The Deception series boxset: FaCade, Cadence, Beneath Innocence (20 page)

“I don’t think so, Belle,” Dante spat. I heard him stripping, the wisp of his belt and the sharp snap of his zip lowering then the thud of his slacks hitting the floor. The leather of his belt came over my face to rest against my throat forcing my head up to look straight into Malik’s eyes. The belt tightened as Dante tugged on it like reins on a horse. He gave me no foreplay, no warning. His cock nudged at my opening and then thrust straight into my body. Malik’s eyes flashed when I was jolted forward towards him. “Your dirty little pussy was made for my hard cock, Star. Even when you deny it you can’t deny the wetness coating my cock right now.”
Thrust.
“Who owns you?”
Thrust.

Fuck him! I wasn’t going to answer. I could barely breathe from the leather belt cutting into my windpipe. My tears fell harder, their torrent stinging my lip where I had bit into it and distorting the image of Malik’s lust. The bastard. My body was the biggest bastard in the room because it answered everything Dante was giving it. My core tightened and pulsed, the heat rushing through me in waves. My nipples were hard, pushing against the fabric of my bra and tee. “Who owns you, Star? Use your words.” The condescending asshole.

“Fuck you!” I growled.

His thrusts became harder, pushing me to the brink. “Oh, you want to fuck me?” The belt left my throat in a slice sure to leave a mark. It burned. He must have communicated with his eyes to Malik because my hands were freed from his tight hold. Sweat from his palm left a wet sticky layer there. Gross!

Dante’s cock slipped from me, my mouth mewed from his loss making me cringe at my own need for him. I was such a cock whore. “Aww, my little slut missing me already yet refuses to admit I own her.”

A chair scraped behind me then I was pulled upright. His hard cock re-entered me, making me moan. His teeth nipped at my ear and neck before sinking into my shoulder, making me wince and groan at the same time. Lowering us down, he sat on a chair with me on his lap. His belt wrapped around my wrists this time and then he looped them over his head to rest around his neck. Hot palms splayed against my inner thighs pushing them open to bare me to the cool air and Malik’s greedy eyes. “Look how pink and perfect she is. My filthy girl.” I couldn’t stop my hips from moving, grinding down on him in quest of the release I knew he could bring me. Everything else disappeared. It was just me and the pleasure seeking. His thumb circled my exposed clit, his words lifting me into a state of euphoria.

“Look how I make her juices leak from her; how I make her pussy squeeze my big thick cock. Strangle my dick, Star. Fuck me my beautiful, Belle. Make me fill you up.”

That was it; I screamed my release, my inner walls demanding his. The groans echoed all around, his throbbing cock pulsing his release into me. Hot ribbons of cum flooded me and leaked from me when he lifted my hips to slip free from me. His fingers replaced his cock, gathering his cum and rubbing it all over every inch of my pussy. “Who do you belong to?” he whispered.

“You,” I panted my response.

“Who does she belong to?”

“You,” Malik replied, reminding me of his presence.

I closed my eyes and waited until I heard their footsteps fade before I sank to the floor and sobbed into my hands.

I REMAINED THERE FOR A long time, my unblinking eyes fixed on a random point on the wall. My fingers stroked over my sore neck, the tender skin under my touch shriveling back at the contact.

I wasn’t sure what the hell had just happened. My thoughts wouldn’t sort themselves out, the jumbled mass of rapid fire self-questioning giving me a headache. I knew whatever I thought, or Dante thought for that matter, that what had transpired was far from okay. It was wrong, very wrong. He was like this addiction, the pleasure he gave me overruling all the depravity he dished out, the drug he fed me outweighing the corruption made to get the high.

Life or relationships shouldn’t be like that. Although I wasn’t aware of what my life entailed, I knew deep down that this wasn’t what I wanted; however breaking away was easier said than done.

The high from my intense orgasm contradicted the raw pain on my neck… and in my heart. Although dominance was sometimes a sexual stimulant, Dante had taken that a step further, a step too far. The humiliation caused my stomach to twist over the fact that Malik had watched, disgust rolling over me.

I forced myself up from the floor, grabbing my jeans and redressing as I tried desperately to shut off the turmoil in my head.

I wandered the house aimlessly, my feet scuffing the floor in my desolation. Although the house was huge, I had never felt more isolated. Its many walls crushed my spirit, its mass of rooms doing nothing to stop the lonely ache inside me.

I ended my walk when I discovered an open door at the end of a long hallway I hadn’t come across before. Pushing it ajar I stared at the huge open space. A large window filled the whole of one wall, allowing so much natural light in that it was almost as if heaven greeted me. Three easels of different sizes were stood empty, various palettes leaning against the legs. Paints filled several shelves, an array of colors, tubes, pots, brushes and bottles kitting out the room for when I felt ready to return to something I apparently not only loved, but was good at.

My feet took me further in, my eyes still scanning every corner. A sink was situated behind the door, towels and aprons hung from hooks above. But I bypassed those and came to stand in front of a gigantic canvas. The scene took my breath. It was the house here, painted from an angle which suggested the front garden. Peering at it closer, I saw my name scrawled in the bottom right-hand corner. I stood in awe, looking at what my fingers created, the soft brush strokes apparently painted by me sweeping the watercolor elegantly and expertly.

I was amazed by my skill, yet something didn’t sit right. I couldn’t place my finger on what was bugging me as I stared restlessly around the studio, trying desperately to find what didn’t make sense.

