A Vow Of Hate by Lylah James

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

 

Julianna

 

Your mouth tastes of cigar and sorrow,

I like the way my name sounds on your lips.

But your smile will fade come morrow.

It is wintry and I am lonely,

Please come back.

Your mouth tastes of cigar and sorrow,

I like the way you hold me,

Even when I know it is all a ruse – a bleeding arrow.

For you still envisage her when you bed me.

Your mouth tastes of cigar and sorrow,

I like the way you touch me,

So coldly, like the dead wings of a sparrow,

And I have begun to crave your warmth.

Your mouth tastes of cigar and sorrow,

I do not like the way you left me without a second glance,

After your soft caress had been so thorough.

Please come back.

- A

I settled on the bed, my body tingling with frayed nerves. I had never imagined seeing Simon again, not after… everything.

He paced around the room, taking a quick look into my adjoined bathroom and library and then out of the window. Simon had always been vigilant and it seemed like he hadn’t changed a bit. Old habits die hard, I presumed.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice shaking.

Simon, with his curly hair slicked back and glassy green eyes, smiled at me. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

I gestured around the room, a humorless laugh leaving my lips. “As you can see, I’m doing quite well. I’m married and very much in love with my husband.”

His eyes narrowed on me. “What a pretty liar you are.”

We both stared at each other for a second before I cracked a smile. “How are you doing, Simon?”

“Surviving,” he deadpanned. “You?”

“Surviving,” I repeated softly.

I watched him run a hand over his face, almost tiredly. “I thought this would be easy but I never considered that looking at you would stir up old memories.”

“Old memories are hard to let go, especially when they are good memories,” I said, the words practically coming out choked.

His gaze brushed over me, from head to toe. Lingering for a second too long on my black hair and then my masquerade mask. “Sometimes good memories can turn out to be bitter.”

I swallowed, fighting down the ball of tears in my throat. “Life would be boring without some bitterness every now and then.”

I watched as he walked toward the window, leaning against the sill. He was trying to act composed, but I could see how tensed he was. Like he was getting ready to jump out of the window at any moment. Like he didn’t want to be here, but he was forced to. “When did you become so…perceptive?” he grumbled.

“When I realized that I was a murderer – unknowingly.”

Simon inhaled sharply and his eyes darted away from me, his expression growing tight. “Fuck, Julianna. It’s like you want us to hate you.”

I lifted a shoulder, half-shrugging. “That would make it a lot easier than sympathy.”

His lips thinned. “And this is why you’re still lying to your husband?”

I could feel my hackles rising as he openly judged me. Simon knew a lot about my secrets and he shouldn’t have been here. This was a bad idea. “My lies are none of your concern.”

“It is when it has to do with Grace,” he said sharply.

My eyes turned into slits, glaring at the man standing in front of me – questioning me as if he had the right to – as if he knew what it felt like to live with the man I loved, yet he loathed me with every cell in his body.

“Our secrets were buried with her,” I said, trying to be firm, but the moment the words were spilled, I realized how weak they sounded.

He arched an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “You can’t bury a secret like that. It will come back to haunt you, now or tomorrow. One day, for sure.”

I shook my head but Simon took a step forward, advancing toward me. “You fooled him, then and now. That’s not fair, Julianna.”

My fingers clenched the fabric of my dress. “You don’t know what’s fair.”

“You’re not the only one hurting,” Simon snapped. “Stop making yourself out to be the martyr.”

“I was the one in that car with her,” I hissed. “You don’t know what that’s like.”

“I understand it was traumatic–”

I scoffed. “Traumatic? That’s an easy word to describe looking into your sister’s bloodied and mangled face for three hours, staring into her dead eyes with the pungent scent of death cocooning you. That’s not trauma, Simon. That’s hell.”

We stared at each other for a minute too long, both of us breathing heavily, the tension thick in the air.

I swallowed numbly and shook my head. “I’m so – I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair to you.”

When Simon didn’t respond, only kept staring at me like he was seeing a ghost, I let out a muffled sob. “Why are you here?”

