Black Marion

27

It was a rotting wound, begging to be cauterized.

At least this was how Alex saw it in the beginning, and unable to hurt the man, she did things gently. Let the bedroom door shut and walked to where he sat. Ignored the depthless cold in those eyes and touched his cheek. Leaned down and kissed him, because that was how one made love, wasn't it? Expressed, first, the gentleness of their intent and the welcome of their body.

To Vaughn it was a bargain. This, for turning a blind eye. But Alex hadn't meant it that way, had meant to say that Vaughn did have her, a part of her, a part of her heart. So she cupped his face and kissed his lips, wishing to fix the rupture between them, wishing to make love instead of sell sex.

But after only a moment, a hand shoved her back.

Vaughn stared at her flatly. "Take off your clothes."

Numb.

Alex lowered her gaze. Her fingers skimmed her sweater, the soft cotton cutting. After a moment, she did as she was told. Without looking at him, she stripped to her skin, folding each piece neatly on the floor as she went, as if the smooth tucks of the fabric could retain for her some stability. She glanced over only when she was done, seeing Vaughn stare with painful passivity at the scar along her abdomen. After a moment, the Regent blinked slowly and pointed at the floor by his feet.

"Kneel."

She went. Knelt, the polished floor chilling her knees. She could feel the heat of the legs at his sides. Traced the line of those trousered thighs to the soft bulge at his crotch, to the buckle of his belt, glistening in the light. Alex lifted her hands, willing them steady. Reached for the silver latch, and then hesitated.

"Vaughn, it doesn't have to be like this."

"Scared?"

She looked up. Nearly winced at the foreign eyes which met her. "No, what I mean is..."

A hand grasped her jaw. Not harsh, but not him. When that pressure strained her throat and that thumb grazed her lower lip, those eyes still utterly unfamiliar, Alex realized that this wasn't Vaughn. Not her Vaughn. Not since he'd left her apartment last night. It was a fragment, a broken shard.

"Are you backing out?" The Regent cocked his head faintly. "Should I call the Council?"

A part of the act.

Not real, that threat. It couldn't be. Alex refused to believe it.

But it tore her heart nonetheless, and she looked down, silent, and undid the buckle of his belt. What she found beneath was as withered as the warmth between them. Vaughn released her jaw. Alex leaned forward, and gently, did as he wished. Perhaps the chemical heat cast the illusion. Perhaps that was the voiceless exhale above her, the touch trailing her cheekbone, the husked voice that eventually said, "Get on the bed."

She did. Watched as Vaughn took a minted bottle from the drawer top and joined her, still dressed. She was not familiar with sex, but she knew what to expected, and it suddenly seemed a daunting trial. To take someone else into her body—to let herself be torn open so that she could pleasure another—an act of love, surely, but her blood went cold as the shadow of her partner covered her.

She lowered her back into the mattress. Gazed up at the red canopy. Closed her eyes, breathing.

She would be lying to herself if she thought she felt no shame. As for the rest of this ugly pit in her stomach—it writhed, threatening bile, but she couldn't quite distinguish what it was.

Nothing happened at first. Then the sound of a breath, unsteady, and hands brushing her hips. Fingers skimming the curve of her skin, grazing her thighs. With some distant relief, she realized Vaughn was not as cold as he had been. It could be the lust. For Alex, too, there was some strange sensation as he touched where she'd never been touched. A flutter in her stomach as gentle hands kneaded her skin. A dip in her back, a breath from her throat, as contact became pleasure. Her legs trembled from the disturbed strangeness of it all, but still, Vaughn was gentle. Impossibly patient. As he had been, always had been, treating her with such care.