Dark Light (The Dark Light Series)

  Dorian strokes my exposed back with the tips of his fingers, sending shockwaves up and down my spine. I gasp from the contact, resisting the urge to beg him for more. He brings his face down to my neck, letting his lips brush my earlobe. “Gabriella, I would love to bend you over this desk right now and pull your dress up past your thighs and over your ass,” he murmurs, sex dripping from his soft lips.

  “That sounds good to me,” I breathe, turning my head a fraction. “What’s stopping you?” Never in my life have I been this bold and eager with a man but Dorian has awakened the sleeping sex giant within me. If my days are numbered, I want to at least die happy.

  “Oh, I would do it. But I know Aurora will come looking for me and I don’t want to be disturbed when I… ruin you.” Ruin me? It sounds so threatening and violent. I love it.

  “Aurora.” Ugh. Even the sound of her name irritates me. “You two know each other well.” It’s not a question, it’s an observation.

  “Yes,” is all he offers, looking me sternly in the eye. I don’t dare to ask him how well though the question is eating me alive.

  “She says you might be the one.” Ok, spilling the beans from our brief girl chat is not my style but Aurora is no friend of mine. I have no loyalty to her.

  Dorian shakes his head and chuckles. “That girl and her imagination.” I want to ask him at least how they know each other, but I’m not ready to show him that I actually care. Just ready to jump into his bed. No big deal.

  Dorian extends his hand to me and when I place mine in his grasp, he brings it up to his lips and leaves a lingering kiss on my knuckle. His eyes never leave mine, just like the first night we met. It feels like such a distant memory, considering all the twists my life has taken since then.

  “Well, you better get back to your party,” I say, pulling away from his trance. Once again, I don’t want to give him the chance to dismiss me. Even though all I want to do is stay here with him all night.

  “No, I’m going home. They can party all they want to. I’ll get the bill in the morning,” he replies indifferently.

  Dorian escorts me back into the swarm of people, saying his polite farewells as I stand by his side meekly. I feel like I’m intruding so I bid him goodnight, for the second time today, and set off to find Morgan. Before I can put ten feet between us, I hear the familiar sound of Aurora’s soprano voice, greeting him back with enthusiasm. It takes every ounce of my self-control not to turn back around and slap her silly.

  “There you are!” Morgan exclaims when she spots me. I try to replace my vexed expression with a friendly grin.

  “Here I am,” I respond.

  She’s surrounded by a group of dramatically adorned men with outrageous hair styles. Bright, shimmery colors bathe their eyelids and their lips are perfectly pouty with various hues of lipstick. Ah yes, Morgan loves gay men, and gay men love Morgan. I smile brightly at all of them as they greet me with a chorus of ‘Oooohs’ and ‘Ahhhhs’ at my daring dress. A couple of them are new stylists at the salon and they are overjoyed at the prospect of Morgan joining their team. Their humor and goodhearted nature instantly perk me up from my Aurora-funk.

  “Did you see Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome back there?” one of the men asks. His name is Carlos and he has brightly colored feathers embellishing his fire engine red faux hawk. “Giiirl, when I found out he owned this place, I said ‘Hell yes! Where do I sign?’ Papi had me wide open. I was ready to work for free just so I can look at that ass!” We all erupt with laughter, and I secretly sympathize with Carlos. Yes, Dorian definitely has that affect.

  “But that one little chick can’t keep her damn hands off him. She was here all last week, while we’re trying to set up, chasing after him. Oooh, and she’s a mean little bitch too. Don’t let that pretty face fool you,” his friend, Jackson, chimes in. He’s tall and svelte and could easily be a male model with his long platinum blonde locks and tan skin.

  The guys engage in raucous banter about their run-ins with Aurora while Morgan and I listen intently, exchanging the occasional glance and nod. We’re taking it all in, trying to find out what’s really going on with Dorian and Aurora.

  “Well, I say we drink this free champagne, eat this free food and really get this party started!” their other buddy exclaims. His name is Xavier but he would rather people call him X. His hair is a bit more tamed- short, full and chocolate brown- being that he works in the governor’s office. But he makes up for it with vivid colored eye makeup that’s fashioned into a peacock. It looks like a true work of art and I’m in awe.