“I guess I wanted to torture myself some more.”

I ruined so many lives that night…

And we were all stuck in a never-ending loop of torment and rage. How do we break free? I didn’t fucking know. I didn’t know where to start or how to end this suffering, because I was the reason behind it all.

“Did you know? That Grace was pregnant with your baby?” I whispered.

He shook his head sharply. “She didn’t tell me but I knew.”

Simon took a deep breath, his wide chest rattling from it. His fists clenched at his sides.

“Her period was late. Then, I saw the small changes on her body. And she was sick in the morning for two weeks straight,” he explained. “I was her bodyguard, Julianna. I was supposed to notice every little detail about her. I was waiting for her to tell me.”

I was the first to find out about Gracelynn’s pregnancy. I still remembered vividly the look of pure terror on her face, before it morphed into a confused giggle and happy tears. I was the one who held her when she broke down – when she realized that a baby would change everything.

She was betrothed to one man.

But loved another.

She danced with one man.

But made love to another.

Gracelynn was set to marry Killian.

But was carrying Simon’s baby.

“And she never got a chance to,” I murmured. “Do you hate me?”

Simon gave me a bittersweet smile. “I want to. I think I do hate you, but I’m also bound by the vows I made to Grace.”

I flinched at the mention of vows. The vows I was familiar with only came with destruction, violence and rage. My failed marriage began with such promises.

“What vows?”

“She asked me – no – she told me to always take care of you if anything ever happens to her. I don’t think you know how much she loved and adored you. Grace would have used herself as a shield to protect you if she had to.”

It felt like my chest had been split open, sending tiny cracks of my heart and fissures of my soul in all direction. A single tear slid down my scarred cheek, hidden behind my masquerade mask. “I know.”

“I can’t even scream at you or hurt you for all the pain you’ve caused – because it would go against all of what Grace would have wanted. So, I’m bound by my vows and Gracelynn’s love. I hate you, but I can’t hate you.”

His words made me want to crawl into a ball and die. He didn’t even realize it but every word he spoke stabbed me with such ruthlessness; I didn’t know if I could bleed more than I already did. “So, you’re forced to tolerate me with that smile on your lips and with such pain in your eyes. How cruel.”

Simon shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks, rocking back onto the balls of his feet. He stared at me for a moment, his eyes going to my left hand, where I was moving my wedding ring around my finger. I had been doing it unconsciously until he brought my attention to it.

“What are you doing to yourself, Julianna?” he sighed, suddenly looking more weary than ever.

I gestured around the room and then to myself. “This is my atonement.”

“How cruel,” he said, repeating my own words.

“You have to go; don’t come to see me again,” I said, my voice shaking and thick with unshed tears. “Stop tormenting yourself.”

Simon gave me a long stare and I could almost see him debating with himself, trying to find the right words to pacify me. To make it better. But really, there was nothing he could say that would change the past.

All it took was a single second.

One very impulsive decision.

And here I was.

Watching the aftermath – the destruction – of my mistakes.

Simon finally nodded, sharply. I watched him walk away, taking with him the last bit of Gracelynn that I carried in my bloodied hands.

The bodice of my gown felt too tight around my chest, pinching me until I couldn’t really breathe. I released a harsh exhale, puffing and dragging a desperate breath into my lungs.

I closed my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palm. It stung, like thorns pricking my flesh. I dug my nails deeper, cutting through my skin. I barely winced.

The pain started with a pinch, almost unnoticeable, before it flared up. The harder I pushed my nails into the cut I had made, the burning sensation intensified. My palm throbbed.

It distracted me.

I opened my hand, utterly mesmerized by the sight of blood staining my palm.

It hurt.

But I liked the pain.

I needed it.

It called to me.

Pain soothed me and I submerged myself in it.

Killian

“I want to wait… for our wedding night. For it to be special.”

My fingers clenched around the whiskey glass, fury coursing through my veins. Hot and burning. With a loud bellow, I tossed the glass across the room. It crashed into the wall, breaking into tiny pieces and scattering around the room. The whiskey soaked the carpet while staining the wallpaper, a dark brown.

