Flesh: Part Eleven (The Flesh Series Book 11) Read online

“You can do this, Amy.” I fan myself with my hand. As soon as the front desk guy closed the door, it felt like the temperature in the room jumped up by about twenty degrees. I know it's just me though, my nerves heating me up from the inside. “You've got to do this.”

  I take long strides across the room, knowing that time is ticking. If I keep stalling, I might not get out what I need to say. That would be a travesty considering that I'm paying $5 per minute for this.

  I inhale deeply and close my eyes before flipping the switch to signify that I'm ready. Then I dash across the room to stand in front of the Saint Andrew's cross with my back towards the door, pretending to run my fingertips down the long wooden beams. I want Lucian to be absolutely shocked when he sees me standing there. I want to watch that smug look on his face melt away and be replaced with shear discomfort at the fact that I chased him down.

  It's so quiet that every one of my senses is on high alert. I listen for the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, but I hear nothing. Now that I think about it, as soon as the office guy closed the door, all outside noise was lost. This room is well insulated, unlike the first one I was in. I can't help but wonder if it's so that no one will hear me scream.

  I tap one of my blue pumps on the floor in nervousness. This place is strangely silent for a house of pleasure and pain. Recalling my first time at Flesh, I don't remember hearing anyone moaning or screaming when I was led to my room. It was the same this time too. Though I do remember hearing Lucian's footsteps. Maybe it wasn't as busy last time. Or perhaps they purposely have thick walls to contain everyone's individual experience. I'm confused now and putting way too much thought into it.

  Minutes tick by, and as they do, I find myself getting more irritable. It's the same as last time. He's late. Doesn't he have any regard for the fact that people pay good money for this? No. Because he's a selfish asshole through and through. How he ever became successful at anything with his lack of punctuality is a mystery to me.

  Eventually, I get tired of posing for his entry. I let out an exasperated breath towards the ceiling and put my hands on my hips, briefly leaning my forehead against the cool wood of the cross. Almost the second that I do, I draw away, thinking about how many sweaty bodies have been pinned up against it. Disgusting.

  Finally, I hear the sound of the door knob turning. My body tenses, and I quickly reposition myself to look purposeful, though it seems more artificial than natural. I forgot how to act natural the second that I realized how real this situation is, that I'm finally going to face Lucian and tell him off for everything he's done to me.

  “Good evening.” His deep voice sends a shiver rolling down my spine.

  He doesn't recognize me. At least, the way he's speaking to me is indicative of that. So professional, so controlled. I'm about to unravel him completely. Take that thick thread of certainty he's holding onto and rip it wide open.

  “Good evening, Lucian.” I spin on my heels to face him.

  Priceless. This was exactly what I wanted. His perfect expression falters for a moment. There's a flash of nervousness behind his eyes, but he quickly recovers. It's too late. I saw it there. I saw that he's shaken.

  “Amy. What a pleasant surprise.” He drags his tongue across his bottom lip. I can't help but wonder if his mouth became as dry as mine did the second his eyes landed on me.

  “Is it?” I subtly lift my eyebrow, trying to control the bitchiness in my voice. I don't want him to see how hurt I am. Not yet.

  “It pleases me greatly that you'd be open to delving deeper into my...interests.” A warmth comes to his heavenly blue eyes, and his lips quirk into a smirk, the kind that makes my body heat up from my overwhelming attraction to him.

  He looks all the part of a Dom in black leather pants and a matching double-breasted vest. His arms are firm with muscle, his chest peeking out from under the vest. He's a picture of Dominant perfection. Exquisitely put together like sexual divinity in the flesh.

  I feared that this intense pull toward him might happen. My only defense against it is getting down to business before he has a chance to put his hands on me. I have to remember what he's done to my heart. What he does to my heart. How careless and horrible he is. There aren't enough good looks and big dicks in the world to make up for that.

  “I fear you're mistaken, Sir. I'm not here for that.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Is that so?” His smirk broadens. It's very obvious that he doesn't believe me. Even more obvious that he thinks he's going to seduce me out of my wits. He takes a step forward, and I hold my hands out, hoping to keep distance between us.

