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“I didn’t accuse you of anything. Besides, it’s not any of my business.”
“You didn’t have to. Everyone always wants to know why. Everyone wants to know how much it costs to get Heaven to break the rules.” That’s the persona he plays onstage, the godlike creature with the tattoos, the mask. His alter ego.
Or is this his alter ego? The man I see every day.
“And how much is that?”
“There is no price because it’s not for sale. It’s not something I can allow myself to do.”
“Because if you put a price on it, crossed that line…”
“I won’t. I can’t.”
“Because you want to.” It dawns on me as I look up into his eyes. The longing is there, to set himself free from the chains he’s imposed on himself.
“More than anything,” he whispers, forced through gritted teeth.
The admission circles around in my head, first that he is simply lustful, a typical man who wants to fuck anything that moves. Maybe he’s an addict? But why would a gorgeous sex addict put himself around all of this sex? And how could he maintain his resolve?
No. That’s not what any of this is about.
Otherwise, there would be no reason to refuse making love to the surreal and exotic woman he performed with. Hell, I would have sex with her in his shoes!
“It always comes back to one thing with you… control.” And he doesn’t say a word, staring me down with a vicious scowl that makes me shiver, makes me want to tear off my dress and run screaming at the same time.
I’m starting to understand that his control is less for his own sake and more for the sake of others. After seeing him dance, the way he moves, the way he stays perfectly flexed, rock hard from peck to cock…
There is something else to him underneath the tight-laced surface and cool boredom. It’s something I've only caught glimpses of, in slips of anger, when he’s particularly stressed.
It's powerful. It's seductive. It's outrageous and it makes me unbelievably irate.
It starts a fire in my belly every time we fight.
He’s an animal, leashed on a short cord.
The moment slips away by necessity. In another second, he’s drying off, throwing his clothes on haphazardly. Silence accompanies us the rest of the night as we gather our things and head to the car.
The ride home is no different.
The staff will see to any other needs Mr. and Mrs. Cormorant have, if they wake at any point in the night in the luxurious master bedroom of the penthouse. In the morning, the maids Evan keeps on call will take care of feeding them and seeing them off, back to their normal daily lives in the hills.
As for me…
My life is far from normal. It gets less normal every day.
Tonight was just a staggering reminder of that. It settles over me as Evan takes the dark, empty streets of Sanctum’s richest neighborhoods at breakneck speed.
The rush doesn’t even faze me.
Something raw hangs in the air between us. Like he lost something vulnerable and dangerous and doesn’t know what I will do with it. In his line of work, it is dangerous, I guess, sharing something that I have a feeling he’s never shared before. Useful ammunition, leverage.
Not that he has anything to be ashamed of. It’s the opposite. He’s incredible on stage.
Neither of us gets out of the car immediately when he pulls up to the office.
“You will not speak to anyone about this.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it.
“Excuse me?” My eyes bulge at his audacity.