When I was fourteen years old and I had realized the truth behind my parents’ marriage, I had vowed to myself that I would never settle for less than true love.

I had thought I found that with Gracelynn.

I had to hand it to my dead lover, though. She played me so fucking well, and I fell for it, like a fool I was. So blindly in love with her that I didn’t see her betrayal.

All this time, I thought Julianna was the villain. But it was Gracelynn who had managed to break me, to crack me open completely.

The woman I mourned for three years cheated on me. The woman I was meant to marry was carrying another man’s child.

How fucking pathetic.

Julianna knew. She fucking knew. Her sister was a cheater and a traitor, and while I mourned her, my wife didn’t even bother to tell me. Both Romano sisters played me well, it seemed.

No more.

I was done.

Done being played.

Done being the fool that I was for the wrong women.

My father was right when he said I had to figure out my priorities. It was about fucking time I did so. Grabbing the bottle of whiskey, I bolted out of my room and blindly followed the path to the East wing.

My body was tensed with supressed anger. The poison of it ate at my flesh, sinking into my bones, into the marrow of me until I became one with it.

My fury churned within, hungry for destruction. It hovered over me like a morning fog, clouding my judgment. Rage was deceitful, but goddamn it, right now – it tasted so fucking sweet on my tongue.

In the back of my head, warning bells sounded. The maddening ghost on my shoulder hissed, telling me to stop. Urging me to think. Screaming at me that once the rage dissipated, I would be left with more regret than I could bear.

But I wasn’t listening.

I was beyond that.

“I want to wait… for our wedding night. For it to be special.”

I laughed, without any humor, but my laughter sounded just as mad as I felt. My legs carried me to my destination.

I stalked inside Julianna’s room, her door slamming into the wall next to it. Julianna jumped, her hand going to her chest frantically. Her eyes darted around her room until they landed on me. She was still dressed in her wine-red gown, her masquerade mask hiding her face from me.

“What are–”

“Do you consent?” I asked, practically snarling the words. I kicked the door close with my foot.

Her eyes widened. “You – I mean, tonight?”

I brought the bottle of whiskey to my mouth and took a huge gulp, feeling the alcohol burn down my throat and that was the only thing keeping me somewhat sane. “Yes, tonight. Right now. Get fucking undressed, Julianna.”

Her hand fluttered over her chest and she looked left and right, seeking some kind of answer from the boring walls. And when she couldn’t find any, her gaze landed on mine again.

“Do you consent, wife?” I gritted.

Her fingers fisted the tulles of her dress, burying her hands into the fabric. Her body was practically trembling with nerves and I almost felt sorry for her. “I’m willing,” she breathed.

“Your red lips speak beautiful lies, wife.”

She shook her head, vengefully. “No, I want this. Killian, I offer myself to you – willingly. I need this.”

I gestured toward her with the bottle. “What are you waiting for then? I don’t mind fucking you in that dress, but we both know I will ruin it and you seem quite partial to this gown.”

Advancing toward her, I slammed the whiskey bottle onto the nearest coffee table. I carelessly tugged on my tie, sliding it from my neck, and threw it somewhere on the floor. I watched as Julianna unlaced her bodice from the back, her hands clumsy and slow. Once her dress had come loose, she lowered the top, her breasts spilling out.

The moment the cool air touched her bare skin, she flinched and her fingers clenched around her dress, holding it to her stomach. Gooseflesh peppered her skin and I could see her tight nipples through her thin bra.

“Drop the dress, Julianna,” I said, my voice so deep and thick – I barely even recognized it.

Her chest heaved with a shuddering breath, before doing as she was told.

Her dress pooled at her bare feet until she was standing in front of me in only her silk bra and panties.

Something twisted in my gut and my dick twitched in my slacks, hardening at the sight of my wife, standing in front of me – offering herself to me.

Her surrender.

Her devotion.

Her undoing.

