Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

If Saint and I were competing in the Olympics, we would have certainly come last. Actually, who was I kidding? We wouldn’t even qualify because that meant being in each other’s presence in the first place in order to play.

That wasn’t in the cards for us. Mister hotshot dropped me off home after the reception, and I didn’t expect any clothes-ripping, hair-pulling, type of sex before we even crossed the threshold, or for him to even carry me inside. I was a hopeless romantic, not stupid, but him not to come in at all?

Now that put a dent the size of Pluto in my carefully curated plan of seducing him. And by seducing, I meant leather lingerie with scandalous cutouts beneath my flowy reception dress. I’d taken the plunge and got caught in branches when he abandoned me.

The idea of me not being enough, so he had to fly overseas to get away, had my blood torching. My pride was more important than my libido though, so I simply shut the car door to his face telling him to break a leg, hoping he broke both his legs for abandoning me the first night of our marriage like a common whore not even worth his time.

“Are you sure that’s the picture you’re going for? I happen to think the black, oversized blazer looked phenomenal on you.” Hyram’s eyes squinted as he looked at the monitor, a plastic smile painted on his face.

It looked phenomenal on me because it created the illusion of an hourglass figure due to its strategically placed cuts, and darker colors tended to slim you down as opposed to the silver mini dress picture I wanted to go with. My thighs did look like over-boiled sausages where the fabric ended, way too close to the arch of my ass, but I’d built this brand all on my own, and my values would be reflected in it.

Arachne was all-inclusive. I wanted every costumer to look at my designs and not feel left out because of their weight. I had to start with tackling my own insecurities if it meant helping other people overcome theirs. No more internalizing humiliating comments flung my way years ago. High school was a vicious cycle I refused to let continue into my adult life.

“I’m not repeating myself again.” My tone was stern as I pointed to the picture. “I don’t pay you for fashion advice. Let me worry about the wardrobe. We’re going with picture number four.”

The finality in my voice made him grit his teeth. His brown eyes, hanging on my own a tad too long than I would’ve liked, but I didn’t look away until he bopped his head in resignation. “All right.”

Satisfied, I left it at that, cinching the robe I had on tighter around my waist, and turning to head to the changing room. Not even one step out, the continuation of his sentence had me stopping short.

“So bossy,” I heard Hyram murmur, probably to one of the staff members that were in charge of the lighting and maintenance of the set. A husky male chuckle followed his sentiment that had my hackles raising primed for battle.

I spun in place, my hands fisting at my sides with the effort it took to be professional even though he didn’t deserve it. Hyram Black was a highly acclaimed photographer, and well… I certainly didn’t expect this.

I should’ve. He was old and considered the cream of the crop. Different wasn’t in his dictionary. He probably had a dusty one all the way from the early nineties when having Naomi Campbell in your fashion shows amongst an army of Dutch models was considered progressive.

“I’m not bossy. I am the boss.” And could quite frankly have you blacklisted for the rest of your life. I watched the wrinkles on his forehead get deeper, and the employees around us snapped to action again, worried my reprieve would extend to them too.“I suggest you watch your tone, Mr. Black if you want us to have a healthy business relationship.”

Translation: Keep your mouth shut and do as I say, or you’re fired, even though it’s too late for me to book someone else. Oh, and also, forget about taking part in any of my future campaigns.

Hyram pursed his mouth, primed to talk back, and I crossed my arms, making him think twice. Not only was I double the size than most women Mr. Black had the pleasure of working with, I was also half his age and his boss.

His eyes flicked behind me, and his frown got even deeper as he tried to swallow the bitter pill of being ordered around by someone he didn’t consider his equal. I remained planted until he apologized, watching him wring his hands together in his lap and grapple to find the right words.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Astor.” Hyram shook his head, his neck straining. “I think you misheard me. I said you heard the boss. I would never call you bossy.”

The blatant disrespect made my palm itch. Violence wouldn’t win me any brownie points, though, so I let him be. I wouldn’t see him again after today, anyway.

“It’s still Mrs. Fleur,” I corrected as I walked out.

It was the twenty-first century. Women didn’t have to take a man’s last name anymore.

“Is that so?” That husky voice I could recognize even with my eyes closed made me stop short, my stomach bottoming out like I was on the peak of a rollercoaster.

That was Saint Astor to me. My own personal roller coaster, with his highs and lows, and most importantly, one I was dying to ride. A towering presence, with tailor-made suits because he was that fucking big. He wasn’t only sex personified. He had sass and wit too, making him annoying to deal with and hard to stay mad at.

