A Bedtime Story (22 page)

His fingers found the pulsating nerve between her legs. His face
remained close to her, his nose and lips tracing every line of her face, breathing
her in, leaving sensual kisses on their path.

“You,” she gasped, as tears tumbled down her cheeks. She closed her
eyes and felt the gates open, her last fortress fall. “You... I fear you... I’m
afraid of all the ways you can hurt me…” Her voice was jerky, her breathing frantic
as his fingers maintained the sweet torture.

The high was stronger than any drug, the euphoria more addictive,
as she lay terrified and helpless to the unwholesome pleasure, baring her all,
releasing all the monsters under her bed, to the one she knew could fight them
off.

Kayne kept playing with her, kept the rhythm slow and steady, felt
his fingers dripping with her juices. He pulled his head back and stared intently at
her face, knowing that in this moment, he walked the secret path to the darkest
recesses of her soul.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid of… how much you can hurt me… I’m afraid
of…” Even in her state, the last words came to her lips with a twist in her heart.
“When you’ll stop...”

She cried as her body shattered in a mind-numbing orgasm. He did
not smirk as usual, when he’d make her come on his twisted
terms.
His eyes were dark and intense, resting on her drained body. He lay on top of
her.

“Look at me.”

She didn’t want to, not after her confession. She wanted to remain
in the sweet oblivion engulfing her. She obeyed.

He cursed his sealed lips. He only opened them to kiss her with the
hopeless passion of a cursed lover. Wordlessly, he willed her to understand what his
guarded heart wouldn’t allow him to betray. He pulled and tugged at her,
possessively manipulating her body to quench his thirst for her. With a guttural
sound, he collapsed on top of her. He pulled her body close, keeping her face to
his. With his hand, he caressed her face, watching her eyes close serenely under his
touch.

She opened her eyes again and brought her own hand to his face,
then clasped her fingers shut at the last instant.

“Do you not like it when I touch you?” she asked softly, lowering
her gaze to his chest.

He sighed, lifted her chin, and leaned his head, seeking her eyes.
“Of course I do.”

“Why did you stop me?”

He shook his head, sensing the hurt in her innocent question.
“Because I’m a fool.”

She looked back down, a sad smile forming on her lips. Her voice
hushed, she met his eyes again. “You killed her…”

This time, he knew exactly who she was talking about. Holding her
stare, his eyes inscrutable, his answer was remorseless. “Yes.” “Why?” she breathed,
hearing his voice in her head.
For you, because of you, because she hurt you,
because… I love you.

“She betrayed me.”

Laura closed her eyes, feeling the bitterness in her smile at her
foolishness. “Did you love her?”

He considered her question. Of all people, how
could
she
think that? He waited for her to open her eyes, to meet his intense
gaze. He shook his head. “No, Laura. I didn’t love her.”

She nodded, bitterness still lingering in her expression.

“Natasha knew about her... and Dimitri… She befriended her. She
told me… she… befriends her husband’s whores…” Her voice broke. She looked up at
him, pain twisting her features. “I could never do that…”

He kept watching her, sharing in her pain, knowing he was the cause
of it, knowing he couldn’t stop it. “I don’t want you to do that.”

“Then what?” she pleaded, her voice quavering with emotion.

He shut his eyes, could see the impasse awaiting them. Dimitri had
spoken to him at the party earlier. He’d promoted him, a wedding gift he called it.
Kayne was now to overlook all aspects of the operation, act as his counselor. He
knew Dimitri too well to be honored. It was a test, a chance for him to prove his
loyalty, to prove that his marriage would not be a threat to the Organization. He
could no longer benefit from being the lone wolf; he would now be directly
responsible for all the trades, including the prostitution rings and sex
trafficking. The implication was way beyond his participation at some morally
questionable parties. His very survival would now depend on his capabilities as the
counselor. Having other women was the last thing on his mind and was now ultimately
inevitable as new
merchandise
had to be sampled and tested by the counselor,
representing the boss’s interests.

How could he explain this to her, how would he break this new
reality to her? Tomorrow, he would tell her; tomorrow, he would step in as the
underboss. Tonight, he would just be her husband. Facing his silence, a silence more
revealing than any answer, Laura turned away from him, staring vacantly at the
ceiling. There was no answer, none he could give to appease her and remain truthful.
Kayne Malkin didn’t lie, so he remained silent in the face of her despair. She felt
her heart harden.
Why delay the
inevitable
. Without looking
at him, she carelessly declared, “You should go back to your party.”

His eyes narrowed. Did she think she was the only one to suffer?
That her pain allowed her to dismiss him as he did his whores? He wanted to strike
her, to strangle her and holler his own torment at her. He swallowed his anger and
simply nodded, his eyes dripping poison. Without a word, he got off the bed and
picked up his pants and shirt thrown carelessly on the floor, not bothering with the
jacket. He was still buttoning up his shirt when he calmly closed the door behind
him. He heard her break into a desperate sob on the other side of the wall.

