Vow of Hell by Clara Elroy

Ariadne

“Stop staring at my boobs, or we’re going to crash,” I told Saint when he narrowly missed a Mini Cooper, my hand flying to the oh-shit bar.

He cursed under his breath, speeding up even more like he'd prevent any accidents by reaching his destination faster. To be fair, I'd have a hard time driving too if he was sitting next to me with his unbuttoned silk red shirt and striped, black pants, reminding me of a nineties male icon.

I may or may not have thumbed the wispy hair on his chest once or twice during our date tonight. Saint took me to a boat restaurant in Astropolis Harbor, fancy, but not so much so, I had to stifle my laughter or lower my voice while talking.

It was refreshing. The dynamic was different. For the first time, I felt like we were actually a couple and not stand-in actors for a real one. The conversation flowed with no insults, and I got to learn my husband better. Like his aversion to seafood, love of racehorses, and our eerily similar dream of leaving everything behind for a quieter life on the Mediterranean coastline.

“It’s not my fault. That shirt—if you can even call it that—is distracting.”

I knew what I was doing, going for some of the most daring pieces in my closet. A cropped white tube top that pushed my tits out, and a miniskirt that stopped at my upper thighs, half of my hair clipped back and falling in waves around my bare shoulders.

Saint’s gaze on my body all evening made butterflies swarm my belly and me buzz with anticipation for what was yet to come. Our date would be split into two parts according to Saint, and he was currently driving to our second destination.

“It’s a crop top, Mr. Head of Falco and Fleur. You told me to dress casual.”

“I’m not complaining, just admiring.” His eyes cut to the top again as took a right down a road with colorful lights and buzzing nightlife. “Aria, if you're not comfortable when we get there, tell me. I wasn't serious when I said you can't leave."

I watched his grip turn knuckle white on the wheel. “You’re scaring me. Are we going to like a sex dungeon or something?”

“Yes, fully equipped with an underground crypt, where I’ll chain you to the walls and have my way with you all night.”

“Just one night?” I asked as he parked to an empty spot along the line of cars next to the pavement. “I see your stamina is weaning, golden boy.”

“My stamina’s fine, Spitfire,” he chuckled roughly, his hand dropping to my exposed thigh, making me jump. “I wouldn’t want your virgin pussy falling off due to rough handling.”

“Did it ever feel like your dick was going to fall off due to rough handling?”

He grinned. “No.”

I shrugged. “I believe that answers your stupid statement.”

With an amused chuckle, he shut off the engine but didn’t make a move to get out of the car. “I like your thought process.”

I liked him. And it was getting to the point where I couldn’t remember why I tried to convince myself to stay away in the first place. All the things I’d accused him of came back to bite me in the ass with Harry. Saint had a questionable past, but who didn’t? Even Mother fucking Teresa, according to some sources.

“So are you going to let me know what I’m signing up for? The place looks like a sketchy club that allows underage customers in because they’re short on cash.”

I looked at the dark entrance of the club. It was the only place on the whole street that wasn’t riddled with a line of people waiting to get inside, like a front used for money laundering.

I squirmed, sliding my ass back on the creme leather seat. Saint’s fingers drew circles under my knee, lulling my brain out of its pre-freak-out stage.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.”

I scoffed. “I can’t not do that, I’m a bookworm. Explosions or swords on a cover mean sci-fi or fantasy, and half-naked men mean romance.”

“Shirtless Fabios still sell?” He raised his brows, and my eyes dropped to his naked chest, illuminated by red and blue by the artificial lighting outside our little bubble. I held back a frustrated sigh because he would so be a perfect cover model.

“No, we’ve moved on to Christian Hogue now.”

An upgrade I wasn’t mad about.

“Who’s that?” His brows bunched, showing how out of touch he was with social media.

You, if you had blue eyes.My brain screamed, but I reigned it in. Saint didn’t need to be knocked up any more pegs.

