Dark Savior: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (30 page)

“Do what?”

“Drink more than you should,” he says.

I exhale audibly.

“Excuse me, you’re starting to sound like my father,” I complain. “I told you I’m a strong drinker, that doesn’t mean that I do it every day.”

“Or every weekend?” he comments.

“No, not even that,” I say indignantly. “You know that having an occasional drink is actually good for you? Especially this.”

I raise my glass.

“Red wine is good for your heart,” I explain.

“In small quantities, I am sure,” he says.

Our teasing and mocking goes on for a while, as the second bottle continues to become emptier. It does take a while, but just when I am smart enough to add a few glasses of water in between, I notice his handsome cheeks turning red. His speech starts to slur ever so slightly and when he moves around on his chair, it does by no means equal the almost stiff and controlled motions he usually displays. I know he is trying to hide it from me as much as I am trying to hide my intoxication from him.

He is getting chattier, too. It is rare for him to smile or even laugh out loud, but now that the wine has taken a hold of him, he grows to be more relaxed around me than he ever was before.

It’s refreshing to see him visibly enjoy himself when we are doing something other than fucking. He is always so serious, so much the business man he has to be all day. To see him a bit more playful like this is a compliment, because I feel that he is showing me a side of himself that not many people get to see.

He encourages me to tell him more about myself as well, but not in the creepy and nosy way he did before.

“You said your job is to polish stories?” he asks at one point. “What kind of stories?”

I smile, flattered by the fact that he remembers my phrasing from our first meeting.

“Crime novels and thrillers mostly,” I say. “Very dark stuff sometimes.”

His eyes flicker and he takes another sip from his wine.

“I see,” he says. “Is that what you like?”

“The novels you mean?”

“Yes, obviously,” he says. “No one would like that kind of action in real life, right?”

His voice and expression have become sullen. He almost looks as if he was in pain.

“Right, I guess so,” I reply. “But yes, I enjoy them. I would like to write one of my own one day.”

“I thought you were not a storyteller yourself?” he asks. “Labor division and all.”

Damn, he got me there. I did not expect him to listen so well during our first conversation.

“Well, I might have lied a little there,” I admit. “I would like to write and publish my own.”

“What’s stopping you?” he wants to know.

I shrug. “Maybe it’s just a lack of inspiration.”

“Inspiration, huh?” he says, casting me an odd smile. There is a hint of sadness to it.

“One would think you get a lot of inspiration from others,” he adds. “With the amount of books you have to read in that genre.”

“Sure,” I agree. “But those pretty much just tell me what others have done before...”

I hesitate. If real life inspiration is what I’m after, maybe I should consider making something of that horrible incident. A cold clamp closes around my heart, as I think about it.

No. I don’t think this would work. At least not until I have found some kind of closure with this. If they catch the guy, maybe. If I knew who he is, and where he is.

That would help so much.

“Maybe you’ll get your inspiration some day,” Mars says, interrupting my thought. He winks at me. “I’m sure you’d do a great job.”

I smile. “Who knows.”

“I think it’s time to get out of here,” he announces. His face is glowing, not just from alcohol. His sullen expression is gone and he is casting me a warm smile.

He looks so different, so... happy.

I feel oddly flattered just by the way he is smiling when we leave the restaurant together. He has his arm wrapped around me, pulling me close as we step outside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks once we find ourselves sitting next to each other in the cab.

“Great. Sober,” I lie, even though my head is spinning. We spent a long time in the restaurant, and even ordered desert to go along with the second bottle of wine. Still, I cannot remember the last time I had an entire bottle of wine, even when the time I drank it spanned the entire evening.

He laughs, shaking his head with disbelief.

“You might not be willing to admit it, but I am,” he says. “I won’t deny that I am feeling quite dizzy.”

“Of course you are,” I say, winking at him. “Newbie.”

He reaches over and pinches my right thigh.

“You are going to pay for that, young girl.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Mars

Sex didn’t do it. Putting on my charm didn’t do it.

Maybe intoxication will. She was tipsy when we met at that fundraiser event, but since then she never had more than one or two drinks in my presence. Back then I was just a mere stranger to her, a guy she approached, because she had a deal with her friend.

When she suggested we have more than a few drinks together, I mainly agreed because I didn’t want to lose face, and I didn’t want her to get suspicious. It was bad enough that she noticed at all. I don’t want her to think anything weird of me, anything unusual. She shouldn’t think that there is anything wrong with me.

I knew it was risky, but I cared less with every glass. Not only did I worry less, I also came up with another good reason for our drinking.

I am her date now, a man she trusts to a certain degree, maybe she would even call me her boyfriend. She may confide in me now, if she is under the influence of that liquid poison that has the power to cause people to lose their inhibitions. It is just another chance for me to see if she really doesn’t know who I am.

She is staggering next to me when we enter my place. I can tell that she is still trying to hide how drunk she really is, but it doesn't go by me, not even for a second. I have spent enough time among drunk people to see the signs and assess their degree of intoxication.

“You still haven’t furnished!” She exclaims when we walk into my living room.

She turns around to me, her dress swirling around her slim frame. I want to rip it from her seductive body and fuck her right against the wall of my unfurnished living room, but with the way I am feeling I couldn't be sure not to pass out right after.

Fucking alcohol. My head is spinning a lot more than I am comfortable with. She is the one who's supposed to lose control, not me, goddammit!