Laura regretted her words the moment she felt his weight shift on
the mattress, felt the emptiness of him heavier, more tangible than any other truth.
She wanted to jump off the bed and throw her naked body in his way. Instead, she
watched him leave while pinned to the bed she had made and now had to lie in by
herself, in her oppressing solitude. Why
not
delay the inevitable? Why had
she forbade herself this one night with him, their wedding night? Tomorrow, he could
have his whores. Tomorrow, he could slaughter and destroy. She would even wave him
off and send kisses from the port. Just let her have him for this one night, she
prayed with all she had, to heaven and hell, to whomever would answer first. She
would trade it all, for this one night.

She jumped from the bed, frantic, reached for the torn wedding
dress, and pulled it hastily over her shoulders. Her bare back fully exposed, she
rushed for the door. Maybe it wasn’t too late, maybe she could still find him,
maybe, maybe, maybe…

She swung the door open wildly and stopped right in her tracks,
feeling her heart shatter, her chest collapse. He was there, leaning on the wall
facing the door. He just stood there watching her, his face impenetrable.

“Kayne…” she cried, relieved, crazed. “Kayne… Kayne…” she repeated
his name over and over again, as if uttering an arcane prayer with healing
powers.

With whatever strength she had left, she threw
herself in his arms. “Forgive me… forgive me…” she cried softly in his ears.

He tightened his hold on her, feeling his chest swelling with hurt.
“No. Forgive
me
.”

He was apologizing for it all. For everything he already put her
through. For everything he would still put her through, knowing he was too selfish,
too rotten, to ever push her away. Knowing she would always come back to him, no
matter what he did. Knowing he would always be there, waiting to collect her, all
the pieces of her, and put her back together, until the next time she broke apart in
his hands.

Their lips frantically sought each other, their tongues mingling
with desperate hunger. He dragged her back into the room, kicking the door shut
behind them. He slammed her bare back against the wall and felt her cry out with
pain in his mouth. She wound her arms around him as he lifted the skirt of her dress
and unzipped his pants. He wrapped her legs around his, and he fucked her,
mercilessly, with all the raw emotion he felt. With anger and passion, lust and
regret, with the animalistic hunger she ignited in him and the cursed desire
afflicting him.

They fell asleep clinging to each other, every inch of their bodies
touching, with no other words needing to be exchanged. Morning come, he was
gone.

K
ayne left before sunrise. He could never
face her following those stolen moments of intimacy. The Kayne who fell asleep in
her arms was not the one who would awaken by her side. He’d been at peace with
himself before Laura. Now the wild wolf bared its teeth to the emerging dog wanting
to be domesticated. The fight was unbalanced, raging on the wolf’s long-established
territory. He reluctantly let go of his sleeping bride, kissed her on the forehead,
and saw her smile in her sleep before he left her side. Just like in her beloved
book, Kayne could never fully embrace his conflicting sides, though he would not let
one destroy the other. Every kindness, every moment of tenderness would inevitably
be followed by his own retreat into the wilderness, into his domain. Kayne belonged
to the Organization, not to a loving home. Yet he belonged to Laura, not the
faceless women who pleasured him in ways he would never get from Laura, ways he
would never want from Laura.

He had asked Lucas to drive his new bride home, and stayed behind
at the Drugov residence. A party was being thrown at the second mansion in his
honor, for the promotion. Dimitri and he would go together; the announcement would
be made.

***

Laura felt a pang at waking alone, looked, without belief, for a
note she didn’t find. When Lucas drove her home, it was already getting late. She
hadn’t seen Kayne all day, had spent it with Natasha who informed her that Kayne was
busy with Dimitri, but did not go into further detail.

Upon exiting the car, she noticed the security guards who’d always
ignored her previously bowing their head in respect as she walked past them. Olga
was already waiting for her. She brought her into
a warm embrace and
wouldn’t let go or hide her disappointment when Laura, explaining she’d had supper
with Natasha, turned down the fancy meal and dessert she had prepared for her.

She just wanted to head straight to her room and fall back on the
familiarity of her bed. As she gently pushed Olga aside, her eyes fell on the
staircase leading to the forbidden upper level. But she was
Mrs. Kayne Malkin
now, who would stop her?
Lucas’s words came back to mind. Her eyes burning
with a conqueror’s determination, she set forward.

“Mrs. Malkin?” Olga’s voice faltered behind her.

Laura turned, defiant, and remained silent as she climbed the first
step.

Lucas nodded to her, an encouraging smile on his face, and pulled a
tense Olga away.

Laura’s heart sank with every step she climbed but continued her
journey, her head held high. As a true Malkin, she would not let her fear show, even
with no witnesses around.