  “That is so.” I take a deep breath and avert my eyes, not wanting to look at him any longer. “I came to find out what gives.”

  “What gives?” he says the words one at a time as if they're not even English.

  “Yes, what gives? You don't return my texts. You haven't answered my emails.” I count his transgressions on my fingers. “I haven't heard hide nor hair from you since we picked out the furniture for your bedroom.”

  “I've been busy, Amy.” I can hear the frown in his voice.

  “Busy? Busy! Really, Lucian?” I quirk my head back. “Busy is when you get backed up for a night and can't respond to me until the next morning. You haven't been busy. You've been completely unresponsive.”

  He approaches me, and I cower against the cross, hating myself for showing vulnerability, especially since there's no point in it. Nothing is going to stop him from doing what he wants. Nothing ever has.

  He reaches out to take me by the shoulders, and I slap one of his hands as hard as I can before recoiling. By some miracle, he gets the hint and drops his arms to his sides, giving me a quizzical look.

  “I'm glad that you're here, Amy.” He tries to touch me again, this time my face, and again I slap his hand away, quickly side stepping him to get out from beneath his intimidating frame.

  “I doubt you care that I'm here.” I hug myself tightly.

  “You know that's not true.” He casts a weary glance over his shoulder.

  “I hate this place.” I look around the room, feeling sheer disgust boiling inside of me. I can almost smell the sex coming off of the furniture, see the writhing bodies like shadows, hear the muted screams of pain. It seems more like a dungeon in the medieval sense than the pleasurable sense. The dungeon where Lucian has kept my heart captive and slowly tortured it to death. “I hate this place almost as much as I hate you.”

  “Are we really going to do this again?” He rolls his eyes.

  “We wouldn't have to do this again if you were a decent human being. That doesn't matter anymore though. I see you for what you are.” My body tenses as I glare at him.

  “A man who doesn't have redecorating his home as a top priority?”

  “A man who is bad business, both professionally and emotionally. I came here today to tell you that I'm done with you, Lucian. In every sense of the word. I'm done. So past done.” I suck in a deep breath to keep my tears at bay. The wave of emotion that has hit me from saying those words is completely unexpected. I absolutely loathe that I'm showing him far more raw emotion than he deserves. Even more so that he's not taking it seriously.

  His mouth is still quirked into an infuriating grin. He holds his arms out and crosses the room towards me. I step back, trying to avoid him. When he attempts to pull me into his arms, I kick him as hard as I can in the shin and then slide around him to put space between us again.

  “Ow.” He nearly doubles over to rub his injured leg. The smug expression he was wearing only seconds ago is gone, replaced by what appears to be confusion with a dash of anger.

  “Ow.” I mock him. “Oh woe is you. Your poor little leg,” the words sound like venom spilling from my mouth. I can feel the heat in them, my tongue practically burning my lips. “That bruise will heal in a week. My heart, on the other hand...” my voice trails off, and I have to swallow back another wave of emotion from breaking to the surface.

 
“I never had any ill intentions towards you.” He straightens himself. Now he's being completely serious. There's no lust or amusement.

  “That may be true, but you've hurt me more than any man ever has. And I'm done with it.” There's a strange sense of satisfaction in knowing that I'm finally standing up for myself. That I'm getting all of this out into the open. Coming here was a good idea after all. It feels like a heavy weight is slowly being lifted from my shoulders. The burden of pining over a man who never cared for me. The weight of my own naivety and illogical desire.

  “How have I hurt you?” He cocks an eyebrow.

  “Are you really asking me that?” I gesture into the air erratically.

  “Yes, I'm really asking you that,” his voice is clipped, as if he's offended by the notion that I think he purposely set out to hurt me.

  I still for a moment, trying to figure out how to word what I want to say. The thought of gushing my feelings—my true feelings about him—is painful. I don't want him to see how deeply he's wounded me, because I think that he won't care. But I need to do this. I won't be able to heal properly if I don't. I'll only create more regrets that it will take me even longer to get over.

