The Hate Vow by Nicole French

Part Four

The Release

Her eyes are moons,

glassy and bright.

Her body, a cross,

shimmers in light.

Slung on the floor,

a hand, a blight,

drips love, adored.

Oh, bloody night.

“Elegy”

—from the journal of Eric de Vries

Twenty-Seven

“Idon’t think that’s going to work,” I said to Gemma as I pointed to a particularly bad combination on the seating chart. “I’m all for integrating the families, but we can’t have my mother’s cousin from Seoul sitting next to Eric’s great-uncle Rufus. He’s a World War II vet who still uses the term ‘Jap’ in polite company.” I didn’t mention the fact that Rufus had, within my hearing, also asked Eric if he really wanted his babies to have yellow skin. Yeah, I was marrying into a real treasure trove.

My wedding planner nodded. “Keep the racist uncle away from, well, everyone.” She switched the sticky note bearing Rufus’s name with Eric’s deaf second cousin, Marcia. “That ought to do it. So, have you and Frederick finalized the look for the big day?” she asked with no little glee.

I nodded. Frederick was very mad at me for destroying his beautiful dye job with boxed crap and had insisted on coming out to fix it before the wedding. I was glad, and so was Eric, who had also insisted that I at least put some color back in.

“It wouldn’t be you without it,”he’d said.

I had to agree.

“Freddy’s plane arrives at nine tomorrow morning. Then he’ll fix my hair, and we’ll do the dry run before Skylar picks me up for the bachelorette party.”

Gemma sighed. “I’m jealous. But you just leave everything to me. Sunday is going to be perfect, I promise.”

Before I could answer, the front door of the apartment opened, and Eric swept in along with the last remnants of an Indian summer. A couple of orange and red maple leaves fell from his shoulders as the door swung shut, and his golden hair, which had been growing, stuck out a bit, like he’d been running his hands through it. He looked disheveled. And delicious.

“Hey,” I greeted him. “How was the fitting? Did Maceo finally get your hems the way you want them?” I said it as a joke. Eric had generally been pretty laissez-faire about the wedding with every aspect except one: his tux. The man was an absolute tyrant when it came to fit, and he literally had only one tailor he trusted with any of his pants.

But he didn’t answer as he dropped his briefcase on the ground and stripped off his jacket. I watched with some concern as he yanked on his tie and let the custom Armani fall to the ground.

“Bad commute?” I tried again.

“You,” he said as his eyes found me. In five long steps, he strode across the living from and pulled me from my perch by the breakfast bar, wrapping me up in a kiss that blacked out the room completely.

Five seconds later, he released me, both of us breathless.

“Well, hello to you too,” I said, pulling playfully on his tie. I wiped the remnants of my lipstick from his mouth with my thumbs, though I almost didn’t want to. I sort of liked the look of his lips post-ravishing.

At last, Eric’s mouth quirked to one side as he pressed his forehead to mine and exhaled through his nose.

“You smell good,” he said. “Like silk and lavender.” He inhaled deeply.

“Rough day?” I murmured.

“You have no idea.” His gray eyes closed for a moment before he stood up and turned, somewhat sheepishly, toward Gemma. “Sorry about that. I, ah…just needed a moment with my fiancée.”

Gemma didn’t exactly look put out by the display. “I think that’s my cue to get out of here for the night. Jane, I’ll run the final seating arrangement by Mrs. de Vries, but I think we’re all set. I’ll have your dress sent to the apartment tomorrow morning so you and Frederick can make sure your hair matches the dress.”

People have no idea what goes into a multimillion-dollar wedding. No. Idea.

I nodded. “Sounds good, Gemma. Thank you for everything.”

“You know, I have a talent,” she replied as she packed up her stuff. “In the days before the wedding, when it’s all stress and no fun, I can always tell who is going to make it and who isn’t.” She winked at us both. “You two have the goods.”

Eric’s arm tightened around my shoulders, strong and possessive. I hummed into his side. I couldn’t help it. I was all gooey and lovey these days.

Since the white party, things had been good. Really good. Eric had gone on an absolute rampage after we returned to the city trying to find out who told the kids to dump paint all over me, but no conclusive answers were found, so we let it go. And in the meantime, we had assumed a somewhat normal rhythm—he went to work and the gym while I spent my days sewing, half-heartedly studying for the next New York State bar exam, and wedding planning with Gemma. We barely even fought anymore—or if we did, it was on purpose. Like when I called him Petri dish, and he said I looked like Joan Jett (why he thought that was an insult, you tell me), and we ended up naked on the kitchen counter.

The only thing was…well, when I dropped that piece of pasta on his shirt, I had expected something more than being pinned to the table, you know? At least a swat on the ass. Maybe a few restraints. The man was a genius with his hands (and tongue), but I hadn’t seen his creative side since…well, since that night in Boston.

The door slammed shut behind Gemma. Eric turned to me with steel in his expression.

