovers elusive and out of reach. “Did you...on the night we met...were you—injured?”
She sucks in a breath, and a tear streaks