Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

Grandma Chloe had always been huge on Thanksgiving. Besides having all the luxuries this world could offer, I was guessing she also needed to thank God for the number of times he spared her ass.

We celebrated the holiday at her manor, seeing as she employed an entire butler army to tend to our every need around the long table in the dining room, which was brimming with food. The centerpiece held a juicy roast turkey, and plates of mashed potatoes and green beans were being passed down. Candles and fairy lights strung on the wall assisted with the holiday spirit, and the scent of pumpkin and apple pie from the kitchen tickled my nose.

“Should we have asked your family to join too? I feel bad stealing you away for Thanksgiving,” I asked Saint, who was sitting next to me. We were situated on the left edge of the table, our outfits matching—his an all-black suit, and I was wearing a dark Chanel dress with gold chains around my hips.

“Nah, it’s fine. Killian is in Cali, and my parents are probably in the Philippines or Australia. Mom hates cold weather,” he said as he dug into his food, barely looking at me.

Okay, so he didn’t look like a stone-faced warrior because he couldn’t celebrate with his family. I kept my wishful thinking up until the very last minute. The conclusion that he’d become colder than usual because of the kiss reared its ugly head in again.

I’d overstepped the boundaries, both of us were so adamant on keeping planted between us. My cheeks flamed when I remembered I’d told him I liked seeing my mark on him. The faster the countdown ticked over my head, the more reckless I found myself becoming. Peppering Saint’s face with red lipstick marks was just the icing on the cake.

Deteriorating was as liberating as it was nerve-wracking.

“So, Saint, are you planning on getting baptized?” Nico, my pappou asked in heavily accented English. He’d been scarfing down food since we got here and had a rule not to speak with his mouth full and his stomach empty.

He rubbed his round belly, ignoring giagia, who was glaring at him, and stared Saint down.

Saint took his time, cutting his stake in even pieces, cool as a mint before replying. “I already did when I was an infant, sir. I’m not planning on repeating it now that I have a say.”

“The kids are getting married by a civil celebrant, Nico.” Grandma Chloe cut my pappou’s upcoming rant short.

“Can’t say I’ve been called that in a while,” Saint said drily, a permanent frown etched on his face as he shoved a spoonful of mashed potatoes down his throat.

“I should’ve known you’d pull something like this.” Pappou seethed, and the rest of the family gathered held back a collective sigh as they went at it for the thousandth time.

Irena had been glued to her phone, like a broody teenager the whole night, and even changed seats when I attempted to sit next to her. Mom and dad were cool towards each other, no doubt from the increasing pressure of picking sides. The only person that was enjoying themselves was Daphne, her eyes volleying between Nick and Chloe like she was watching her favorite movie.

“Like what? I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Grandma asked, rolling her eyes.

“You’re trying to turn my kids away from God’s road.” He waved his finger in the air.

“Should I tell him that it’s a dead-end?” Saint scoffed, speaking to me directly for the first time since we got here.

“If you want him to bring out the butcher knives, go ahead,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “Your grandparents are definitely something, Spitfire.”

I studied him, my mind beginning to reel to keep up. He was the most frustrating, hot, and cold man I’d ever met. One day looking at me like he wanted to smoke me up, the next like I sickened him.

“Is that why you’re moody? Are you having a bad time?”

“Moody?” Saint chuckled at my choice of words. “Yeah, I guess you could say I’m feeling moody.”

“Why?”

“My mistress refused to sign an NDA.”

Ever heard of curiosity killing the cat, Ariadne?

My mouth slammed shut as I stared at his cruel eyes, rejoicing in taking me off guard. Technically, he hadn’t done anything wrong, just like I technically was supposed to stay away from him. It was within his right to fuck whoever he wanted. The knowledge still sat low in my stomach like a pile of rocks.

“So, Saint, Ariadne tells me you played Rugby, eh?” Pappou was back at it, moving on from Chloe.

“Football, sir,” Saint replied as if he hadn't dropped a bomb on me.

“Really? Why have I never seen you in a championship before?”

“The only part of America that qualifies for the World Cup is South America.” Mom put in her two cents.

“He plays American football, pappou. You’re thinking about soccer.” Clearing my throat, I wiped my mouth clean, not gracing Saint with any attention, and stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom.”

I got out of there like my ass was on fire, biting my lips savagely to contain the stinging in my eyes. I was halfway through the hallway when I felt him following me. His dark aura, a suffocating cloud.

I squeaked when a hand wrapped over my forearm, and I was dragged to a nearby supply closet smelling very intensely of fabric softener. Laundry room.I leaned against the thick wood, but Saint didn’t give me any space, crowding me against the door and making my heart spin faster than the dryer.

“What’s the matter, princess? What happened to ‘I don’t expect you to stay celibate, and you shouldn’t expect that of me either?’” he taunted, his hands bracketing me on either side.

My throat closed up, frustration leading me to latch my hands on his dress shirt dangerously close to tearing it apart in anger. “You’re an asshole.”