  “I like you Lucian. A lot.” It's a pathetic start, but it's a start. I wait for him to respond, but he doesn't. He simply stands there, staring at me patiently. “I told you I don't fuck and run. I've told you that time and time again. And I knew from the beginning that's the type of guy you are. I knew you were bad for me, but I just...” I turn my gaze to the floor. “I'm so used to sweet, charming, loving men. The guys who buy you flowers and wine you and dine you. Part of me hoped you'd eventually become like that. Because I know that's what I need.”

  “If you know that's what you need, then why did you keep coming back?” his tone is cold, as if this whole thing is my fault. It only makes me feel worse.

  “I didn't plan to keep coming back. You kept pulling me in. This is your fault, not mine.” I look up at him, my eyes full of all the bitterness that I feel inside. “You kept seducing me with your slick words. You made me believe things that weren't true. You made me feel things I never should have felt for you.”

  “What did I make you believe that you think wasn't true?”

  “That you actually cared.” I hug myself tighter. “When you told me about your wife and son. When you told me that you were scared about the things you were feeling. It was all lies so that I wouldn't leave.”

  “You assume way too much about me.”

  “What am I supposed to assume? You're hot one minute and cold the next. All over me for days, and then I don't hear from you for an entire week.”

  Lucian lets out a sigh and glances away. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and releases it with a small hissing sound. “Amy,” he hesitates. “I don't know how to do this.”

  It's so vague that I can't even grasp any meaning from it. “You don't have to do anything, Lucian. As I said, I'm done with you. I just needed to come here and tell you. Tell you how much you hurt me. Tell you how you damaged me, how it will probably be a really long time before I trust another man again. Maybe I won't ever trust a man again. I don't know.”

  “Amy.” His expression sulks, and I finally see a twinge of remorse behind his eyes.

  I hold my hand out to stop him from saying anything more. “I'm telling Tyra to take me off of your project. I don't care what she assumes. I'm not even sure you had any intentions of completing it.” I furrow my brows at him, searching for an answer in his expression.

  “I did. I just got caught up in other things.” His gaze falls to the floor.

  For several moments, the room is silent. I expect him to say something. Anything. He doesn't though. And I'm quickly growing tired of standing here with my nerves on the edge.

  “Goodbye, Lucian Reddick. You're the worst thing that ever happened to me, and I pray to God that no girl ever has to go through what you put me through.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Amy, wait.” Lucian's voice is pleading, but I'm already headed for the door.

  I feel his hand on my wrist, and I reflexively turn and slap him as hard as I can. The pain of my throbbing palm drowns out the aching in my heart for a split second. He winces but quickly reaches for my other wrist to hold me captive.

  We've played this game before. So many times. And I've always given in. Not this time though. This time, I'm going to fight him tooth and nail to get out of the room if I have to claw his stupidly beautiful eyes out.

  “Lucian, let me go.” I flail in his arms, and when he doesn't immediately release me, I start kicking.

  The first successful blow hits him in the thigh. He cries out and pulls back, dragging me with him. His grip around my wrists is like iron.

  I kick at him again and miss. He pulls me roughly to him, wrapping his powerful arms around me like a vice. I scream and stomp on his foot, and then we both go down.

  My heart is beating one hundred miles per hour. It feels almost like I'm trying to escape a legitimate attacker. I don't believe he'd truly hurt me though.

  I manage to land a blow between his legs, and he curls into the fetal position. I take the opportunity to crawl away. His recovery is astounding though. Before I have a chance to make it to my feet, he's on me again, turning me around. I go for another nut shot, but he has wised up to my attacks. He pulls my hands above my head and uses his body weight to keep my legs pinned to the floor. Since I can no longer escape, I scream and scream and scream, hoping that it will annoy him enough to make him let me go.

  “Rape!” the word comes out of my mouth repeatedly until my vocal cords are sore. When that doesn't work, I start screaming, “Fire!”