Fuck.

Julianna Spencer was so goddamn maddening.

This was twisted and utterly insane. Our whole relationship was toxic and this moment itself was proof of it.

I wanted this, even though I hated her.

Julianna needed this, even though she despised me.

I didn’t know what I expected when I came to her room, but it was definitely not me being aroused by the simple sight of her bare skin.

Her slender shoulders caved in before she took a deep breath and straightened. “I need the lights off.”

I pointed at the lavish chair beside her bed, while unbuttoning my cuff links. “Sit down, Julianna. Discard the rest of your virtue and show me how you touch yourself.”

“What?” she breathed.

“How do you touch yourself at night, wife?” I leaned back against the table, crossing my ankles. “Show me.”

I watched as Julianna swallowed, watched as she debated with herself and then finally surrendered to my demands. She limped toward the chair and took a seat.

I arched an eyebrow as I unbuttoned my black dress shirt. Her gaze lingered over my exposed skin before she slowly dragged down her panties and dropped the thin fabric beside her feet. Her bra soon followed until she was naked to my eyes, except for the masquerade mask.

Her breasts were heavy and swollen, her nipples puckering tight in the cold air. Or was it anticipation?

Her hand inched between her thighs and she quivered. I was already rock hard, my dick pushing against my slacks in a very obvious manner. Her gaze darted there for a second before she gasped and looked away.

My lips curled as her whole body flushed. “Hook your left knee over the armrest and spread yourself for me, wife. I want you to delve into your deepest desires and show me the woman behind the prim and proper façade, the expensive gowns and jewelleries.”

Her grey eyes flared. “Why? Why can’t you just–”

“I will hurt you,” I rasped. I didn’t want to have to touch her, in the way she needed to be caressed and devoured before I took her. To make this more intimate than it already was.

Me fucking her would just be… mechanical. Detached from any type of romance or intimacy. It was only my duty as her husband. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Maybe I want it,” she shot back, nudging her chin up like a haughty princess.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for, Julianna.”

Julianna slowly brought her leg up, hooking her left knee over the armrest, just like I had ordered her to do. So vulnerable – there was beauty in surrender and it looked decadently sinful on Julianna Spencer.

In this position, spread wide open, I could see the sheen of wetness over her slit.

“Pain is subjective,” she whispered.

“I’m doing you a favor, wife. Accept it or leave it – but know this, I won’t be gentle with you. I will hurt you.”

Her fingers delved between her thighs, parting her folds. Her breath came as a sharp inhale and her legs twitched before tensing. I watched as her thumb circled her hardened nub, pinching and rolling it between her fingers.

Her arousal dripped onto the white cushion of the chair, her wetness sliding between the cleft of her ass.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself at night?” I asked, my voice gritty and rough to my own ears.

“You,” she breathed. Julianna slid a single digit inside her core; her back arched and her lips parted with a tiniest whimper.

Goddamn it.

She was pink and wet, clenching and inviting.

Julianna Spencer wasn’t only a good actress, a pretty manipulator and dubious liar – but she was also a tantalizing seductress – an intriguing combination of innocence and lust.

I should have been smarter than my body’s urges. I should have been more in control of my impulses – but my cock throbbed and I was just a goner.

My fists clenched as she fingered herself, her moans spilling past her red lips. The musky scent of her arousal was now heavy in the room and I practically ripped my shirt off my body. Her gaze lingered on my chest and I watched as her hips started to move in rhythm with her finger, chasing her release.

Her back bowed and she threw her head back, on the precipice of orgasm. “Stop,” I hissed.

She whimpered, her body tensing. “No,” she mewled, her thumb circling her clit with frantic need, desperate for a release. “Please.”

I surged forward, the table screeching back, and I heard the whiskey bottle crashing onto the floor. But I didn’t care.

Julianna yelped when my arm curled around her waist, pulling her up. Her hands slammed into my chest in surprise, her wet fingers splaying over my pecs. Smearing my bare skin with her sweet fucking juices.

