Page 43 of Burn for the Devil
A large chandelier hung precariously overhead in the large room we entered. Empty brackets dotted the walls, and a wide staircase stood before us. I gazed questioningly at Ramone, and he beckoned me.
“Why are we here?” I asked. It was eerie, the stillness of the castle. I could almost hear the laughter and see the smiles that must’ve once permeated the space with a celebration of life. Visions of fancy gowns, glittering tiaras, and sparkling wine filled my mind, set against a backdrop of beautiful, classical music. It was magical, the space we were in, matching the imagination of my seven-year-old self when my mother used to read storybooks to me and Zoey at bedtime.
I could tell something was still bothering Ramone. He gave it away in the stiffness of his back, the furtive movements of his eyes, and the clenching of his fists. He moved to the staircase, motioning me with his palm up, fingers twitching. He hadn’t answered my question, but I ascended the stone slabs behind him.
Chunks of crystal littered the floor, broken and fallen from what had to have been an impressive archway at one time. Beauty remained in the stone daggers overhead, the light glinting and refracting through the quartz and amethyst. The sight reminded me of icicles dripping from a roof’s edge, threatening to impale one’s skull if they dared to pass underneath.
Ramone waited for me, watching me marvel at the display. “How do you feel here?” he asked. “This is one place I truly feel free, in this world. Can you feel it?”
There was a lightness in my spirit, a loosening in my heart, as if all my worries had melted away, despite my misgivings over what was happening to me. “I do. It feels like I left my body and everything that had been weighing me down. I kinda feel like I could do anything, and it would be okay.” I paused. “My head is messed up a little. This seems too real.”
He glanced at me, satisfied with my answer, and continued walking, tapping a fingernail against one of the crystal shards overhead.
At this point, it felt like I’d been in this world, dreaming, for hours and yet the sun hadn’t moved from its position in the sky. I tried to recall if in any of my dreams, I’d paid attention to the movement of the sun or moon and came up empty. It was clear to me that if I was dreaming, Ramone was as well, and we were somehow dreaming together. It couldn’t be explained any other way.
The only answer that made sense was that a door had opened somewhere in time and space that I'd spent the entirety of my life overlooking and we were co-dreaming right now. He’d said neither of us were asleep, but how could that be true?
Arguing with myself, I contemplated how everything was too animated, too life-like, to be anything but just that. I'd tipped over the edge and no longer possessed a clue as to what to do or what to think.
The fact that I felt almost perfectly comfortable around this man puzzled me. It was as if the other, cruel, version of him had never existed and we’d always known each other. I shook my head, stifling the hysterical laugh that begged to be let loose at the thought.
Oblivious to my ongoing musing, Ramone crossed the room with long strides while I continued to gape at everything around us. The ceiling stretched above, plaster crumbling and wooden beams broken. A small dais was set against the far wall with a door set into the stone, and tumbled chairs, their upholstery shredded, blocked the way.
Ramone stood on the platform waiting for me.
Climbing the short steps, I asked him again, “Why are we here? Just to look around?”
He righted the chairs, setting them in the center, and sat down. “Yes, and I wanted to show you,” he answered, gesturing to the second chair. “This castle belongs,belonged, to the father of someone I destroyed.”
Lowering myself in the seat, I met his gaze before he turned away to stare out at the empty room spread before us. “That same man partook in the killing of my wife, Samara. I wasn’t there to protect her when I should’ve been…rather I was off fighting what turned out to be a useless battle. Both women are gone due to my failing.”
I felt my brow furrow as sadness overtook me, filtering through the air between us to grasp at my heart as if the emotion were a living, breathing entity.
“It was a fight for freedom, but no one is free. Everyone is a slave to something, even their birthright.” Ramone’s hands gripped the edges of the arm rests. I watched his fingers flex, dust and splinters floating to the floor to gather in a small pile by the chair’s legs.
Swallowing, I asked, “What do you mean?” I was fairly sure I understood all too well his point about birthrights, having had my own choices stripped away to a degree the second I gasped my first breath before being permanently removed when my sister died. Slowly, he brought his gaze back to mine, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on the rotting wood. “What is it that you want?” he asked me.
“To scream,” I said without hesitation, repeating the same thing I’d told him at the opera. “And to be free, be somewhere unrestricted where I can do what I want.” What I wanted was to let go and not worry about what other people thought, to choose my own friends, my own dates, my own thoughts without the intense judgement and veiled threats. I wanted to go to Saint Simon’s Island for vacation off-season rather than at the prescribed time. I wanted my parents to support my hopes and dreams. I wanted to not feel guilty over Zoey’s death as her sister who should’ve known something was amiss. All the pressure was a weighty burden I’d been living with for far too long.
I’d fantasized about making a scene one too many times, envisioning myself cackling loudly for no reason, or tossing my champagne in a leering senator’s face. What would my parents and peers do if I just started screaming? They’d disown me in hushed voices, gently leading me away while making excuses about an abundance of alcohol, perhaps not enough sleep, or the pressure of an upcoming engagement.
No one would admit the truth. It was all an illusion, the posturing for position. False acts designed to manipulate and impress those who only pretended to care as long as they weren’t dethroned. No one cared about the fundraisers and benefits, it was all for show.
Ramone had removed himself from his seat and was now kneeling in front of me. “I want to make you scream,” he said, lifting the skirt of my dress, “and set you free so you know you’re mine.” I sucked in a breath as he slid his fingers along my calf. His palm moved higher, the smooth skin of his hand traveling up my thigh.
I held my breath as he shoved my skirt up before grabbing my hands, entwining his fingers with my own. His eyes flicked up to mine and I watched as the shade of his irises glowed brighter, deeper. He dipped his head, licked his lips, and fluttered his tongue against the inside of my thigh. Instantly weakening, I sank down in the seat, my shoulders bowing.
Ramone let go of my hands and grabbed my hips roughly yanking me forward. “What are you doing?” I asked him.
I felt his lips against the inside of my leg while he kissed his way closer to my center. “I’m giving you what you need.” His mouth vibrated along my skin. “Me.”
Leaning back, I was barely on the mottled velvet, supported only by his grip on me. He lifted my legs over his shoulders and held me by my waist, the heat of his palms flowing into my flesh. I was suddenly super-conscious of what I knew was my obvious arousal, the slickness feeling cool in the light breeze when he angled his head. I knew what was coming next, but still, I held my breath.
Sensing my discomfort, he squeezed my waist lightly rubbing me with his thumbs. When his tongue traced my dampened seam, the air rushed out of my lungs. I didn’t remember him removing my panties, I could barely remember how I’d evenended up in an abandoned, crumbling castle with this enigmatic man. My world had melted away and transformed into a haven where only the two of us existed. His deft tongue worked my pussy, sending my heart rate higher and higher, my moans echoing in the cavernous space.
Releasing one of my legs he plunged a finger inside me, and I grasped his hair, fisting it, shamelessly grinding my hips against his face. My other hand held onto the edge of the chair as I tried to anchor myself to stop from falling into the abyss.
“Let go, Samantha,” Ramone groaned from between my thighs, nipping at my clit. “Stop hanging on. Submit to me.”