Shrugging it off, I selected a brush from one of the pots and picked up a tube of blue acrylic paint, squeezing a small amount onto a palette. Even the equipment felt
wrong
but I put it down to my lack of memories.

Pulling an easel over to the window, I settled myself in front of it and dipped the brush into the paint then lifted it to the canvas. I wasn’t sure what I expected but nothing came, not even an image in my head to start with.

Swallowing back the annoyance, I diverted my gaze through the window trying to find a subject I could paint. A huge tree caught my attention, pink blossom covering its branches and the surrounding grass beneath it with a rustic iron bench situated to one side. Okay, that should be quite pretty to recreate.

I ventured back over to the shelf, picking a selection of assorted colors, expelling a tiny amount of each onto the palette with the original blue. White, green, red, yellow and blue now decorated the clean white plastic. I blinked again, angry at what was troubling me.

“Damn it, Star. Think.”

Inhaling deeply, I dipped the brush into the red, collecting a small amount before swirling it into the mixing compartment. Taking a measure of white I mixed it with the red. The pink I produced was a little gaudy so I mixed in a little more white. My gaze kept flicking to the blossom as I tried to form the exact color but it wasn’t working, the shade of pink either too harsh or too pale.

“God damn it, it can’t be that hard.”

Picking another brush I went to mix a brown. What were the colors I needed again? How did you create a brown, was it red and blue? Yellow, blue and green?

I couldn’t do anything; my memories were like a disability, holding me back from myself and my abilities.

I spun round, flinging the palette across the room. Paint sprayed across the floor then splattered the wall where it crashed into it, a rainbow the only thing I could actually create. I stared at the mess, the wall now my canvas as a variety of color spread out in lines and splodges.

I narrowed my eyes and slowly looked around. Nothing. There was no other mess in the room. And that was the problem. I tipped my head and studied the wooden floor. Nothing. My gaze lifted to the other three walls. Nothing.

I frowned, reaching for the supply of paintbrushes. All clean and brand new. Several pristine white palettes were piled up beside brand new tubes of paint, their seals still intact when I unscrewed numerous ones to check. I yanked an apron from a hook; it was still creased from where it had obviously been sat in its packaging. The sink was steel, its glare almost blinding.

“Holy shit!”

If this was my studio where I created my art, including the painting in the corner with my signature scribbled on it why was everything so new?

My mouth dried as my heartbeat sped up. I dropped into a chair that sat beside a wooden table and lifted a hand to my mouth as though it would stop the need to vomit. Why? Why lie to me? He had to be lying, there was no way this was a used studio. Even if it had been cleaned there would be old brushes and pallets, there would be paint rags. Right?

The painting of the house mocked me. Did I paint that? I looked down at my name in the corner of the painting,
Star Numan.

It was definitely my name. Grabbing some paper and a pencil, I signed my name, Star Numan, according to the autograph on the picture.

The pencil hovered over the paper, even my signature caused my brain difficulty but I forced myself.

Star Numan.

Star Numan

Star Numan.

Why was it so hard to find the same scrawl as the one I obviously always used? I forced myself harder, my eyes glued to the autograph on the painting as I tried to recreate an autograph I would have written frequently. My eyes narrowed as I stared harder and let the pen flow, refusing to watch myself write, hoping it came more naturally. A smile lifted my lips when I finally felt the pencil flow easily, the deep sweep of my hand moving fluently. However when I dropped my gaze to the paper, the floor shifted under me.

Star Numan

Star Numan

Star Avery

Faye Avery

Faye Avery

Faye Avery

Faye Avery

The chair screeched across the floor when I shot upright, the pounding in my chest painful and suffocating. What the fuck? Who the hell was Faye Avery? My head shook from side to side as my mind started to buzz.

“Faye!” I turned to see Jennifer waving as she ran towards me. “Where have you been?”

I shrugged, heat climbing up my face. “I…uhh…”

“Faye Avery! You’ve been with
him
again, haven’t you?”

The shame generated a tear which dribbled down my face as I shook my head at my best friend. “Jen… I… Oh shit, what the hell am I gonna do?”

Her brow creased. “Babe?”

“I… I can’t do this. I’m not sure it’s what I want. Hell, I don’t even know what Dante wants apart from the need to control me. But…” The floor seemed to shift beneath me and I swayed. Jennifer grabbed my hands and directed me onto the university steps. “Faye, talk to me. What is it?”

“He… I….”

“Star?” My body shook when Dante’s voice pulled me from the memory. I stared at him, his face feeling both foreign and familiar. “Are you okay?”

I closed my mouth, running my tongue over my teeth to coat them when they stuck to my lips. Nodding, I smiled weakly up at him. “Yeah.” He frowned at the tremble in my voice. “I just went a bit dizzy.”

He studied me for a moment. “Are you…” He grumbled when his phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered, telling the caller to hold on before he turned back to me. “I have to go, baby. Are you sure you’re okay?”

I nodded, forcing a smile. I was well aware of the piece of paper on the table, my signature all over it. I wasn’t sure if I could deal with his reasons or excuses yet, and his wrath if I did question him was causing the tremble in my lip. He held the back of his hand to my forehead but shrugged, “You don’t have a temperature.”

“Honestly, Dante, I’m fine.”

He looked around the room as if finally realizing where we were and I quickly covered the paper with a fresh piece to hide it. “Oh,” he said, before turning back to me. “Have you managed to do much?”