Ignoring the question, I waved my hand to the entrance a couple had just gone through. “Spill, what’s waiting for me behind those doors?”

Retracting his hand from my leg, he combed it through his blond waves, uttering the words like he had to physically force them out. “I used to come here quite often after I got out of rehab. When I was at my lowest, and in a way, it is kind of is a sex club.”

My eyes widened, and unease roiled in my stomach. I didn’t even know what happened at sex clubs, like did everyone have sex with everyone? I explicitly stated I wasn’t into sharing.

“Saint, what the f—” I started.

He cut me off with a rushed explanation. “I was looking for alternative ways to take care of my problem. And I knew that Red Circle hosted these voyeur slash exhibitionist nights where everyone interested in that lifestyle could attend. You have to pay a fee, of course, to enter and sign an NDA, protecting the identity of anyone you see inside.”

My muscles loosened slightly when I understood his point of view. Albeit immoral, and what you usually did behind the comfort of your bedroom doors and a screen shoved to your face.

Of course, Saint took it to the next level.

“Holy shit, this is like rich people porn,” I breathed, twisting my fingers in my lap.

“That’s one way to put it. There's a slight difference, though.” Saint met my stare. “The exhibitionists here are real couples in a real relationship and a shared interest in kinks which was what made it so good.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it. “Before you say it, no, there is no way in hell anyone is seeing you naked other than me unless they’d like to have a foot shoved up their ass. I thought we could go in and observe, widen your circle of experiences.”

A part of me wanted to challenge him because Saint was anything but saintly, and I was sure he’d been both a voyeur and an exhibitionist at some point.

“But will they watch us, watching them? That sounds uncomfortable.”

He shook his head. “There are public rooms and ones with two-way mirrors. We can see them. They can’t see us.”

“Like the ones they have in police interrogation rooms?”

“Exactly.” His eyes sparkled at my cooperation. “Again, we don't have to go if you don’t want to.”

I wasn’t going to lie. The idea was terrifying and tempting at the same time. This was way out of my comfort zone, yet I could see it as an opportunity to gain some more experience. I often heard guys say that virgins didn’t do it for them because they would be a bore to fuck—crude, I know—and part of me took it personally.

I was willing to try it out.

“I mean, you did warn me about your tastes, and I’d prefer starting out with this rather than humiliation or masochism, which by the way, I highly doubt you’re actually into.” Voyeurism fit what I'd seen from him until now. Everything else he claimed to like? There was a missing link. “You have a terrible habit of saying the darndest things to push me away.”

"You’re like a dog with a bone, Fleur,” he answered, making a dry, disbelieving tone on the back of his throat. It made sense; I’d chased him down when he wanted nothing to do with me.

"I bite too, especially if you call me that again.” I snapped my teeth playfully, prompting him to dive forward and place a kiss on my lips that sent my heart into overdrive.

“I can’t decide whether you’re too smart or too stupid for your own good,” Saint muttered roughly against my lips.

“I’m determined to get what I want, Astor.”

“What if what you want isn’t good for you?” His palms crushed my cheeks, and he squeezed another kiss out of me, stealing a moan too when he pulled back.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” I winked, knowing full well I was playing with fire and that there was a fun side to getting burned. “Let’s go, shall we?”

* * *

Saint accompanied me through the thick curtain separating the reception from the main area, his arm steely braced around my shoulders. Dark floors spread beneath the soles of my Jimmy Choos, and velvet couches housed men and women, watching strippers swing from silver poles to the beat of a Cardi B song. It was like a full-fledged nightclub with pounding music and flashing neon lights.

One of the dancers did the splits on stage, garnering hoots of approval from the gathered crowd. My eyes bugged out of my sockets, and it wasn’t because her asshole was out in her G-string, it was because my vagina hurt simply watching her do that.

I turned to see if Saint had seen it, but his gaze was focused down the hallway he was leading us to, doors zigzagging on each side. Just before the wall swallowed my view of the dance floor, I caught a familiar face in the crowd and stopped short, prompting Saint to bump into me.

