“Stop!” I hear him call out, breaking me from my tortured reverie. He peers around Aurora’s slender body and looks to me with apologetic eyes. “Gabriella. Come,” he breathes with an outstretched hand.
Slowly, I feel myself rise to my feet. I take the seven measured steps to him, grasping his hand weakly. Dorian pulls me down onto the bed next to him. He looks at me, his dazzling eyes searching the hidden pain etched in my face. He knows how I feel; my emotions are his emotions. But I’ve been swallowing the torment that threatens to eat me alive ever since we stepped into this room. I’ve been dispelling my agony so he can get better without worrying about me.
After I flash him a reassuring, yet manufactured, smile, he turns back to Aurora and nods, signaling her to continue. She sighs agitatedly at my intrusion, regaining her composure before boring her ice blue eyes into his. Again she begins to chant in their ancient, hidden tongue, her singsong voice wavering with emotion.
Hot tears pool rapidly in my eyes, sliding down my face, as I see Dorian’s face transform from affliction to pure bliss. His eyes grow brighter; they are nearly glowing in his euphoric high. He grips my hand tighter, telling me he’s still here, he’s still with me. Aurora’s face is a mixture of carnal desire and ecstasy as she purrs her admission to Dorian, as if I don’t even exist in this moment. It’s just the two of them. I am nothing more than a pathetic spectator intruding on their intimate moment.
Why am I even sitting here, watching like some perverted voyeur? I should leave; I should run away from their depravity. Dammit, I should kick both of their asses for making me feel so weak and disgusting! But I can’t. I am a damn fool, a sick puppy. I am trapped in my own self-inflicted misery.
Dorian begins to tremble and a low growl escapes him. He squeezes my hand harder still and though it hurts, I don’t dare pull away. The tears flow faster and I choke on my anguished sobs. When will this be over? Hasn’t he had enough? The blue glow radiating from their transmission grows brighter still and they both begin to pant, their chests heaving rapidly. Soft moans cascade from Aurora’s lips as she surrenders decades of lust and desire to her past love. It startles me, hearing her passionate cries for Dorian. I gauge his expression, search it for any sign that he feels the same passion. The answer nearly destroys me. He feels it too. He wants her; he needs her. He said he’d try to stop but her magic consumes him. He consumes her.
As if my heart and my pride could take another blow, Dorian releases my hand, replacing it with the taut flesh of Aurora’s backside. She gasps in delight, her eyes fixed on Dorian’s, her breathing wild with a flood of ardor. He slides her skirt up to her hips, his hands kneading her exposed tight mounds in a black lace thong and pulls her into his lap. She straddles him, leaving only centimeters between their wanting mouths. I can’t bear to witness this. I can’t stand the torture. Yet I can’t look away. I need to see this. I have to see Dorian in his element, even if he is at home with Aurora.
He is visibly aroused; they both are. And I am certain that if it weren’t for my presence, he would be inside her. Why isn’t he stopping? He said he’d feel my pain and he would try to stop. Maybe he can’t. Maybe the carnal beast within him has taken over and my Dorian is no longer present. Maybe he really is Dark to his core.
Faster than I can comprehend, Dorian flips Aurora onto her back with a low guttural growl, completely forgetting my miserable existence just inches away. I’m sobbing, drowning in a pool of my own sorrow. He easily pops the top buttons of her blouse and buries his face into her neck and chest, inhaling fiercely. Aurora moans and writhes under his weight as he continues to knead her ass and back, sucking in mouthfuls of her sweet scent. Her hands pull at his slick, black hair as he delves into the apex of her full breasts, the bridge of his nose skimming her round swells. Low groans and ringing moans fill the room, joined by my strained, anguished cries. I should leave; I should run out of this suite right now. But love and devotion hold me prisoner. I am a prisoner of Dorian’s love. And right now he is torturing me, killing me. Yet I make no move to run to freedom. I sit and witness my own death.
“Stop!” Dorian shouts hoarsely, his voice full of emotion. He pushes away from Aurora and sits up. “Go,” he commands.
Aurora stands on shaky legs, visibly drunk off Dorian’s intensity. She smiles at me lazily. “He’s all yours,” she whispers as she adjusts her disheveled clothing then staggers out of the room and down the hall.
Dorian gazes at me with sorrowful eyes. He knows what he has done. He knows the brutality I have just experienced. In a swift movement, he is on me, caressing my body furiously. He kisses my face, my neck, the tops of my breasts. And being the desperate sycophant that I am, I let him. Even knowing that just moments ago, his face was buried in Aurora’s cleavage, his hands grasping her backside. What am I doing? What is happening to me?