  We all grab glasses of champagne and raise them in celebration. Soon after, the smooth sounds of jazz change to booming bass-lines and drumbeats and the real fun begins. We dance, eat, drink, and laugh until our sides hurt. Still, all I can think about is Dorian and if Aurora is occupying his bed tonight.

  It’s nearly midnight and I am tipsy, feeling the fuzzy effects of champagne and Patron. Carlos and his friends know how to have a good time and we all promise to go out to Denver for a real night on the town soon. Morgan ushers me to her Mustang though I’m more than capable of making it there on my own. She’s worried about taking me home in fear that my parents may catch me stumbling in the house so I construct a text, informing them that I’m staying at her house. Her parents are more lenient with their little princess.

  We head North, passing nightclubs and bars, bustling with music and laughter. I roll down the window and let the frigid air sober me up while Jay-Z pumps through the sound system spinning an evocative tale of his past and present, dreams and realities, life and death. I urge the hypnotic drumbeats to carry me to another place devoid of all my trivial qualms about my hopeless love life but my intoxicated mind refuses to abandon the nagging questions.

  “Wait. Take me to the Broadmoor,” I command suddenly. Morgan is looking at me warily, probably thinking that I’ve had way too much to drink. “Seriously, Morg. I need to go to the Broadmoor.”

  She gives me a pointed look, pursing her full, glossed lips. “What’s at the Broadmoor?”

  I look at my best friend, conviction in my eyes. “Dorian.”

  Without another word, Morgan makes a U-turn at the next light.

  We pull up to the grand resort and simultaneously gasp at its splendor. It’s beyond gorgeous. And with spotlights illuminating the vast estate, it looks more like a modern-day castle than a hotel.

  “So do you know what room he’s staying in?” Morgan asks.

  “No,” I respond, sheepishly.

  “Then how do you expect to get to his room? Hotels like these just don’t give away room information. People pay for discretion, Gabs.” Morgan obviously has had more experience with this stuff than I have.

  I look in the back seat and grab the gift bags we received from the salon opening, emptying the swag into our purses. I open a nude lipgloss and give my pout a fresh, glimmering coat. Morgan grabs a comb and begins to work her magic, releasing my ringlets from the hair clip and letting them cascade down my back. She gives me a fresh sweep of blush and hands me her jacket. I shrug it on and after a second glance to ensure I’m presentable, I grab the empty gift bags, my purse and step out of the Mustang.

  “Thanks, Morgan. You’re the best,” I smile sweetly.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. Now go get your man.”

  I stroll through the entrance and enter the majestic lobby, careful not to look too awestruck at its brilliance. I bound gracefully to the reception desk to be greeted by a young man with freckles and fiery red hair.

  “Hello, I am Mrs. Skotos. I’ve just flown here to surprise my husband for his birthday and I can’t seem to remember his room number,” I say confidently, showing him the gift bags.

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Skotos. Um, no luggage we can help you with?” He’s clearly testing me.

  I eye him suggestively. “Well, it’s not the kind of visit that requires much clothing, dear.”

  Freckles’ face turns as red as his hair as he looks down to tap o
n his computer. “Mr. Skotos is in the Lakeside building, ma’am.” He gives me the room number and begins to spout off directions and I thank him for his assistance.

  I begin the trek to the neighboring building, nervously aware that it is pitch black and deathly quiet out, though the path is sufficiently lit with lamp posts and garden lights. I jump at every creak and pull Morgan’s jacket tightly around me. Suddenly I’m freezing and begin to walk briskly despite my five inch heels to the Lakeside building to safety. A friendly doorman opens the glass doors, welcoming me into the warmth. I thank him before stuffing the empty gift bags into a nearby trashcan then saunter into the elevator.

  Ok, this is it. I can’t leave now; I have to know. Either Dorian is up there alone or he’s with Aurora. Or maybe someone else? Oh God, what if he’s sound asleep and is upset that I’ve woken him? What if he isn’t even there and simply lied at the party to escape? He didn’t invite me over so he obviously didn’t want me here. I really didn’t think this through. Damn me and my impulsiveness! Damn that liquid courage! I can’t call Morgan to come back and I don’t have enough cash on me to call a cab. Shit!

