Page 80 of Grotesque Love

I’m powerless as he rubs his cum covered cock over her lips, dipping the tip just inside her mouth before pulling away, repeating the process a few more times until he’s hard again. This time he’s quicker to finish, coming on her face, with his other hand squeezing her tit, while she remains blissfully unaware.

He grabs a washcloth from the bathroom, returning to clean her up. He’s careful and gentle with the fucked up aftercare he gives her, wiping away all traces that he’d been there as he pulls her nightgown back down and covers her again with the quilt.

As he finally leaves, and the doorswings shut behind him, I’m grateful that she was able to sleep through this. That it was me who was forced to witness it. This would have broken Jas. And sent Mal over the edge.

I know Ari said she didn’t want us to kill Carver, but I refuse to watch this anymore. For the love of Ari, I would choose his death a thousand times over.

ARIANWEN

I feel so…heavy when I wake.

My limbs are like lead, my entire body tired and drained and just…wrong. Everything is off kilter and I have to prise my eyes open and it’s such a struggle to keep them that way. I lick my dry lips, getting a taste of something bitter and salty.

When I manage to sit up and look out of my bedroom window, the sun is high in the sky. It has to be afternoon which means I’ve slept most of the day away.

I guess staying up late to fuck my gargoyles all night long will tire a girl out. But this heaviness in my bones feels more like before, like when I was lost in the haze of drugs.

Yes, Carver is home. And he’s forcing pills down my throat once more, but I’ve only had a few doses, I shouldn’t be feeling this awful already.

I don’t feel sick like with the flu, but maybe I am coming down with something. I don’t know. What I do know is that I need to get out of this room. I should probably shower, but I don’t think I have the energy. Besides, my gargoyles cleaned me up last night, so it’s not like I’mdirty.Just groggy from sleep.

Food. I should definitely get some food in me. Hopefully there’s still some leftovers or something easy I can make, and Carver’s return doesn’t mean a return to his bland, tasteless, ‘healthy’ food. I don’t think I could stand it. It’s like I’ve awakened in his absence and I’m not willing to go back to that zombie-like state he had me in before. Not without a fight anyway.

In the kitchen, there’s no vase or glass of flowers on the table, and it fills me with sadness for a reason I can’t explain.

I wish Carver had never come back. I hope he leaves again soon. Everything was so much better with him gone. I was living once more.

I’ve not done that since before my mother’s death, and even then, if I’m truly honest, I feel like I’ve not really been myself since Carver came into our lives.

My heart pangs.

I miss my mother. Not just the good parts of her from before, a small part of me even misses the woman she became as Carver’s wife. She was still here. Still with me.

Their wedding anniversary is approaching soon, though I’m not sure of the exact date. I remember that it’s some time in June because my mother had peonies at the wedding, and they only bloom for such a short season.

I wonder if Carver will remember. Something like that would be ingrained on the souls of most widowers, but Carver has never grieved for my mother. Not really.

A flash of memory, of thinking he looked smug at the funeral flits through my mind but it’s gone before I can examine it too closely. A wave of nausea overcomes me and I stumble.

Food. I need to eat.

Once I’ve managed to eat a piece of toast and nursed a cup of fruit tea, I hide in the solarium tending to my plants while I try to come up with a plan. I know Sax and Mal want me to leave Carver to them, but they don’t understand. They don’t know him like I do. I need to have some security that he won’t try to force my hand or make me stay, and blackmail makes the most sense.

He’s a lord, being a lord is the most important thing in his life and his reputation is everything. How many times had I been punished for tarnishing it? How many lectures had I received for not being appropriate or seemly in public? Carver’s Achilles’ heel is public perception. It matters to him what others think of him.

All I need is some juicy tidbit of gossip, some dodgyaccounting files, tax evasion, drug issues, proof of an illegitimate child – anything that will give me the upper hand. Then he’ll be forced to stay away from me, and no one gets hurt or killed.

In my gut, I know I’ll find what I’m after in the west wing. Why else would he keep it locked? Even from Danvers.

Jas was sombre when he said it contained darkness, but I need that darkness. I need to harness it, that’s the price of my freedom. I know it. My mind goes to the set of keys for the estate Carver carries in his jacket pocket, and I know one of those must be for the west wing. But how am I supposed to get my hands on those?

My head swims a little, and I take a few steadying breaths, leaning on the pot of a large bamboo plant while everything comes back into focus. If I am going to do something it needs to be now.

I head upstairs and change into another gown, one I know is a favourite of Carver’s. It has a frilled ruffle edge that sits off my shoulders, and gathers between my breasts. The pale pink fabric is almost sheer, gossamer, falling to my feet, and while I squirm, I know Carver will be pleased to see me wearing it. Taking a deep breath, I turn to the statue of Sax and pray he forgives me later tonight before making my way to Carver’s home office.

I knock on the huge mahogany door, before letting myself inside. Carver is sitting behind a large oak desk near the window in the dark room. The walls are lined with bookshelves, all filled with vintage books, photographs, a few certificates and knick-knacks. It’s so oppressive in here.

His eyes widen when he takes in my dress, his gaze moving almost hungrily over me. “Ari, princess, what are you doing out of bed?”