His eyes flared before they hooded as if enjoying the jealousy that ran through my veins. I couldn’t even kid myself. Jealousy was an emotion I knew all too well, a green beast that pushed me to be the best.

In some cases, though, like this one, I despised it. I couldn’t use it to my advantage this time. There was no denying it, I wanted Saint more than he wanted me. The scale between us wasn’t even close to being equal, yet I couldn’t escape the desperation inside of me that begged to slam my mouth on his whenever he was in my vicinity.

I wanted him, dammit, when he’d done nothing to earn my fondness.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to,” he said, the low baritone of his tone playing up our proximity and giving me butterflies.

God, what was wrong with me? I shouldn’t be attracted to him, but I was.

An infatuation, that was all it had to be.

Maybe I could work out the kink that twisted my soul to his by giving in once or twice, getting him out of my system. After all, there was so much hype around his unicorn dick, I couldn’t help but succumb to it. Besides, might as well live up to the reputation that would soon follow if Harry’s tape was released.

“What’s bothering you, Spitfire? The fact that I wouldn’t chase after you, begging you to split your legs like a rueful teenager after a few stolen kisses? I’m sorry to crush your dreams, sweetheart.” He caressed the side of my head lovingly, a mocking quality to his movements. “But that mouth of yours is not that talented.”

“Is it not?” I smiled, despite not feeling an ounce of humor. “Then why were you groaning like a mule, trying to get yourself closer?"

“Cause I'm a red-blooded male. Availability and desperation call to us like a siren.” He stared at me expressionlessly.

That didn’t explain why his body was flush against me, big and strong, his head slanted, our noses almost touching. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm, the erratic rhythm of it, boosting my courage.

“You’re lying,” I breathed.

“How so?” He cocked his head, the side of his mouth curling.

“I would run out of fingers if I counted the number of times a woman made a pass at you at our own engagement party, then Jane yesterday. But I didn’t see you show a scrap of interest.” I looked on defiantly. “Why is that, Saint?”

“Believe it or not, Ariadne, I do have standards.”

“Well, so do I. And I will not be with someone who belittles me so carelessly, parades his exes in front of me, and tells me in front of my family that his mistress refused to sign an NDA. I am aware I’m not really your fiancé, your girlfriend, or even your friend, but I refuse to be your fool. You do whatever you want to do, as long as I am treated with respect,” I seethed, annoyance spilling out of me in waves.

“This could be applied both ways, my judgmental, Spitfire.”

Hysterical laughter bubbled up my throat, and my sanity held on by a thread. I felt so worked up all of a sudden like I always did when he was around and challenged me.

“Oh, please, I’ve only judged you unfairly twice, and that was because I was…” I caught myself before I played into his hand.

Saint was fucking cunning, making your head loop in order to catch up with his mind games.

“Because you were what?” He snarled, his eyes thunderous and depraved. “Finish the sentence.”

My mouth was wired shut, my hands tensing on his shirt until I heard a small rip, the fabric giving away under the pressure of my spiky nails that I’d painted black for the occasion. My lips wobbled like a pre-teen that couldn’t handle a confrontation.

I didn’t know what I was doing. Drowning in my thoughts, expectations, and reality. Saint the fucking almighty saw through me. One quality about him that unnerved me to the core was how easily he could decode me. Either he was that good at reading people, or I needed to get better at masking my emotions.

“Tell me what you were.” He pressed, lacing his fingers through mine and pinning my hands to the door beside my waist.

My chest heaved with deep breaths, brushing against his taut muscles. I twisted my wrists in his grip, but they were like steel bands, shackling me in place and urging me to spill all my secrets.

“Jealous. Because I was fucking jealous.” I turned my face away from him, squeezing my eyes shut as the words spilled out of me. “There. I said it. Are you satisfied?”

Saint’s sigh feathered over my cheek. It didn’t sound pleased. It sounded tortured. He released my hands, threading his fingers around my neck and straightening my head, so I was forced to look at him.

His ever-present potency shone through even in the barely illuminated room. Those eyes that so often played a leading role in my dreams tore through whatever mental shields I still had present when he lowered his forehead on mine, our hearts beating in tandem in the dark.

“Not in the slightest. What am I going to do with you, Spitfire? You weren’t supposed to turn out complicated.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” I parroted because, for the first time after a while, I felt at peace. Yes, asking for more out of this relationship was risky, but I couldn’t contain the part of me that hungered for a deeper connection. It was human nature to want to make your dreams a reality, and he had been mine since I was thirteen.

“Would it be so bad to give this a try?” I whispered, my fleeting adrenaline exposing my raw emotions. “I like you, and you like me. There’s no one holding us back but our damned selves.”

I gulped when he shook his head, ice engulfing any sign of heat when he took a step back, disconnecting from me. I crossed my arms, kicking off the door. We’d definitely been gone longer than acceptable. Knowing my family, they would be too distracted by each other to notice.