  The Ding! from the elevator breaks me from my agonized reverie and the doors slide open, indicating that just a few steps and a set of double doors separate me from the truth about Dorian. I walk tentatively towards the doors that signify his suite, holding my breath every step of the way. I exhale noisily as I reach my destination, feeling dizzy from the lack of oxygen mixed with champagne. Time to face my fears. I will my shaky hand to make a fist and raise it to the door. Here goes nothing. I quickly rap three times and take a precautionary step back. Soft footsteps pad towards the door seconds later, and then a rustling sound follows. Maybe a belt buckle? Oh no, this isn’t good.

  Dorian opens the door, shirtless, his abs a rippling stone path towards the unbuttoned dress slacks that hang from the severely sexy V of his hip muscles. They’re draped so low that it’s evident that he isn’t wearing any underwear. I take in a sharp breath at the sight of him nearly naked. He’s even more gorgeous than I could have ever dreamed. I then take in his disheveled, half-dressed appearance, the look on his face a combination of shock and alarm. I’ve caught him off guard and it doesn’t look like my unexpected appearance is a welcomed surprise. His icy irises glare at me, freezing me where I stand.

  I can’t turn back now.

  Chapter Twelve

  Before I can say a word, Dorian grabs my arm and yanks me into his suite as if I'm weightless. He pushes me up against the wall and buries his tongue inside my mouth with great ferocity. My coat falls from my shoulders, allowing his hands to roam my body, exploring the dips and rises of my delicate curves. Reaching to my backside, he palms its roundness and slowly massages, matching the rhythm of our intertwined tongues. I feel the hardness of his middle, grinding into my belly button and I gasp against his lips.

  Dorian’s hands slowly move up my bare back, over my shoulders and down to my aching breasts. I am ever so grateful when his fingers begin to flick and fondle my nipples through the tight fabric of my dress. I let a moan escape through our fused mouths and Dorian devours it, muffling my cry of pleasure. He lets a hand travel south, easing between my thighs, searching for my heat. I’m on fire- a white hot flame of scorching ecstasy. The gap between my legs is humid with expectation. Dorian pushes my damp lace panties aside and slides a finger across my clitoris with slow, relentless torment. My knees buckle at the contact, and he continues his torture- back and forth, back and forth- until my muffled moans can no longer be contained. Just when I think his assault has ended, he slides the finger inside of me, feeling my walls throb and contract around him. A chorus of whimpers and expletives quickly follows.

  Dorian takes his other hand and wraps it around my lower back, lifting me off my feet effortlessly. I reflexively wrap my legs around him, kicking my heels off and letting them tumble to the ground. Astonishingly, his long, agile finger is still nestled inside of me and we are still engaged in our feverish lip-lock. My fingers are tangled in his tousled hair, elbows resting on his shoulders to support the slow grind against his finger. He inserts another, and I cry out a garbled plea, begging him not to stop.

  Dorian easily carries me to what I assume is a bedroom. He sets me on the edge of the bed, and I whimper as his lips and fingers abandon me. He slowly places them in his mouth one by one, sucking away my sweetness while watching me intently. I stare back at him in awe; Holy fuck, I want him.

  “Now that you’ve come all this way to see me, what will you do with me?” he asks in a low, raspy voice. It’s the first words he’s uttered since my arrival yet we have already said so much. I know the taste of my pleasure has affected him. He wants this just as bad as I do.

  I look directly in front of me at his unbuttoned slacks dangling off the cut of his hip muscles. Slowly, I pull the zipper down, holding my breath in anticipation as his pants fall around his ankles, liberating his generous erection. I am nearly floored at the size of him, a mixture of apprehension and excitement overcoming me. I lick my lips reflexively while gazing up at him through my dark eyelashes. He gasps in surprise at my boldness. I turn my attention back to his splendor wondering for a split second if I can really do this; I’ve never given oral before but I want to so bad in this moment. I shake the doubt from my mind and submit to my carnal urges, taking the swollen head of him in my mouth.