“Hungry?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.

“Starving.” He grazed his mouth around my jaw, and his teeth worried my earlobe. “I want to put this fucking day behind me.”

I inhaled sharply. “I just ordered Thai. It’ll be here in about forty minutes.”

Instantly, I was lifted off my stool. “That’s enough time.”

“Time for what?” I asked coyly. “I’m game, but you should know I just had my nails done today. I don’t want to fuck them up.”

I was joking, of course, but he seemed a little tense. Okay, a lot tense. Which only made it too fun to mess with him.

Eric carried me into his bedroom—well, ours, now that mine mostly just served as a closet—and dumped me unceremoniously on the four-poster bed.

“Hey!” I scrambled up indignantly. “What’s with the sack-of-potatoes treatment?”

He yanked his shirt out of his pants. “I’m not really in the mood for jokes tonight, Jane. Right now, I just need you naked and willing.”

“Well, I hate to tell you, but dumping me around like farm produce isn’t the best way to achieve your goals.”

“Deal with it.”

“Hey!”

A second later, I was flat on my back, and Eric had pounced on top of my legs, trapping them between his strong thighs.

“I need to know one thing,” he said crawling over me.

“Wh-what?”

He stilled, pinning me into place with his body. “Are you worth all this bullshit?”

“I…” I honestly didn’t know how to respond to that. Where was this coming from?

Eric exhaled. Then he pushed himself up. “I’m going to grab something from the closet.”

“Is that so?”

He turned from the doorway to his walk-in, shirt open and his tie hanging down both sides, framing a set of tantalizing abs and a chest that looked like it had been chiseled from marble. I drooled.

“Just sit up and get undressed, pretty girl. Otherwise there are going to be fucking consequences.”

Oh. We stared at each other for a full ten seconds as his tone sank in. He was back. Not mild-mannered Eric, but Mr. de Vries.

Well, fuck me silly. Or at least, I hoped he would.

I cast my eyes down, almost by instinct. “Of course, Mr. de Vries.”

“Good,” he grunted, and left.

When he returned, I had shucked my comfortable red harem pants and black tank top. Eric strode back into the room wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, holding his tie and something else in his other hand.

He eyed me. “I said your clothes were supposed to be off.”

I looked down at my plain black bra and underwear. “They are off. These are underwear.”

His eyes flashed “You’re always misbehaving, aren’t you?” he asked. “You make everything harder than it has to be.”

I screwed up my face. “I do not—”

“Don’t fucking argue with me,” he snapped with a sudden smack on my ass.

I stilled, enjoying the thrill that ran down my spine.

“You going to behave?” he asked, his voice low and foreboding.

Slowly, I nodded.

“Safe word?”

I rolled my eyes. “They shouldn’t really call them safe words anyway, considering people use them when they don’t feel the slightest bit safe. They should be called ‘stop words.’ Because when you use them, you should want everything to stop. And if I wanted that, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.” A thought occurred to me. “Maybe you want to stop. Maybe you need a safe word.”

Suddenly, Eric’s breath was hot against my ear, as a hand wrapped lightly around my neck.

“When did I ever want to stop with you?”

I opened my mouth to argue…but found I couldn’t. At least not when we were here. Not when we got going. What made Eric and me so fucking infuriating in real life was electric in bed. Or the foyer. Or the living room couch.

“Erie,” I whispered. “As in the lake.”

“Good girl,” he murmured. The hand at my throat released, slipping over my shoulder and down to stroke my ass, my legs, then disappeared. “Now come here.”

Obediently, I rose from the bed and came to stand in front of him at the foot. He turned me around so that I was facing the bed, him at my back. His hand swept my hair around one shoulder, giving him access to the other side.

“Don’t fucking move unless I tell you,” he warned as he pulled my arms behind my back. With quick, sure movements that I could easily imagine him practicing at the gym with all those ropes, he tied my wrists together, binding them securely at the small of my back, then gently turned me back around to face him.

“Kneel,” he ordered.

“But—”

Another quick smack landed on my ass. “What did I fucking say?”

“Okay, okay!”

Another smack. That one tingled. I quickly sank to my knees and watched as Eric pulled down the elastic band of his briefs. His cock fell out, heavy and waiting. I licked my lips. He hissed.

“Open your mouth.”

His face glowed in the cool city lights shining through our window. It was the only light in the room. I obeyed, savoring each inch as he fed himself into my mouth.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, you know that?” he whispered. “With your eyes all big, my cock between those luscious lips.” He pulled out, then slowly slid it back in with a shuddering breath. “Fucking stunning.”

I moaned, sucking on him like candy. He pushed in further. In and out, slowly fucking my mouth. I wiggled on my knees. I loved this, but I wanted more.

His fingers lightly slapped my cheek. “I said don’t move.”