“Oh my God, is that…” I didn’t finish the sentence, cringing when our gray-haired senator tucked a hundred-dollar bill in a girl’s thong.

"Sure is,” Saint confirmed. “You’ll probably see a ton of familiar faces here. Anonymity lures cheats.”

"I'd rather drink bleach than watch our senator fuck his eighteen-year-old girlfriend. It's not them, right?"

"Patience is a virtue, Spitfire."

"You stole mine."

His chuckle echoed as he pulled me forward, opening a door on our left and shutting out the outside noise by isolating us. He flicked the light switch open, and I briefly took in the red walls and queen-sized bed shoved on one end. He had me braced against the double-sided glass in no time, his previously contained hunger on full display.

“The way I remember it, you gave it up quite willingly.” He locked my wrists over my head, his lips trailing a tantalizing path down my cheek and to my mouth. “What was the first thing that crossed your mind when you found you were going to marry me, Ariadne?” He breathed the question over my lips, throwing me off with a dive to our turbulent past.

“Run as fast as my feet would allow me.” I shuddered when his hand teased the top of my breasts, and then he fisted my top and pulled until my tits popped free, palming one roughly.

I didn’t protest at how fast this was going. I'd been foaming at the mouth to have him again for the whole day.

“I appreciate your honesty.” Saint nipped at my lips, sounding elated at inspiring fear in people. I was stupid for letting him know how much he impacted me. “Do you want to know mine?”

“No,” I moaned out, scared of his answer. He ignored me.

“That your parents must hate you." The words crept beneath my skin and wrapped around my heart like barbed wire. I didn’t have any time to dwell on them. He turned me around, and the view had a gasp spilling out of my mouth. I was so consumed by Saint, I didn’t notice there were people in the other room. "Dropping their sweet, young daughter right at the wolf's feet, and baby, I certainly didn't hide in sheep's clothing. But the more I get to know you, the more I see you're not as straight-laced as I'd thought you to be in the first place, Spitfire.”

The tips of my breasts touched the glass when he drove his hips forward, and I grew flustered by his words and the panic that the young couple on the other side could see me. Probably not. They were consumed in their own little bubble. The red-head palmed the muscled guy's dick, working her hand up and down his shaft as they kissed. They were already naked, and the girl was on top of him on the bed. Her ass was up in the air, so full, it put mine to shame.

My breathing grew shallow, and my thighs got slick. I’d forgone wearing underwear, shivering at the idea of Saint discovering that himself, and with the way he was working his hard dick between my ass cheeks, driving my skirt up an inch with each thrust, he was bound to find out soon.

I groaned loudly when he let go of my hands and fisted my hair, straining my neck so he could lick his way up and bite my jugular. “No good girl would be dry-humping my cock like a night shift stripper short of cash.”

"Angels are often devils in disguise. You should know,” I mumbled, my voice thick. “Saint, if you keep teasing me like that, I think I'm gonna burst.”

“Then tell me where you want me, baby. On my knees sucking the juices off your dripping cunt, on all fours pounding inside of you until you can’t stand straight, or in your mouth to see who'll come first.” I saw his shadow nodding towards the couple. “Me or him.”

The girl was working her way down the guy's body now, her black hair spilling over his abs as she sucked him in. I whimpered at the sight of his hips, bucking forward, and pushed my ass back, rubbing harder against Saint. He groaned in my ear, a rough sound that was pure male, his hand traveling to the front of my skirt.

“Goddamn, Ariadne,” he growled when he found my flesh bare and moist from his taunting and wonderful idea of watching live porn while we fuck. The rough pads of his fingers swept over my pussy, making sure he wasn’t imagining things. “This cunt has been bare the whole afternoon?” He slapped it lightly for good measure, and I all but screamed out my excitement.