  Lucian doesn't budge. He simply lays there on top of me, his heart drumming against my chest while he catches his breath.

  “Amy. Are you done yet?” he asks when I don't feel like I even have a voice left.

  “I hate you.” I give one final struggle before going limp beneath him.

  His eyes rove over my face, and that familiar heat returns to his gaze, the kind that's gotten to me every single time. Not this time though. I'm so mad that if I could shoot flamethrowers out of my eyes and catch him on fire, I would. I'd bite off his dick if he stuck it anywhere near my mouth.

  He leans down to kiss me, and I turn my face. Almost instantly, I feel his hand grabbing my ponytail, jerking my face forward. His lips meet mine, and I mumble protest into the kiss. Then I use my last defense. I bite him. Hard.

  Blood fills my mouth. He gasps and pulls away, a small trickle running down his chin. There's a flash of anger in his eyes, but it goes away just as quickly as it came.

  “Damn it, Amy, can't you see that I'm infatuated with you.”

  “Infatuated,” I let out a strangled laugh. “Yes, you're absolutely, mindlessly infatuated with me. That's why I haven't heard from you in an entire week.” I spit his blood in his face, hoping it will make him get off of me. Never before have I been this nasty to another human being. I can hardly believe myself, but I'm so crazy with rage right now that there doesn't seem to be any filter between my mind and my actions.

  He closes his eyes, absolutely shocked. He holds the expression for a moment before wiping his face on my arm and smirking. “You're kind of violent.”

  “And you're a rapist. Now let me go.” I struggle again to no avail.

  “A rapist? Really?” This seems to amuse him even more. “You think so horribly of me.”

  “Because you're a horrible, horrible man. As soon as I get free from here, I should call the police.”

  “For what? My only crime is being scared of my feelings for you. That's why I haven't spoken to you. I'm not the kind of guy who gets feeling, Amy.”

  I want to feel something from his words, but I don't. All that's flowing through me is bitterness and anger. “Then let me go and I can put more distance between us.”

  “I don't want that. I can see that now. I want you to belong to me.” His words are strong
with conviction.

  “That ship has sailed, Lucian. You've screwed up too much to have me. You don't deserve me.”

  He looks away from me for a moment as if he's thinking. “You're right. I don't deserve you.”

  Then I feel his weight lift off of me. He sits Indian style a few feet away. It's such a strange thing to see, all the fight leaving him, especially when he had the advantage. I'm grateful though. This has been far more dramatic than I had anticipated. I said what I came to say, now I just want to leave.

  I pick myself up from the floor and dust myself off. My eyes linger on him all the while. The atmosphere in the room is unsettling. Every emotion I've had up until this point I've been able to distinguish. Now, I just feel off.

  Part of me thinks that I should care about his strange withdrawal, but I've learned my lesson about being soft with him. Give him an inch, and he'll take a mile. This is likely another one of his traps. I'm not falling for it.

  I start walking towards the door.

  “Amy,” his voice is strained. I don't turn around. “Amy, please.” He twists his torso to face me. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I make the mistake of glancing at him. There are tears in his eyes. My heart of stone begins to crack, and I quickly send my psychological guards to patch it up before it's too late. “Just talk to me. Please, just talk to me.”

  He looks like a wounded animal. So weak and pathetic and...broken. This is different than when he told me about his wife. This pain isn't for her. It's for...me.

  “We have nothing else to discuss, Lucian.” I clutch my purse tightly against me like a shield.

  He turns to face me the rest of the way, but he doesn't get up. “I'll do whatever you want. Just don't leave. I promise I won't advance on you again. I just want to talk. Just to talk.” His bottom lip trembles slightly.

  I feel sorry for him, though I don't know why. The crack in my heart isn't getting filled fast enough. Stone slowly turns to jello as I begin to think that perhaps I've hurt him just as much as he's hurt me. It doesn't seem possible though. There's a very real probability that those are fake tears, that he knows this is what he needs to do to reel me back in. He's a master of manipulation.