I dumped Julianna on the bed and she bounced with a gasp. She swallowed hard and looked at me with those grey eyes I loathed so much. Her hands came up and she covered her chest, as if to hide her nakedness from me.

So vulnerable, I could easily break her.

Her whole body trembled as she stayed on her back, completely bare to me except for the black lace mask.

“Killian–”

My jaw clenched at the sound of my name on her tongue. “Turn around. On your hands and knees,” I snapped. Angry at her ugly deception. Furious at myself for feeling something at the sight of her naked and flushed body, needy and so goddamn… beautiful, like the temptress she was. It wasn’t fair that Julianna had such power over my thoughts, my heart and now my dick.

“Now,” I clipped, my voice hoarse. Flustered, she scrambled to her hands and knees. She was still somewhat in a needy trance after I had denied her the orgasm she had been so desperately chasing.

I didn’t want to look at Julianna when I was fucking her, didn’t want to look in the eyes that haunted me.

I was merely doing my husbandly duty. There would be no pleasure from this.

Not for her.

Not for me.

Our intimacy started and ended with this. A simple fuck.

Once she was on her knees on the edge of the bed, and against my own accord, I took a single second to appreciate the elegant curve of her back and her round ass.

With a growl, I unzipped myself and pushed down my pants, freeing my hardened length. I fisted myself, squeezing my erection from the tip to the base.

I lowered my body atop of hers, rubbing my shaft against her wet folds. Her back arched and I curled an arm around her hips, holding her still before I pushed inside – with one forceful thrust, I wedged myself deep inside her. I wasn’t gentle, as I had promised, but she took all of me, stretched tight around my thick erection.

Julianna let out a choked cry and her body spasmed, her pussy tightening around my dick, practically strangling it.

“Fuck,” I hissed. She was as tight as a fist and her core pulsated around my length.

My heart thudded.

Her fingers clawed at the bedsheets, her back arching against my groin. “Killian,” she gasped, almost in pain.

“I told you,” my chest rattled with a harsh growl, “I won’t be gentle. I will hurt you. Wreck you. Possess you.”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Julianna hissed.

My lips curled, feeling both pleased and cruel. “Gladly, Beasty.”

I pulled out, almost completely – leaving only the tip inside her before slamming back into her tight channel. Her body trembled, gooseflesh peppering her back and she whimpered.

I liked the sounds she made. Like she was fighting pain and pleasure, craving both – needing both.

I pumped into her again, each thrust harder and deeper than the one before. I quickly found my stride and she rocked her hips back to meet mine. The wet sounds of our bodies slamming together filled the room, echoing against the walls.

She pressed her face into the mattress, muffling her needy whimpers and moans of pleasure. A groan vibrated from my chest as I plunged inside again, feeling the way she clenched around me. My balls tightened and I knew I was close.

Her wetness, hot and sticky, dripped between our joined bodies.

With a grunt, I drove into her hard and stayed rooted there, the tip of my hardness brushing against her womb. The muscles in my stomach and thighs tightened as I came, my seed pouring into her.

My heart pounded in my ears, loudly. I shuddered as my orgasm rattled through my body. Julianna quivered under me, a moan spilling from her lips. Her body tightened and there was a rush of wetness between us as she found her own release.

I pulled out and she gasped, almost pained. As the fog of rage and pleasure dissipated, my stomach twisted and rolled as I realized what I had just done. Bile tasted acidic on my tongue and I fought the urge to retch.

I just fucked my wife.

After vowing to never touch another woman after Gracelynn.

My gaze quickly darted to the juncture of her thighs and my heart thudded at the sight of my seed spilling out of her and…

What the hell?

…blood?

My brows furrowed. Julianna collapsed onto the bed. There was blood, coating the inside of her pale thighs and on the white linen underneath her.

“Julianna,” I rasped, my voice gruff and confused. The room swayed under my feet.

She rolled over and dragged the bedsheet over her body, shaking. “I – you… Are we done?”