I stilled, obediently letting him take his pleasure. There was something about seeing the raw desire etched across his chiseled face, ruining the careful mask he wore most of the time. I might have been the one on the floor, but we both knew who was really in control here.

Eric pulled out. “Get up.”

Silently, I rose on unsteady legs.

He took my jaw and kissed me, long, languid, even lovingly before he bit my lip sharply enough that I winced. A pang of desire stole into my belly.

“Open your mouth,” he said quietly. My lips were already open, but I widened them. Eric held up the other thing he had retrieved from the closet.

“A ball gag?” I smirked. “What else have you got hidden back there?”

“One day, maybe you’ll find out,” he replied as he held it up. “I find myself…browsing for things…” One blond brow quirked. “Just for you.”

My mouth dropped further. Eric smiled, removed my glasses, and placed the gag in my mouth.

I stood patiently as he buckled the soft leather around the back of my neck. It wasn’t uncomfortable—the ball was fairly small with a few breathable holes through it, and the leather harness was soft enough that it didn’t cut into my skin.

“Perfect,” Eric said, satisfied.

I would have loved to make a comment about enacting the patriarchy by silencing his woman, but, of course, I was literally silenced. And really turned on.

Oh, the irony.

“On the bed,” he ordered. “Head down. On your knees.”

With a defiant look that was about all I could manage with my mouth plugged and my hands tied up, I turned to the bed and followed his instructions, kneeling on the mattress and laying my head to one side. The mattress shifted as Eric followed, taking his place behind me. His hand slid up the back of one thigh and then my ass cheek as he slipped a few fingers under the hem of my underwear.

“These,” he said, “are going to have to go.” And before I could nod, he ripped the thin cotton in half, literally tearing it up one seam.

“Mmmphm!” I cried out—or at least as much as I could.

Three hard smacks landed on my ass in quick succession, making me jerk. “Next time you’ll do what you’re told.”

I stilled, closing my eyes as his hand slipped over my skin, soothing what now tingled fiercely. Lord, I loved his touch. Harsh. Soft. No matter what.

His hand floated lower, and one finger slipped inside my pussy, gliding in and out until my hips started to move with it. It felt good—oh, it felt good—but Eric wasn’t in the mood, apparently, to let me off that easy.

His hand left. I moaned in disappointment.

Another hard smack. I jumped.

“I told you,” he said as he seized a handful of my hair. “Not a fucking sound.” His other hand left my pussy and slid under my chest to lift me so I was propped on my knees, balanced backward against his solid chest.

“Do you feel it?” he demanded between clenched teeth as he cock nudged my entrance, then pushed in, one solid inch at a time. “Do you?” He shook my jaw. “Yes or no?”

I couldn’t talk—obviously—so I nodded fiercely. God, I felt him. I could feel nothing else.

He slammed in the rest of the way, tossing me forward but for his other arm caging me against him.

“Again?” he asked as he pulled out, slowly.

Again, I nodded violently. I wanted it as many times as he was willing to give it.

He lunged. I flew. He caught me. Again and again, just like he said, until we rocked back and forth together in a vicious, luscious cycle of power and play.

Eric! The shout rang through my mind instead of off my lips, condemned as I was to relative silence. But as if he could hear me, one hand gripped my hair and yanked me back against his chest so he could tickle those full lips against the soft skin just under my jaw.

“It’s fucking killing me that I can’t kiss you right now,” he said, his voice gravelly, raw. “I want to mark these lips so no one else could ever fucking think of touching them.” He released my hair and traced a finger around the top of my mouth. “So fucking beautiful.”

In he slammed again, tossing me forward against his other arm. He rammed into me mercilessly, driving us both further toward that familiar cliff. My eyes squeezed tight, and I soon forgot all other obstructions. My bound hands ceased to matter, nor did the ball between my teeth. All I could sense was him. Feel him. Need him.

Eric.

And then, with a light slap, his fingers found my clit. Pinched. Rubbed. Squeezed.

Done. I was done as a muffled yowl erupted from the back of my throat, muffled by the gag but siren-like nonetheless. His name vibrated through me since I couldn’t shout it aloud, and I fell forward as he relaxed his grip, collapsing onto the bed in a heap of shivers while wave after wave of my orgasm crested through me.

“Jesus, Jane!” Eric barked as he thrust forward again and again, his hand meeting my flesh in time with his ferocious thrusts until his body released its own fury. We both fell against the mattress together, shaking and groaning, the sweat glistening on our bodies as we melted into one indeterminate mass of pleasure.

Slowy, slowly, I came back to consciousness as kisses trailed over the back of my shoulders. My hands were released. I reached up to unbuckle the gag, but Eric was already there to free me.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he lay his head on my breasts and inhaled, long and low while his hands stroked my skin, my naked body, memorizing its lines and curves. “I needed that.”

I sighed and wove my fingers into his hair, cradling him close. “We both did,” I replied. I had a feeling we probably always would.