Pretty privilege was definitely a thing, and the blond hunk with new highlights present in his hair was reeking of it.

“Saint.” I edged forward, convinced I was seeing things. He’d left four days ago. I didn’t expect him back until… Well, I simply didn’t expect him to come back. “What are you doing here? I thought you were…”

Fucking everything that moved in Paris.

Saint kicked off the wall, his familiar cologne hitting my nostrils as he ushered me to my changing room by the small of my back. I held down the urge to kick him out, refusing to cause a scene in public.

In private, though?

You’ll do what? You didn’t say anything when he left. When it mattered. Who cares what you have to say now?

Tapping my foot on the parquet floor, I waited as his broad shoulders faced my way, taking up most of the space in the tiny dressing room.

“Came back late last night and was surprised when I didn’t find you home. Where did you spend the night, Spitfire?”

I bit my lip to stop the incredulous laugh that bubbled up my throat. I couldn’t believe his audacity, asking me where I’d been. Waiting until the next day to find me, like we didn’t have phones. He didn’t care, not really.

“I visited one of my side-dicks, invited some friends over, and had an orgy. Wild times,” I mocked.

“Hilarious.”

“That’s my middle name.” I threw my hair back, feeling hot as I disregarded his physical presence, and rummaged through the silver clothes rack, giving myself something to do. “What about you? Had a great time in Paris? I know Fiona Lee had a ton of nice things to say about you.”

“Keeping tabs on me? How nauseatingly sweet.”

“You wish. I was watching her interview, and she dropped your name. One conference that must’ve been, leaving your newlywed wife to hang out with models during fashion week.”

There was a moment where I believed him. It was an important event, usually, one where everyone who was anyone in the fashion industry attended, and if I wasn’t busy I would’ve been there too. A ton could go wrong. But my optimism went up in flames when the supermodel from Hong Kong gushed about how nice he was, and how tall, and, and, and… her list of compliments was never-ending.

Maybe it was me that inspired the asshole in him.

“I didn’t leave you empty-handed.” His voice was closer now, an edge present.

“Yes, thank you. I made sure Harry and I made good use of Rabbid 3000.” I yanked a monogram jumpsuit out, throwing it on the tufted green couch. Holding the edges of my robe together, I locked eyes with Saint again, trying not to fall prey to the intensity in his gaze. “Do you mind? I need to change.”

“I’m honored,” he said, not making a move to leave.

“That I slept with someone else, and used the sex toy you left on my fucking nightstand?” My brows bunched, all hope lost.

He cocked his head, a smirk perched on his lips like he had a built-in lie detector screwed in his mind. Saint struck before I could anticipate it. His big hand met my shoulder, and I was flailing back in no time, the hair on my face muffling my shocked gasp.

“That you’d lie to try and make me jealous, but let’s make one thing abundantly clear, Spitfire. You let anyone touch you, I’ll cut off their hands and shove them down their throats.” His hand gripped around my throat, once I managed to get my curls under control, and a fire cursed through my veins at the savage look on his face. “You asked for the full Astor experience, you’re getting it.”

Desire couldn’t help but spark in my chest at the sexually charged atmosphere. If anyone could make me horny while promising to tear another man’s hands-off, that would certainly be Saint. His fury and ardor rubbed off on me as he watched me from above, his palm feeling the nervous bob of my throat. He seemed pleased with himself, having figured out all the words to a song that was just ours while I remained clueless.

I didn’t like the powerlessness.

“And you agreed to celibacy, but still broke that vow on our wedding night,” I shot back.

“Kind of impossible to do that on our wedding night, seeing as I was on a plane with your father. Unless there’s something else you’d like to accuse me of?” His dead eyes sparked with mirth, and I clawed at his hand.

Insistent knocks on the door lowered the temperature of the room, and we both froze as a thin female voice fleeted through the wood. “Mrs. Fleur? We’re ready to wrap up the last shoot.”

“She’ll be there in ten,” Saint barked.

“I’m ready now,” I hissed back, mortified, but my P.A. was already walking away. I almost pleaded for her to come back when Saint settled his weight on top of me. Not to leave me alone in a room with a man that undid me with a few simple words and touches.

“The trust issues have got to stop, baby. You might be twenty-one, but I’m almost thirty-one. I didn’t go through that shit in high school or college, and I’m not planning on starting now.” His grip migrated to my hair, maneuvering my head until his full lips were almost touching mine.

