Dark Light (The Dark Light Series)(93)

“What?” I try to swallow down the regret and remorse clutching my chest. I need to be honest with him. I need to be honest with myself. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“So I guess it’s not too complicated, then, huh? You know what, it’s fine, Gabs. You go be happy with him. Let him pick up the pieces the next time you fall apart. It’s fine. I don’t need you.”

Jared turns and stalks away angrily. Only then do I notice Miguel, James, and few other guys watching the scene a few yards away. I can’t bring myself to chase after or even call out to him. Humiliation has consumed me. I simply turn and seek the refuge of Dorian’s waiting Mercedes.

“Are you ok?” Dorian finally asks after several minutes of silence. We’re on our way back to the Broadmoor, the sun setting on the horizon, casting gorgeous pinks and oranges across the sky. Unfortunately, I’m too rattled to enjoy it.

“I will be. Just a bad situation. Something I’ll have to get used to.” I look out the window, too ashamed to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian mutters.

I whip my head around to look at Dorian incredulously. What could he possibly be sorry about? “Are you?”

Dorian slowly nods. “I am.”

“Does it get any easier?” I whisper softly, though I know Dorian will hear me.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel, as if his own painful memory has come to haunt him. “No,” he replies, tight-lipped. I don’t dare to ask him anymore. I don’t want to hear any more truths.

Once we are in the comfort of Dorian’s luxurious suite, I head straight to the bar. I take two crystal glasses and fill them halfway with the brown liquor in the decanter. I’m guessing it’s scotch but at this point, I’m not picky. I take a sip from one of the glasses and then hand it to Dorian, as he did with me before my little striptease.

“Let’s get drunk,” I state, clinking my glass with his.

“Sure you want to do that?” Dorian says with a raised eyebrow. He gives me that look a lot, probably because of all my questionable behavior.

“I’m not sure of anything anymore,” I say with a cynical chuckle. “But I know I’m tired of disappointment. And I’m tired of keeping secrets. And I’m tired of fucking things up!”

Dorian nods, understanding my frustration. “Do you want me to help you?” he asks quietly. I know what he means. Dorian is offering to fix me like he did the day before.

“No,” I shake my head. “I want you to drink with me. Then I want you to do things to me that are as dirty and immoral as I already feel.” I take another hefty gulp and let the searing burn strip away the guilt and shame in my chest.

“Ok, let’s get drunk.” And with that Dorian downs the entire contents of his glass and turns on the music.

It’s late, and Dorian and I have finished the scotch and have decided to order up a few beers. I’ve accomplished my mission; I am completely wasted and dancing on the coffee table. I’ve scrapped my jeans and am gyrating my hips in only a snug tee and my new teal lace hip-hugging panties. Dorian is seated on the couch, bare-chested, watching the show with sinister, hooded eyes.

“Come join me,” I slur, beckoning Dorian with my index finger.

“Why don’t you come down here?” he says licking his lips.

“Mmmm, I think I will.” I clumsily jump off the coffee table and stumble onto Dorian’s lap, laughing hysterically.

“I think it’s safe to say you are drunk, little girl,” he snickers.

“Mmmm hmmm.” My head is rolling around as if my neck can’t support it. Dorian moves my tousled hair out of my face. “Why do you call me that, Dorian? Why do you call me a little girl?” My eyes are barely open and I’m wearing a lazy grin.

“Because you are,” he states simply.

“No, I’m not! Little girls are babies. They’re delicate and helpless.”

“So are you.” Dorian places my head on his chest. The rhythm of his beating heart is so soothing, almost melodic.

“I’m not helpless! You can’t hurt me!” I laugh.

“Yes, I can.” Dorian’s fingers gently stroke my mussed waves.

“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask meekly. Something in his tone sobers me a fraction.

Dorian looks down at me with cold, menacing eyes. “Yes.”

“Can you do it right now? Can you hurt me?” I challenge him.

“Is that what you want?”

I muster the last bits of my coherency and meet Dorian’s solemn gaze. “Yes,” I breathe earnestly without hesitation.

Before I can utter another slurred word, Dorian lifts me up and slings me over his shoulder like a rag doll. Once my lace clad bottom is in the air, he smacks it. Hard. I gasp at the sting. He’s walking swiftly, making my dizzy head spin even faster. When I see we are in the master bedroom, Dorian literally throws me onto the bed. He snatches my panties off, effortlessly ripping them to shreds and my thin t-shirt is the next to go. His face is ferocious, calculated and menacing as he fingers my floral satin bra.