“I don’t do relationships, Ari—”

“Who’s your role model? Christian Grey?” I cut him off with a scoff and a roll of my eyes. That was the lamest excuse ever, and if he didn’t want to do me, he could say so.

“I really don’t and despise everything that comes with them.” Saint clipped. “I don’t want kids, white picket fences make me retch, and I find dates an unnecessary prerequisite if we’re just going to fuck anyway. Don’t expect me to remember any anniversaries and the only romantic thing that’ll ever come out of my mouth is when I tell you to lay on the table so I can have you for fucking lunch.”

We were doomed. I knew we were doomed. The man had the emotional availability of fucking Bellatrix Lestrange, yet did that discourage me? No, it didn’t. The thought of him having me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner reigned supreme.

“A true prince charming.”

“This is who I am. Take it or leave it.” He shrugged.

I pondered over it, wanting to knock that cocksure glint in his eyes.

“I want a trial period.” I finally said, with a nod. “The remainder of our year together, if either of us ever feels the need to be satisfied sexually… we go to each other. Exclusively, no mistresses and no more Harry. It’s five years of our lives, Saint. No sane woman would ever be with a married man.”

He looked at me like he couldn’t quite believe I was negotiating with him about this—like he couldn’t believe he was even considering it. Hope spread inside of me like a balm. Saint eyed me up and down, and my chest puffed subconsciously.

“You’re putting too much faith in your gender, Fleur.” He reminded me in a withering tone, that I chose to ignore.

“After the year is up.” I continued as if I hadn’t heard him. “If we still feel like it's not working, then we go our separate ways. No fuss, no scenes, an amicable split.”

I walked over to the marble counter, sitting my ass down so I could give my feet a rest from standing up in heels. Saint latched on to the flutter of the slit on my left thigh as he spread his sinewy legs, his stance resembling that of a bodyguard.

“And you want this because? You’ll still be young after five years, twenty-six. Most people don’t even start looking for committed relationships until well into their thirties.”

“By most people, you mean yourself?” I questioned, adjusting the skirt of my dress over my lap.

“So what if I am? I enjoy sex, and I like to have plenty of it. Are you sure you can even keep up, Fleur? You said you weren’t a virgin, but the way I cut it, you couldn’t have been with more than one partner. You probably know the basics…”

I reared back when he rushed my way abruptly, and he caught my head with his hand before I slammed it against the cabinets behind me. I held my breath when he didn’t let go, feeling something hard and long against the bare skin of my leg.

“My fist using your hair as reigns while I ride your ass.” Saint curled his fingers in my strands, tugging sharply until I was forced to look up at his eyes. The lust I found swimming behind the liquid gold shot a bullet of excitement down my spine. “My tongue shoved down your throat while your pussy milks my cock for all it’s worth.” He then grabbed my hips, dragging me, so I was perched right on the edge, cool air grazing my damp panties as he stepped between my legs. His nostrils flared, and I wondered if he could smell my arousal. “But what if I liked the darker side too? Edge play, voyeurism, masochism, humiliation? Would you be so quick to jump on my dick then, Spitfire?”

I didn’t know how to explain it. It was like I was shoved underneath a stream of ice water and lava at the same time, dousing me with scorching heat and biting coldness. I turned solid as a rock, my body pounding with aftershocks of pleasure.

He was into all that? And I-I wasn’t appalled—quite the opposite, I found myself intrigued.

“I’m open to trying new things.” I found myself saying before I could filter my thoughts.

A part of me screamed that I was stupid and going straight off the deep end was not wise, but that part of me could shove it. I was tired of letting my fears rule me, of finding sexual satisfaction solely between the pages of my books, or by douchebags that took a mile when I gave them an inch and filmed me without my consent.

Saint’s brows slammed together as if he wasn’t expecting that answer like he was sure he’d scare me off. But I didn’t give up that easily. This was a battle of wills I refused to lose.

“God, you’re stubborn,” he muttered, our faces angled so close I could feel his words on my mouth.

He had the smoothest lips I’d ever seen on a man, red and ripe like pomegranate. The urge to bite his bottom lip after he licked it teasingly washed over me like a small tsunami of horniness.

So I did.

I used the molten fire in his eyes as encouragement, his shoulders for support, and stood tall, taking his lip in my mouth and biting softly on the sensitive skin. Saint’s grip turned bruising on my hips, a sweet pain that left me hungry for more.

More, more, more.

I wanted it all and then some. I wanted to be painted every shade of filthy under the sun because being a naive little girl with no experience had gotten me nowhere. And who better to show me the ropes than Saint Astor?

My future husband and irreformable sex fiend.

He didn’t let me out without a fight, feeding me a guttural growl that hit the back of my throat, and swallowing my mouth in a kiss that robbed me of my breath, and destroyed my already soaked panties. Sitting back at the dinner table with all my family would sure be fun.

“Your trial run starts after our wedding, Spitfire,” he said once we came apart, our shoulders knocking as we sucked in air greedily. “I'm giving you time to reconsider your position until then. After that? You're all mine to do as I please.”