“Because you’ve never been committed to just one person.”

“Now I am. I might be fucked up, but I. Don’t. Lie.” He leaned to whisper in my ear. “I promised your daddy I’d take care of his little girl. And I’ll use my tongue, teeth, and fingers to make sure I keep my word.”

Saint’s dirty mouth sent a shudder through me, making my body tingle in places I didn’t know was possible without touch. My core clenched when he rolled his hips on mine out of the blue, and I felt him hard and pulsing close to my entrance, the only barrier being my panties and his slacks. My robe was almost undone at this point.

When the fuck did we get here?

“W-What are you doing?” I breathed.

Saint dropped his head and licked and nipped along my jaw, catching my jumping pulse between his teeth and digging in. The sharp pain made me cry out, my eyes closing and my hips lifting automatically as we dry-humped on the couch.

“You still have six minutes.” His voice rolled over my skin like suede, business-like even though he was working his way down my neck, licking and sucking.

“I’m at work!” I protested, remembering the staff full of people outside, but my hands tangled in his hair. I loved it. It reminded me of sunshine on a rainy day. “Besides, six minutes is not nearly enough time for that, and I’m not done being mad at you.”

“Good, use that anger.” His answering smile was wicked as he peered up at me through hooded eyes. It was like I was merely a fly he could swat away, because in the next second, he had my robe pooled under me with his expert fingers, and I was gloriously semi-naked. Only clad in some delicate lace underwear, beige-colored so they didn’t peak through some sheer pieces.

A thrill went through me when he groaned at the sight. The bulge in his pants piqued with interest when he lowered himself down my body. I rested on my elbows as he bit each swell of my breasts, soothing the sting with lavish kisses, and leaving wet trails with his tongue that glistened in the fluorescent lighting of the room.

The underwire felt constricting around my chest as my breathing picked up speed, and my heart pounded to the rhythm my clit had adopted. Saint made my whole being pulse with need as he put his mouth and hands to use.

“I’m a fast eater, especially when I’m famished,” he reassured.

“Eater? Wha—” His teeth scraped a path down my belly button, hands fisting either side of my panties, and with a slight tug, the strings on either side gave away, melting off like scraps. “Ohhh…”

A small gasp escaped me, unsure if it was excitement or nervousness that gripped me. I’d asked for this, indeed, and Saint was keeping up his end of the deal. I didn’t know whether it was out of pity or not, but I waited for him to pursue this further with bated breath.

I was truly pathetic, shouting his ear off one moment, and shutting up when he dragged his calloused hands over my hips, disregarding the last of the material that covered me up.

Shame more intense than I’d ever experienced ran me over as Saint hovered above me, gazing at my bare pussy, stomach, and wide thighs. All my imperfections were on display for this seemingly perfect person, save for my neglected breasts, still confined in my bra. At least it was a push-up one.

"Fuck, I want your legs over my shoulders when you cream over my face, Spitfire," Saint groaned as his breath cooled my heated core, and my eyes almost rolled back when he placed a kiss on my pelvis. "Your body is phenomenal, curves for days, enough to take the whole of me."

That's just him being polite.

A snide voice in my brain popped in again, but I didn’t give her any attention, not when Saint used his fingers to spread my lips wide, diving headfirst like he was starving.

“Oh fuck, Saint.” A moan slithered out at the first swipe of his tongue from front to back. My knees locked under the weight of euphoria, and he placed them over his broad back. They barely reached midway, curling up and squeezing his head in place as the feel of his mouth worked me up.

Saint teased me a while more, his whole mouth moving over my slit like he couldn’t get enough, tasting and teasing as his tongue slipped inside of me every time he swiped. He made me feel wanted, his rough palms under my ass, burying his face in me like he was addicted to my taste.

Stars bloomed behind my lids when he circled my clit, teasing me with his tongue before flattening it, and dragging it over my nub repeatedly, making me wither by sucking it in his mouth and humming. I jerked in his grip, and he chuckled, sucking harder, then popping it free and blowing his breath across it.

“So responsive.” His fingers probed my entrance as he looked up at me. Lips wet. Eyes wild. So fucking sexy. “Now tell me, Spitfire. Do I need to beat up that little shit out there?”

Fuck if that didn’t make my hips dip when he slipped a finger inside, the thickness of it making me sting as I tried to adjust to the fullness. My god, if this hurt, I couldn’t imagine what his dick would feel like. I was way out of my league. Even though I wasn’t completely inexperienced, I knew it would still hurt, simply because he was football player big.