I stumbled back, suddenly feeling sick. My blood pounded in my ears and my vision blurred. My throat became dry and when I tried to breathe, my lungs tightened, fighting against my desperate need to inhale.

“Killian?” Her soft voice sounded far away. Julianna sat up, wincing, but she reached out for me.

I stumbled back, knocking into the chair before I rushed into her adjoined bathroom, slamming the door closed behind me.

Frantic, I opened the tap and splashed water on my face. The pressure on my chest grew heavier as I stared at the man in the reflection, barely recognizing him.

My eyes darted to my semi-hard length, stained with blood, and I flinched. What have I done?

She was a virgin. Had been.

Like me.

Goddamn it.

All this time… I thought…

FUCK!

I couldn’t think straight. For the longest time, I saved myself for the day I’d meet the woman I loved. I was willing to wait for Gracelynn – for our wedding night – she wanted it to be special and so did I.

After she died, I vowed that I would never touch another woman – not in the way I touched Gracelynn.

Except, my father had told me that I needed to marry, needed an heir. So, I agreed. It would be a job – a husbandly duty – nothing more. I wasn’t going to make love to my wife. It would be a simple, mechanical fuck.

I was a goddamn virgin until tonight.

I had fucked Julianna thinking she was already spoiled – not a virgin – that another man had already broke her in. Made the job easy for me. It would have made this less intimate, less meaningful. For both of us.

Jesus Christ!

Guilt gnawed at me.

I remembered the way her body had tensed underneath mine.

Her pained whimper.

Her clawing at the bedsheet.

I had hurt her.

In ways I never should have.

But I was so goddamn angry. Why didn’t she tell me? After all those insults I had thrown at her, why did she let me believe that she had already been with another man?

This whole marriage was in shambles and tonight was just more proof of that.

I had been honest with Julianna from the beginning – with my hatred and my rage, my vows. I never once made false promises or gave her fake hope. But she walked into this marriage with lies and deceit.

I zipped up my slacks and stalked out of the bathroom. Julianna was pulling the bloodied linens off the bed, dressed in a navy blue, silk robe. She spun around at the sound of me coming out of the bathroom. The masquerade mask was gone, but her black veil was once again pinned up in its place, hiding her face from me.

She always hid behind that black fucking veil. I wanted to rip it off her face and expose her truth to the world.

That she was a deceitful woman.

And that three years ago, she killed my heart. Oh, how I loathed her for it.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said bitterly.

Her hand fluttered to her chest and she swallowed. “You already believed that I wasn’t a virgin and I didn’t find any reason to correct you.”

“Stop. Playing. The. Martyr.” I advanced toward her and she stumbled back. Her legs were weak and her limp was more pronounced after our… recent activities.

“I’m not,” she snapped. “You always believed the worst of me.”

“Because you allowed me to believe that with your goddamn lies!”

Her eyes flared up, in dread. “What lies?” she sputtered.

“What do you hide behind your veil, Beasty?” I grinned, with every bit of malice I felt in my bones. “If this is your atonement, then let me tell you – you will never find salvation.”

I surged forward, pushing her back into the wall. Julianna cried out, moving her head to the side, as if to dodge my intention. My fingers curled around her veil and I ripped it off her face.

My heart thudded.

The blood pumping through my veins grew cold.

Time slowed.

My eyes landed on the unmarred, right side of her face. Her skin was soft and flawless, without an inch of imperfection. Her cheek was round; her jaw delicate.

Beautiful.

My breath stuttered.

Familiar.

Julianna’s grey eyes widened in horror and she gasped, quickly turning her face – so I was staring at the scars on the left side of her face. She was almost unrecognizable this way.

But it was too late.

I had already seen what she had been trying to hide for so long.

I pushed away from her, as if I had been burned by her touch – by the sight of her face – and I stumbled back. My throat closed and I tried to breathe, but I couldn’t. As I stared at the ghost in front of me.

A single tear slid down her scarred cheek. She let out a tortured whimper, her hand slamming over her mouth to muffle the sound.

My legs weakened, and I dropped to my knees.

“Gracelynn.”