we were one once book 2: "A Dark Romance" by Willow Madison Page A
Authors: Willow Madison
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laugh bounces off the glass walls and ceiling. Yep, the image of fucking her has definitely taken over the thought of punishing her again.
Cary had suggested that we head back to the city. He thought a few sluts would be more than enough to take my mind off of her. He didn’t understand why I would want to wait around here. He was slick about it, but he kept prying for more information about her. I could see that he wasn’t going to let it go. I finally gave up today and told him most everything. He at least didn’t act pissed that I’d lied to him about her. And he didn’t act overly sympathetic either. That would’ve just sent me into another rage.
I didn’t tell him about her personalities. Or that I was watching her over a year ago. And he didn’t ask too many questions, but it felt good to stop calling her Scarlet at least. And to have someone to talk to about her. Even if I didn’t say much.
He still doesn’t understand why I’m staying and waiting. He knows I’ve never waited for anything. And I’m regretting my decision more each day.
But a part of me is still hoping she’ll come back on her own, like the waves that return to me on the water’s surface. I just have to stay steady and count out the wait.
21
My fingertips find her first. I brush against her softness slowly, keeping my eyes closed. I relish the delight of trying to figure out what part of her I’m touching without peeking. She’s still asleep, so I keep my touch light.
Her flesh bumps as I slide the blanket down further. Definitely her hip and thigh. I feel her bone and contours, the hard curve of muscle and smooth hairlessness. She quietly whimpers and twists as I open my eyes.
In the pale rising rays filtering in, I can see my fingers over a large bruise on her outer thigh. It hasn’t yellowed yet. A remnant from our first night reunited.
She lies on her side, the sheets snaking around and under her arms and legs, but doing nothing to cover her. I watch her stomach rise and fall with her steady breaths. The hair between her legs is coming back nicely. It reminds me of the first time I saw her nude.
She twists again in her fitful sleep, moaning as her back arcs away from me. Even with her hair covering most of it, I can still see the marks left by Lamb. And the sight of those pale pink lines doesn’t fail to bring out the same furious response in me as it did the first time.
“Take off that whore’s dress, Gillian. You have something more appropriate for a bride to wear.” The lights from the Strip stretch as vibrant threads in a dark carpet outside the large windows. Not my ideal choice for our wedding, but I’ve had to wait long enough to have my bride. This brief layover in Las Vegas will be a distant memory tomorrow when we start our lives as man and wife.
Gillian picks up the simple white dress draped over the edge of the bed and turns to the door of the bathroom. “No. Undress here. I want to see you.” I can hear a fevered lust coloring my words, but I see no reason to hide it now that we’re alone.
She puts the dress back down gently, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric under the plastic covering. She turns to face me, but keeps her eyes demurely lowered. She knows how I like her sweet innocence.
In one slow movement, both her arms extend up and back, one to hold the dress, one to lower the zipper. My pulse races with the slow sound of the fabric letting go.
Three years I’ve waited. But watching her pull herself out of the overly bright dress, I’m reminded of a butterfly from its cocoon. She’s more beautiful than even my memories could ever hope to capture. And I won’t have to live with only memories ever again. My butterfly is in my net. And she’ll stay in it this time.
“Stop.” She halts all movement, frozen on half-bent legs, fingers outstretched from releasing her dress to the floor, hair falling over her shoulders as a dark curtain. “Come to me, my love.”
With her head
Cary had suggested that we head back to the city. He thought a few sluts would be more than enough to take my mind off of her. He didn’t understand why I would want to wait around here. He was slick about it, but he kept prying for more information about her. I could see that he wasn’t going to let it go. I finally gave up today and told him most everything. He at least didn’t act pissed that I’d lied to him about her. And he didn’t act overly sympathetic either. That would’ve just sent me into another rage.
I didn’t tell him about her personalities. Or that I was watching her over a year ago. And he didn’t ask too many questions, but it felt good to stop calling her Scarlet at least. And to have someone to talk to about her. Even if I didn’t say much.
He still doesn’t understand why I’m staying and waiting. He knows I’ve never waited for anything. And I’m regretting my decision more each day.
But a part of me is still hoping she’ll come back on her own, like the waves that return to me on the water’s surface. I just have to stay steady and count out the wait.
21
My fingertips find her first. I brush against her softness slowly, keeping my eyes closed. I relish the delight of trying to figure out what part of her I’m touching without peeking. She’s still asleep, so I keep my touch light.
Her flesh bumps as I slide the blanket down further. Definitely her hip and thigh. I feel her bone and contours, the hard curve of muscle and smooth hairlessness. She quietly whimpers and twists as I open my eyes.
In the pale rising rays filtering in, I can see my fingers over a large bruise on her outer thigh. It hasn’t yellowed yet. A remnant from our first night reunited.
She lies on her side, the sheets snaking around and under her arms and legs, but doing nothing to cover her. I watch her stomach rise and fall with her steady breaths. The hair between her legs is coming back nicely. It reminds me of the first time I saw her nude.
She twists again in her fitful sleep, moaning as her back arcs away from me. Even with her hair covering most of it, I can still see the marks left by Lamb. And the sight of those pale pink lines doesn’t fail to bring out the same furious response in me as it did the first time.
“Take off that whore’s dress, Gillian. You have something more appropriate for a bride to wear.” The lights from the Strip stretch as vibrant threads in a dark carpet outside the large windows. Not my ideal choice for our wedding, but I’ve had to wait long enough to have my bride. This brief layover in Las Vegas will be a distant memory tomorrow when we start our lives as man and wife.
Gillian picks up the simple white dress draped over the edge of the bed and turns to the door of the bathroom. “No. Undress here. I want to see you.” I can hear a fevered lust coloring my words, but I see no reason to hide it now that we’re alone.
She puts the dress back down gently, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric under the plastic covering. She turns to face me, but keeps her eyes demurely lowered. She knows how I like her sweet innocence.
In one slow movement, both her arms extend up and back, one to hold the dress, one to lower the zipper. My pulse races with the slow sound of the fabric letting go.
Three years I’ve waited. But watching her pull herself out of the overly bright dress, I’m reminded of a butterfly from its cocoon. She’s more beautiful than even my memories could ever hope to capture. And I won’t have to live with only memories ever again. My butterfly is in my net. And she’ll stay in it this time.
“Stop.” She halts all movement, frozen on half-bent legs, fingers outstretched from releasing her dress to the floor, hair falling over her shoulders as a dark curtain. “Come to me, my love.”
With her head
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