“No,” I gasped when he continued to lap up my clit. “That would only say that I need a man to protect me, and I’m doing just fine on my own.”

I wouldn’t be doing oh so fine if he decided to stop. Nope, not at all.

A second finger had me squirming and panting, a thin sheen of cold sweat enveloping my limbs as I tried to relax. Saint didn’t let up, unaware of the pain, fostering itself within the pleasure. “What did you disagree about?”

A crazed moan bounced off the walls of the room, and I prayed no one heard as I strained against him, wanting him deeper as much as I wanted to go slower. “We are not having a casual conversation while you’re eating me out!”

“I’m not eating you out. I’m wolfing you down, sweetheart.” He let a smile slowly curve over his lips as he bit down on my clit, making my ass scoot off the couch like I was burned.

“Holy fuck,” I panted, completely breathless, clawing at his hair when he stretched the bundle of nerves in his mouth until my whole body was curved into an upside-down C. Any remnants of sanity fled my brain as uncontrollable whimpers of pleasure flooded every nook and cranny of the space around us.

“Use your voice and your words,” Saint ordered, the tangible heat of his mouth never leaving my cunt even when he spoke, his fingers never ceasing their movement inside my wet folds. “What did you disagree about?”

“H-He preferred a different picture than I did for a banner, one where I was more covered up.”

My admission made him pause, and I could’ve cried. My head popped up just in time to watch his gold eyes turn amber as he looked his fill, tracing my skin with his electrifying stare.

“Well, that’s fucking stupid. Sex sells,” Saint said, and with a slow blink of a lion on the brink of devouring his pray, he gave me one more lick from where his fingers slid in and out of me, to the hilt of my pussy. The visual of his tongue coated entirely in my wetness had my stomach quivering uncontrollably. I turned languid as I felt the threads of an intense wave building low in my womb, and if it wasn’t for Saint’s strong arms around me, I could’ve melted off the couch.

“Jesus Christ,” I croaked, certainly getting sold on sex with Saint Astor.

He worked me up like no one ever had before. Building up a storm, letting it rest, and hitting me again with an onslaught of unbidden need, ravaging me until I was losing my sense of self. He gave my core the relief it needed by rubbing me faster and curling his fingers, the friction easing some of my discomfort, and lapping me up like I was his favorite flavor of ice cream.

Not even the knocking on the door for a second time could draw me out of the maelstrom he’d placed me in.

“She’s coming,” Saint barked against me, teasing me with his breath, and the filthy double meaning of his words was what sent me over the edge, catapulting me to my climax.

Wetness gushed between my legs as a vortex of fire and ice raged with a ferocity unlike I’d ever experienced. My core knotted tightly together, a lump of hormones, spasming and moving, following the weight of Saint’s powerful physique between my legs, still taunting, still exploring. I held on to his hair for dear life as my climax pounded forth with the power of a thousand charging horses on an open field.

He was like a puppet master, knowing which strings to tweak, which places to press harder against, for my release to erupt like a suppressed volcano. The mastery of his craft, coupled with his beauty and confident movements, made me shake all over. I had no control over the sounds my mouth produced, singing as loud as the blood running through my veins.

My need for him was all around us, a mist of arousal that he worked down his thick throat with gusto. A blond devil, making a meal out of me, wanting me, needing me. For a second, I let myself believe that he did. That he was hooked to his wife like I was hooked to him, an opiate I couldn’t kick.

That satisfying feeling of fullness dissipated when he withdrew his fingers from me, his digits thick enough to leave me sore. I hadn’t been touched in a long time. I tried to regulate my breathing as he climbed up again, crushing me with his weight, my hands refusing to leave his hair alone.

“I guess I’ll have to make you come more often if it turns you this speechless,” he taunted with a cocky smile that I couldn’t knock off because it was true. “Your six minutes are officially up, Spitfire.” His hands firmly planted on my thighs, he flipped us right up, causing me to yelp and hold on to his shoulders as cool air rushed to my backside. “See? I told you I ate fast.”

Rolling my eyes, I moved back, staring at his face and letting the nature of what transpired soak for a minute. I drew circles over his stubble, and he rubbed my thighs, a hum coming from his chest, the kind that signaled pure male satisfaction. He couldn’t be—satisfied, that is, not when I felt his hard-on straining against my entrance over his lap. I couldn’t do anything about it now, not with everyone waiting outside.