“Work,” I say as I approach her to get at least a little taste of her colorful lips. She looks up at me through fogged eyes. The same eyes that saw me finishing my last job on that rooftop. They have lost their depth now that she is under the influence of way too much wine.

All of a sudden, her ignorance infuriates me.

How can she not know? How can she not see who I am? I have seen and fucked her long enough to know that she is anything but stupid. She is so aware, so observant and smart—how can this go by her?

“What is it?” She asks, her voice quivering as I take her face between my hands, lifting her chin so that she is looking directly at me. I lean in closer, until our noses almost touch and I can feel her poisoned breath on my face.

Her cheeks are flushed and her breath is unsteady, causing her delicious chest to heave erratically. She stares up at me through wide open eyes, but still, there is no fright, just drunken confusion.

“Mars...,” she whispers, before she closes her eyes and tilts her head back, silently asking for a kiss. A kiss that I won't give her right now.

Instead, I let go of her face and retreat. She reacts just as I expected and opens her eyes, now looking at me quizzically.

She looks so innocent, so unaware—and I hate that look on her right now.

The atmosphere between us has changed drastically and she can feel it. While we were joking and teasing just a few minutes ago, there is now an unpleasant tension, created by me.

A lot of men become aggressive when they drink; maybe I am one of them. I need to be careful, because I don’t want to hurt her.

Fuck. I don’t want to hurt her. A few weeks ago, I was ready to kill her. Almost. I couldn’t do it then, and I’m damn sure I cannot do it now. All I want is to protect her from men like me, because I know they’re out there and she obviously doesn’t see danger even when it’s right in front of her.

But most of all, I want to be close to her. I want to be inside her, not only physically. I want to know what is going on in that bright head, behind those attentive eyes that have witnessed something horrible just a few weeks ago.

A weird part of me wants her to share this memory with me. To tell me what she thought that night when she saw me shooting a man. I want to know why she was on that rooftop to begin with, what she was doing in that neighborhood—and if she will ever be able to forget about the horrible incident she witnessed. I want to know if it haunts her, if she is having nightmares because of it, because of me. And I want to know if there is anything I can do to do make her forget about it, not only for my sake, but for hers as well.

It’s impossible that she has forgotten about it, unless she is suffering from a rare kind of memory loss due to a shock.

Is that what happened to her? Is that why she never went to the police or told anyone about it?

Of course, I cannot be sure about that last part, but I feel that it is safe to assume that she hasn't even mentioned it in front of her close friend.

If I just knew...

“Tell me,” I say, my voice oddly low and sullen.

She tilts her head to the side in question. “Tell you what?”

I shake my head, more to myself than her. Of course, I cannot ask her. I wish it were that easy.

This uncertainty is killing me.

“Mars?”

Her questioning voice is following me as I turn around and head to the kitchen.

“We need water,” I declare.

She doesn’t reply anything but obediently waits next to me as I pour us each a glass of water. I hand one of them over to her and watch her as she finishes it in one gulp.

“Are you okay?” she asks, after placing the emptied glass on the kitchen counter. “You are acting so weird.”

“You win,” I say, deciding to change my strategy. She may not willingly open up to me in a way I need her to just because she is drunk, but there’s still one thing I haven’t tried yet: letting her in first. Just a little, of course. I'm not going to tell her anything she doesn’t need to know, anything that would not only put her in danger but make her run away on the spot.

“I win?” She asks with a cheeky smile on her face. It’s a pity that a beautiful girl like her would fall into the hands of a monster like me.

And she still has no idea. All she understands right is that she may have won a silly bet against me, a kind of game only teenagers would play.

“You are admitting your defeat?” she asks. "Feeling a little light headed?"

Her silly naivete is driving me mad, but I will give her this little victory. She will pay for it soon enough.

“A little practice may make the difference,” I admit. “But I’m not sure if you should be proud to be able to drink a grown man like me under the table.”

“And yet I am,” she says, winking at me.

She comes closer to me and places her hands on my hips, pulling me so close that my pelvis presses against her hips. She has never approached me like that, but always waited for me to make the first move.

“What do I get as a reward?” she wants to know, fluttering her eyelashes seductively.

I am fucking dizzy. Normally, I would lift her up in a moment like this, grab her by the hips and let her wrap her legs around me while I carry her to the bedroom. But that damn wine has weakened me to a point where I know that it this is an impossible move for me right now. It is surprising enough that my cock is still attentive enough to react to her touch.

She notices it, too and starts caressing the growing bulge between my legs. Whatever plan I had to make her speak tonight has to wait—I need her. I need to fuck her silly before I can even think of anything else to do.

“I’m sure I can think of something,” I say while I unbuckle my belt.

Her eyes flicker with excitement, and she playfully protests when I place my hand at the back of her head to push her down on my knees.

Her instant willingness to please does enough for me to grow hard even before she pulls down my pants. She leans forward and starts licking the tip of my cock. Her touch is careful and reserved, aiming to tease me.

But that is not what I am after right now. I push her forward, enjoying the suffocating moans she lets out as I force my entire length inside of her mouth. She struggles and chokes, instinctively trying to push herself away from me, but I make sure to keep her in place.

She is such a good girl, too good. So naive and innocent, unable to see evil even when it is right in front of her.

I finally let her breathe, watching as she coughs and spits after I release her. She looks up at me with a smile that almost seems too naughty for the girl I know her to be.