Fucking hell, I was so worked up, I wanted to do everything at the same time, but that was humanly impossible. I was clenching around emptiness, and it physically hurt not feeling him rubbing against my inner walls.

“I want you inside me, but finish in my mouth. The pill takes a week to become effective, and I'm a sucker for some friendly competition.”

“You'll have an unfair advantage,” he teased my hole with his fingers, and I almost begged him to stop. He was torturing me slowly, my body flushed, and my brain flooded with thoughts that would put Satan to shame.

"Where's the fun in playing if you can't cheat a little bit,” I exhaled.

Saint huffed out a pained, “Fuck,” as he took my instructions to heart and shrugged off his clothes. I didn’t feel cold for a single minute. He was fast and his hard… everything touched my back again in seconds.

“Throw your leg over my hand.” He propped a hand on the viewing window, and I did as he asked, my flexibility coming in handy.

With both his hands positioning my body the way he needed, I helped out and wrapped my hand around his girth, lining him up on my entrance. He pulsed in my grip, and I pumped him twice, spreading his precum before letting him plunge inside.

Saint hissed, thumb caressing my underboob, and I sighed at the feel of him, so thick and hard, filling me up just the way I needed. A fire brewed inside me, prompting me to crane my neck so I could meet his lips, dying for everything he had to offer.

“Does it still hurt?” Saint asked, resting his cheek on mine, his surprisingly soft tone spreading fissures over the surface of my heart.

"When you don't move?" I mocked. "It sure hurts our chances of getting an orgasm."

"You know what sarcasm gets you? A red hand-print on your perfect tits." He punctuated his statement with a slap on my left boob that stung in the most delicious way possible.

I groaned my approval, and he started fucking me with deep strokes that hit the spot from this angle. "I should do it some more then."

"Please do. Nothing gets me harder than your smart mouth and pink flesh."

"And nothing gets me wetter than when you beg." I had no control over the volume of my voice and screamed out the sentence, stretching and impaling on his dick.

I predicted his second slap. I provoked him for it, and the generous bastard always gave me what I asked for. My breasts jiggled from him, bouncing me on his dick and his rough treatment.

"That hurt," I complained half-heartedly because my masochistic brain was begging for more pain.

"It was supposed to." Saint bit my lobe, and his eyes fell to the couple who were still going at it for the first time since we got here. I thought I'd be jealous, but he was hard because of me, and his thrusts were so fast and frequent it was like he couldn't get enough. "Tell me what you see, Ari. How does it make you feel?"

My leg over his arm trembled, and sweat ran rivulets down my back, causing my hair to stick between us. The guy was basically fucking the girl’s face now, holding her hair and guiding her mouth to take all of him. I couldn’t see their faces clearly, but I imagined she had tears running down her cheeks.

"I like it when he fists her hair, guiding her head. He's forceful, but not too much. He's showing her how much he likes what she's doing, and it's getting her excited."

My head lolled to Saint’s shoulder, when his left hand found my bundle of nerves, going to town by rolling his index finger over it. I was quivering all over from the intensity of fucking everything.

It was too much. The stimulation my body was getting was overwhelming. Saint’s imaginative mouth acted as porn for my ears while he dicked me so good, I'd become a Slip n' Slide down there. The visual was just the icing on the cake that was going to be topped off with more any minute now.

My release built brick by brick, like a house that existed for the sole purpose of driving a wrecking ball through it.

"It's getting you excited too, huh, baby? My naughty wife, being turned on by the idea of a face fuck. You’re contracting around me, tightening more with each thrust." Saint sucked on my neck, and at this point, I was convinced he was trying to build a collection of hickeys. "You know what I'm going to have you do, Ari?"

"What?" My back arched, tits smashing into the glass as Saint pressed harder against me, owning me completely in that moment, body and soul.

The couple on the other side paused for a moment, their gazes flying to the double-sided mirror, and I realized we were going at it so hard, it was rattling under our combined weight. It didn't deter them though, they returned to each other, more enthusiastic than before.