There were only two doors, one on each side. She tried the left
first to no avail. She turned around, her heart pounding, and felt the handle give
way. For all the ways he invaded her life, her body, and her mind, for the first
time, Laura would penetrate Kayne’s world, his inner and most private world. It
lifted the hairs on her skin. She stepped inside and felt as though she’d violated a
sacred temple.

His bedroom reeked of him, no woman had left her mark, no other
being had left a trace. It was purely him, a mixture of boldness and elegance, the
classic touch to the modern feel, simple yet chic. Laura swirled around, her arms
wide open, and her head tilted back, her eyes closed. She was in the heart of it,
she could feel it, could almost feel rain on her face like in the movies she had
seen.

She opened her eyes and went about scavenging the only helpless
version of Kayne she would ever encounter. No stone would be left unturned. Her
first action was to open the drapes on the wall made entirely of glass, which gave
way to a terrace. As
always on those unusual nights, the moon was
shining bright, bathing the sleeping world in its silvery glow. Laura smiled, she
liked this moon. It was a wolf’s moon, her and Kayne’s moon, the benevolent light in
their darkness.

She opened drawers, finding everything neatly folded. She
penetrated the walk-in closet, which in itself could contain a small-sized room. She
turned on the spotlights, found more drawers, rows and rows of suits and all the
clothes she recognized seeing him in. She let her fingers glide lovingly down the
sleeves, lifted them to her nose, and breathed him in, feeling herself tear up with
emotion. She never made it to the bathroom. When she reached his bed, she wearily
opened the end table, expecting all sorts of sordid paraphernalia, but found one
item, only one, a worn-out copy of
The Little Prince
.

With solemn deference, she pulled it out and opened the cover. On
the first page, she found the note written in elegant cursive,
Property of Elena
Galiano
. She turned the pages carefully, understanding the value of what she
held in her hands. There were little side notes written all over the margins,
highlighted quotes everywhere. She smiled when randomly landing on one:
“What
makes the desert beautiful,” says the little prince, “is that somewhere it hides
a well.”

Just like that, another piece of Kayne Malkin was revealed to her.
His favorite book had been his mother’s. She closed her eyes and kissed the cover,
tears rolling down her cheeks. She would not give up. Her desert contained a well.
She knew this with certainty, from the elusive kindness she’d seen in his eyes, from
his all-consuming caresses when words failed him. How could she not believe in the
well, having tasted its water?

In a world that was all Kayne, in desperate hunger for him, she
removed her clothes and put on one of the shirts carrying his scent. She laid
herself on the mattress, still cradling the book against her chest, and fell asleep,
feeling warm, kept safe by an invisible bubble surrounding her.

***

Kayne returned home very late and was surprised to
find Olga still waiting up for him. Nervously, she advised him that
Mrs.
Malkin
was upstairs, unconvincingly adding, “I think it’s good that she
wanted to wait for you in your room.”

He grunted, his eyes shining with the too many beverages in his
system, with information he was still unsure how to react to. Laura’s first act as
his wife was to break his rules, invade his privacy, and enter a room no one besides
himself was allowed in. He weighed in quickly. He was not happy, not happy at
all.

He calmly made his way to the room and opened the door slowly,
hoping to catch her unaware, expecting to find her on her knees on the floor,
tearing his drawers inside out. That’s what he got for being soft with her, he
thought, a situation he would remedy, immediately.

His sadistic sneer faded from his lips as he found the sleeping
lump on his bed, in his shirt. He took a seat in the black leather club chair facing
the bed and watched her sleep in the darkness. Her sleep became agitated under his
gaze. Her eyes blinked open. Slowly, she raised herself on her elbows and smiled
tentatively upon finding him, only his black eyes emerging from the shadows. “You’re
back…” Without fully seeing him, she could sense his brooding mood and felt herself
stiffen.

“Come here.” He pulled out his arm to her, his voice low and
gruff.

Wearily, she got up on her feet, recognizing the shift in his
demeanor. It wasn’t the sensual call of her lover; it was the calm before the
storm.

He sat her on his lap, caressed her arms, and tucked her hair
behind her ears as her heart fluttered with emotion.

“It suits you,” he said, playing with the cuff of his shirt, in a
soft voice that contrasted his serious face.

Blood rushed to her cheeks, she stared at him inquisitively. “Are
you mad?” she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest.

He exhaled deeply before returning her gaze. “Had
you asked, I would’ve said yes.”

She could see it, the water retreating around her feet, the sea
pulling back only to unleash its fury, could see the monstrous wave heading her
way.

“But I’m your… wife,” she uttered, her voice breaking.

“So you felt entitled to disregard my wishes?”

She shook her head in response, pleading reflected in her eyes.

“Get up,” he commanded, his voice remaining calm.