“They’re all going to know what we did,” I voiced my concerns. “You look like an army of monkeys was trying to pick lice off your hair, and I’m probably not faring any better.”

Saint shrugged, fixing my robe over my shoulders again, and tying it. My heart warmed at his attentiveness. He was a lot of things, but you could never call him a selfish lover. Saint was always generous with his touch.

“Who cares? You just got an orgasm from your hot as sin husband, and they’ll probably go home and jack off to porn.”

Obviously, he wouldn’t understand how hard it was to be taken seriously as a young woman by her colleagues, but I couldn’t find it in me to lecture him.

“Hot as—” A laugh bubbled out my throat as I got off his lap, my body sated and boneless. “Modesty is not in your dictionary, huh?”

“Nope, but honesty is.” He winked, sitting there a prominent bulge in his pants as he stared up at me. When I didn’t make a move to change, he got the memo heaving a deep sigh and getting on his feet. “Looks like you have enough for the both of us. Take it from me, Ariadne, don’t let others dictate the picture you have of yourself.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize he’d caught on to everything I wasn’t saying. It wasn’t a hard picture to paint. He had eyes and had witnessed the showdown outside. Come to think of it, Hyram only backed down when he saw Saint behind me.

“He has a point, you know.” I hated admitting it, but it was plastered on every billboard out there. Hard to miss. “Sex sells, but not all body types do.”

“Are you shitting me?” He blinked slowly.

“Let’s not play dumb. You’ve been around plenty of models in your lifetime, and I certainly don’t look anything like them.”

“Why would you want to look like them? A model's job is to literally be a walking mannequin and show off clothes. As long as you’re healthy and eat well, you’re fine.” Grasping my forearms, he twisted us around until we were facing the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “Show me. Tell me what you don’t like about yourself.”

“Saint, people are waiting for me.” I squirmed under his touch.

“They’ll still be there after I’m done with you. That’s what you’re paying them for.”

Sighing, I forced myself to look in the mirror. At us. Saint’s face was sharper, more symmetrical than mine, an edge of allure drawing attention to himself. He had that something extra, that star-power that washed me out.

“For one, I don’t like my boobs. You’d think a plus to being on the heavier side of the scale would be having bigger boobs, but nope they’re slightly larger than mosquito bites.” My hand traveled to my collarbone as I shook my head. “I don’t like this. I’m selling myself short.”

“They’re perky, and they remind me of two twin pears I’d really like to taste and eventually will. Keep going.” He bent down, kissing my neck, and my mind turned to goo, mouth susceptible to spilling out all my secrets.

“My stomach isn’t even close to being flat, and my hips are way too wide for my shoulders. My boobs aren’t the only ones built like a pear, my whole body is. No matter how much I exercise, or even if I don’t eat at all, it doesn’t make that much of a difference. I’m built this way.” Brick by brick he saw through my fragile self-image. “Also thank God for modern technology, and leave-in conditioner, or my hair would be a frizzy mess all day, every fucking day.”

“I’d never wanted to fuck someone’s insecurities more than I do yours.” He bit my earlobe softly, hands running up and down my arms. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Ariadne. What to you seems fat, to me looks grabbable, kissable, and so utterly soft, I want to lose myself in your curves. The sweet arch of your ass has been calling my name since you first walked out on me, hips swinging like you knew where my eyes strayed.”

His eyes never left mine in the mirror, and I was taken aback by his… everything. Never in my wildest dreams did I think Saint Astor would be the one to comfort me about the fragile image I had of my body, the man that had probably slept with so many models he couldn’t count them on both hands.

He was damn swoony when he wanted to be, and I guess that was when he needed in my pants. At the fear of completely missing the last shoot and giving in when he deserved to suffer a little after abandoning me for Paris, I turned around and pushed him away.

Yeah, I was the one that begged for his dick, but I could wait a while longer until my pride had healed.

“You’re absolutely filthy,” I accused.

“And you were soaking wet, so I guess you like me filthy.” We both glanced at his pants, stained with my arousal, and red splotches bloomed on both my cheeks. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for leaving. I thought I could give you a chance to reconsider this, but I couldn’t focus on shit while I was there if it makes you feel better.” He sighed out his confession like it took a lot out of him, admitting it.

He was right. It did make me feel better, and I caved and kissed his lips one last time before throwing him out and resting against the door, trying to catch my breath.

Saint was lethal, and what was worse, he knew it.