"Come on my dick for one. Then force your head against the wall until your mascara stains your cheeks tar, and my cum tickles the back of your throat," he said, and uncontrollable moans fell from my parted lips. "Bet you'd love that enough to slip your fingers between your soaked folds and make yourself come a second time."

"Saint… oh God. God. God. God." I chanted. "It seems blasphemous to even moan your name because you're so dirty."

"I didn’t pick it, but I sure as hell love hearing you scream it. Come on, belt it out for me. Let everyone hear how hard your husband makes you come."

I was embarrassed to admit it was the H-word that did it. I was only standing up because of Saint’s support. My muscles embodied Jell-O as my body relaxed to the point where the only thing I felt was tingles on the tips of my toes, accommodating the rippling orgasm that came onto me and destroyed what was left of my innocence.

"Saint. Saint. Saint." I did as he asked, chanting his name like a prayer.

My mind was a black canvas, and each electric shock that sent my womb quivering and my thighs shaking was like a violent stroke of paint running across it. Blue, yellow, pink, neon red, I was a mess. A byproduct of Saint’s insatiable self tearing apart my insides and exploring each and every inch of me, hitting my G-Spot with consistent strokes that had my throat sore from all my screaming.

"Fuck, Aria, your cunt is fucking addictive. It makes me want to die with you wrapped around me." He whispered his filth in my ear as he rode me through my crippling wave. "Death by cock asphyxiation. Doesn't seem like a bad way to go. Not at all."

I didn’t expect to come off the high he put me in laughing, but that's exactly what happened. My giggles replaced my screams, and I felt his smile spreading over my skin.

"Jesus Christ, you’re twisted. There's no such thing as death by cock asphyxiation."

"Sure there is. You're squeezing me so hard it's cutting the circulation off my dick."

His abs tensed against my ass, and he pulled out of me in a haste, letting my leg gently drop to the floor. I didn’t waste any time getting on my knees, and my wobbly legs thanked me for it as I got to eye-level with his engorged shaft, keeping my end of the deal.

"I changed my mind." Saint’s eyes burned golden, and his gaze touched me everywhere as he pulled my hair when I jerked him off with my hands, his length impressive enough to need both. "You can’t touch yourself. I want to taste how ruined my dick made you, Spitfire. I want you to ride my face like you did your pillow when you had your first orgasm, drip cum down my chin."

That was it. Saint’s words had me enveloping his throbbing member in my mouth without teasing him with licks. His head dropped back in ecstasy as I used both hands and mouth to get him off, humming whenever he hit the back of my throat.

"Shit," he cursed, driving into my mouth as brutally as he did my pussy. "Relax your throat, Ari. I don't have the patience to be gentle right now."

Pinpricks of pain along my scalp barely registered as I upped my suction, focusing on getting him off and letting him set the pace. It was fast and exhausting. I gave up on keeping up and let him take what he wanted, tasting a mixture of myself and him on his dick that had a newfound wave of hormones slam into me.

Our eyes connected when he held my nose to his base, his movements becoming jerky and shorter as he neared his release. I let my tongue roll over his balls, and that set off the loudest battle cry I'd ever heard in my life. Hot streams of cum flooded my throat, sliding down my esophagus, and I choked, raking my nails down his thighs, fueling his pleasure with a touch of pain.

"Holy mother of God," Saint exclaimed once sucked completely dry, withdrawing his cock, dropping to his knees next to me, and folding my body to his, like the first time.

I hadn’t pegged him for the cuddling kind. Then again, I knew next to nothing about my husband at the beginning other than the narrative gossip columns led me to believe.

"I win," I said, borrowing closer to his chest, letting him shield me from the frigid tiles when another male cry followed one minute apart from the room over.

"No," he replied, and I snapped my gaze up, brows creasing. "I do. Now, legs on either side of my face, baby, let's see what that cunt is made of.”