She apprehensively took his offered hand and followed him out of
his bedroom. She imagined he would take her back to her room, and felt a stab of
rejection, feeling like a dog being kicked off his master’s bed to be led back to
his kennel.

He didn’t take her to her room. Instead, he turned into the western
wing that led to the spiraling stairs. At the top of the stairs, she lost her
resolve. Nothing good ever came from going down those stairs.

“Master… please no… I’m sorry… I didn’t think…”

His anger was quiet as he led her gently. He then turned to her and
affectionately caressed her cheeks, shushing her softly.

“You did think, Laura. You just didn’t care. You’re right, you are
the lady of the house. But I’m the master. Never forget that.”

She bowed her head; a few tears rolled down. He was right, she
hadn’t cared, and truth be told, she would do it all over again given the chance.
She didn’t want his permission. She didn’t want her own bedroom either.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked, her eyes on the
ground, her voice carrying the pain she knew was coming. “Please… don’t whip me.”
She broke into soft sobs.

He lifted her chin and nodded, his eyes piercing hers. Her sobs
only increased.

“Don’t you trust me, Laura?”

“I trust you will hurt me…” If not the whips, what
had he planned for her? She thought of the cage; the thought terrified her.

He smirked wickedly but didn’t reply. He took her hand again and
led her into the dungeon. She felt mild relief as they stepped away from the cage.
He left her hand at the entrance, walked to a big leather chaise, and sat in it. He
eyed her devilishly for what seemed an eternity.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded, his voice hoarse.

She did, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“Crawl to me.”

Her eyes grew round with bewilderment, she hesitated. He could feel
her inner dilemma; knowing how proud she was, he knew this unusual punishment would
be far worse than all the physical pain he could’ve inflicted on her.

Clenching her teeth, her eyes narrowed with pure loathing. She got
down on all fours and, slowly, painfully, crawled to him. His shirt lifted above her
ass with every step, taunting him. Her eyes bore into his with silent rage. One he
knew would be swallowed only momentarily.

He could see it in her eyes. She only survived this because she
knew she would make him pay for it, somehow. He smiled, his beautiful bride, his
fallen angel, how far she’d come, how far she’d descended. A decent person would’ve
felt remorse. He looked at her with pride and admiration. Laura Spencer had adapted
to her environment, had survived it, becoming Laura Malkin.

He realized he would never break her, that she would always bend,
but never break. It was just as well. He would gladly spend his life breaking her,
always getting closer and never reaching his goal. He wanted to watch her transform,
always rising from her ashes. He also knew that she was just as hooked on this sick
game. She would lose countless battles, never the war.

When she reached him, he stared her down, his eyes glowing with
sadistic pleasure. “Kiss my feet.”

She snapped up instantly. “
What
,” she hissed
through gritted teeth.

He cocked his head to the side and, with a mock sorry expression,
shook his head disapprovingly. “Tsk-tsk-tsk.”

“You’re fucking out of your mind if you think I’m going to do
that.” She glared at him, her voice calm, dripping venom.

He broke into a loud chortle, throwing his head back. When he faced
her again, his eyes were wicked. He lifted her to her feet and, with a devilish
grin, pulled her backward.

Her heart was racing, she could only imagine what was coming next.
He lifted her arms and bound each one to a metal ring dangling from the ceiling. He
then walked back to his leather seat and just watched her, the grin never leaving
his face.

It was too easy, she thought, there had to be more, but he remained
quiet, simply watching her from his comfortable seat. Soon, her muscles began to
cramp, her discomfort increasing with every second. But she would not beg, would not
plead. She would never lower to this. He could whip her if he wanted, but kissing
his feet? No way. It wasn’t just the act that was repulsive, it was all the meaning
it carried, more than submission, worse than pain. It was the humiliation. That, she
couldn’t stand. Scars on her back would heal, but the ones carried in your heart,
the ones that kept you up at night, that gave you nightmares and made you resent
yourself, those she’d had enough. She had obediently went into a cage like an animal
when she was young and helpless. To this day, she fantasized of scenarios where she
fought back, where she didn’t simply take the abuse and bowed her head in shame. She
had vowed to herself,
never again
.

“The pain will only get worse,” Kayne informed her, making a point
to stretch his arms and readjust his position to maximize his comfort.

She remained quiet, her eyes set with a determination that
fascinated him.

“You know… some women would be glad to please their master,
whatever way he wanted.”

“Good. Then have one of them lick your dirty feet,”
she spat back without thinking.

He considered her for a moment, his eyes shining with something
twisted, then he licked his lips, weighing his thought. He looked at her, his eyes
boring into hers, and slowly nodded his head. He took out his cellphone and called a
number on speed dial.

He saw the emotion change in her eyes. She had grasped too late the
domino effect of their little confrontation. He waited for her to speak up, willing
her to stop him as the phone rang. She didn’t, simply staring in horror as he spoke
on the phone.