  I gently swirl the tip with my tongue, savoring the trickles of sweetness that escape as a result. His flavor is delectable, and with eagerness I try to take all of him in my mouth. Dorian’s head rolls back and a barrage of deep, hoarse moans escape him. I continue to bathe him with my tongue, sucking slowly and tightly up and down. I let my tongue explore every inch of his ridged shaft, tracing each vein, swirling it from base to head. He’s losing control; I can feel his legs quiver. He grows longer, thicker in my mouth and I know the end is near for him. I pick up the pace, craving to taste him once more when he pulls away, leaving my wanting mouth.

  “No, not yet,” Dorian smiles down at me, still panting.

  He leans down to pull my dress down over my shoulders, slowly stripping it from my body until it is on the floor. I sit before him, bare-nippled, wearing only a lacey black thong. I want to wrap my arms around myself to shield my breasts but the look of admiration in his eyes urges me not to. He advances inch by inch, placing his knee between my legs to scoot me up farther on the bed. When my entire body is flat on the adorned satin comforter, he gently peels my panties off, admiring the view once again.

  “So beautiful,” he murmurs, his fingertips grazing the skin over my ribcage ever so gently.

  Dorian hovers over me, locking his penetrating azure gaze on me. Our bodies do not touch yet I feel a powerful sensation run through me. Prickly yet pleasurable, just like the feeling I got the first night that Dorian’s lips brushed my hand. The feeling grows stronger, turning from a prickle to a pulsation, coursing in my veins, kissing every nerve ending in my body. I’m gasping, unable to hold on anymore. The satin comforter rumples and stretches under my desperate grip. Dorian’s eyes never leave mine, and I am unable to blink and break his hypnotic stare. I want to scream, want to thrash from this sweet agony but I am totally paralyzed in his captivity. And just as I feel as if I can take no more, the pulsing centralizes, leaving my limbs, crawling to a path leading to my sex. It is so overwhelming, so intense, and I call out to God, the Divine Power, and Dorian. He still doesn’t touch me, still doesn’t save me as I drown in a pool of pleasure.

  Before I can catch my breath and slow my pounding heart, Dorian spreads my legs wider, exposing the waterfall of my release. And in one swift movement, he thrusts himself inside of me, filling me to capacity. We gasp in unison. The feeling is so… perfect. So right. I’m in disbelief at how good he feels inside my warmth. Dorian begins to slowly grind, stirring himself within my walls. I can feel every inch of him, and from the look on his strained face, he can feel all of me. His torture is unhurried, deliberate
. He wants to make this last and I never want it to end.

  “Shit, you feel good,” he breathes into the base of my neck. His teeth graze my throat and I shudder from his touch.

  Soft moans leave my lips, joining Dorian’s low sighs in a harmonious song of hedonism. The tempo increases with each stroke, and soon it is a tune of sharp cries and deep, throaty groans. I feel it growing inside of me, and my whimpers evolve into agonized yelps with his increasing length. It’s painful yet oh so pleasurable and the combination brings me to my brink. My flame is now a wildfire and only he can extinguish it. I feel it; feel it building inside me, climbing higher and higher. Dorian’s expression is a mixture of strain and defeat. He can’t stop himself. He needs this too; he needs to surrender himself to our carnality.

  In one deep thrust, he relinquishes his resolve, his fingers digging into the sides of my backside as he pushes himself deeper still. The feeling of his eruption causes me to submit to mine as well, and I cry out his name as our rivers unite into a deep, endless ocean.

  **********

  “You looked upset,” I reflect. We are both lying on top of the comforter, finding our breaths, covered in a glistening sheen of sweat.

  “I was shocked. Didn’t expect you to come here,” Dorian says, lightly panting. We stare at the ceiling, both gloriously spent.

  “Neither did I.”

  I exhale and allow myself to look at him. He looks scrumptious; even with disheveled hair and sweat on his brow, he’s still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I know he can feel my eyes on him but he doesn’t turn towards me. He looks thoughtful. Oh no, I hope he doesn’t regret what just transpired between us. I know I don’t.

  “You wield powerful magic,” he says, barely above a whisper.

  The fuck? Does he…? No. He can’t possibly know. I laugh off his remark nervously. I can’t even wrap my head around it. I know it’s just a figure of speech but it hits too close to home.