L J Carroll

Prologue

The harsh breath whooshed out a moment before the crystal cut glass tumbler pressed against his sinful lips. The amber liquid flowing into his mouth, the woodsy, smokey taste pouring over his tongue and the burn as it slithered down his throat was delicious.

It was the time of night he craved.

His dark gaze watched the woman before him as she inched the deep purple lace panties back up over her slender hips. He could still see her juices gathered on her thighs. His eyes tracked further still, over the flatness of her stomach, red welts blooming against the fake tanned skin. Her fake tits with a slight hint of a bruise forming from his bite. Her neck held the imprint of his fingers. It was a beautiful sight.

All the red marks inflicted by him. His lips twitched into a smirk.

An image of her blonde hair wrapped around his fist as he’d pulled hard, her cherry red lips sealed around his cock as he’d used her hair as leverage for the brutal thrusts into her throat. Sounds she’d made. Her gagging and choking sounds caused a deep, low chuckle to escape his lips. Those sounds would be etched in his memory until next time.

Her blue eyes timidly looked at him and a flash of hurt skittered across her face, her shaking hand delicately touching her abused throat. He caught the wince of pain as he took another swallow of his whiskey.

“So, Blake.” her voice was hoarse. He closed his eyes briefly as his nostrils flared. He knew what was coming. It was always the same. “When will…” he held a hand up to silence her.

“Gina -” he started and another flash of hurt reached her eyes.

“Georgia.” she corrected, clasping her purple lace bra in place.

“Whatever!” he snapped. “You’ve been a good little whore,” he smirked as she flinched at him, calling her a whore. “But it’s a one time thing.” he shrugged indifferently. “We won’t be seeing each other again.” he watched her bottom lip quiver and another low chuckle escaped.

“Really?” her arms wrapped around her waist, making her ribcage more prominent. He could see every rib indent against her flesh, making his lips twist into a look of disgust. “After I let you…” her voice trailed off as she rubbed against her sore throat.

“One. Time. Only.” his words were slow as his hand gripped tightly against the glass tumbler, his anger flaring. “Out!” he barked the last word, which had her jumping and flinching all at once.

Blake watched her gather the little black dress, which left nothing to the imagination, her black stiletto heels and hurried out of the hotel room. The soft click of the door closing had his shoulders softening ever so slightly, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose and his eyes closed.

He was alone, and now the true torture began. The guilt that always accompanied him in these early hours of the morning infected his veins, no matter how many hours he’d spent elbows deep in his sadist cocoon.

His pulse spiked as images of her long dark waves blowing in the evening breeze, her sparkling green eyes filled with love and adoration, her pouting lips curved into a shy smile. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only intensified the images of his beautiful woman. The woman who trusted him loved him.

“What have I done?” he whispered, tipping the whiskey down his throat. The taste is now bitter on his tongue. Images of her laughing, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him, screaming his name all flashed through his mind in quick succession. “Fuck!” he roared, the glass tumbler shattered against the opposite wall.

He was overcome by the pain of the images of her, his anger replaced by such pain, that he doubled over. Dragging heavy breaths through his nose and hissing them out through his gritted teeth. His heart pounding against his sternum, pain lacerating his chest. His shoulders tense as red hot pain seared across his back, sweat slicking over his skin.

He tried concentrating on breathing deeply.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three breaths.

Four breaths.

Five breaths.

Six breaths.

Seven breaths.

Eight breaths.

Nine breaths.

Ten breaths.

The pain slowly subsided. His heart beats slowed back to a normal rhythm. His shoulders slumped, leaving him feeling deflated and worn out. Stumbling across the room on numb legs, his hand catching against the chair to steady his balance before he quickly dressed.

Pushing his hair from his forehead, smoothing the light blue dress shirt down the hard planes of his chest, buttoning the dress pants before stuffing his feet into the deep brown leather brogue shoes. His shaking fingers knotting the laces before grabbing his phone, car keys and wallet.

Taking one look in the large mirror. His eyes were almost black, his dark hair was back into his usual style, his clothes were like his armour, and his posture was that of his privileged upbringing. His spine was rigid, his head held high and his hands shoved into his pockets until the tremors left. He stared long and hard at himself until the feeling of control washed over him.

His dark eyes scanning the mess of the hotel room, making him shake his head once before yanking the door open. Making a mental note to let the concierge know he’d smashed the glass and a painting and the room was in absolute chaos. His father owned the hotel, and that room was permanently reserved for Blake, so he shouldn’t be overly bothered. But the moment his madness ended, he knew the staff deserved to know what they were walking into. He didn’t want someone hurting themselves on the glass he’d left littered across the floor.

His pure focus as he stepped into the waiting elevator was to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible. Get back home where he belonged with her.

But he knew that by next weekend he would be doing it all again. With the same type of woman, the same kind of sex, the same images in his fucking head, the same guilt and the same breathing techniques. His weekend affairs had slowly spun out of control and there was nothing he could do about it except hold on for the ride.