“Do you really think running is going to help, Tally?” Dev asked her gently. Lucian could sense his brother’s need for action, to ease her, to take away the pain and fear they could both see in her face.
Her head rose, fury engulfing her expression for one shattering moment before cool mockery overcame it.
“Such arrogance,” she said imperiously. “I’m not running, I’m merely disinterested now. You tried, you failed. Too bad, so sad.” She shrugged negligently. “No harm done.”
Then she raised her head proudly and though Lucian could sense her need to make a graceful exit, she was practically running for the door.
“Tally, do you really think this is over?” He followed her, pausing in the doorway and watching as she jerked her purse from the desk.
As she turned back to speak to him the outer door opened and Jesse and Terrie walked in before stopping and staring at Tally in amazement. Dev watched fleeting horror cross her face before she rushed past them and out of the office.
“Dammit.” Devril cursed furiously as he started through the door.
“Wait,” Lucian cautioned him. “Let her go for now.”
“What the hell has happened here?” Terrie turned from the door, anger filling her face. “What did you do to her?”
“Not nearly enough, I would suspect.” Lucian pushed his fingers wearily through his hair as he turned back to Devril. “Make sure she gets home okay. I’ll be there later.”
“You shouldn’t have let her leave,” Devril snapped, his green eyes coldly furious. “Dammit, Lucian, she was in no shape to be walking out of here.”
“She was in no condition to fight.” Lucian sighed. “Follow her home. We’ll decide what to do later.”
Devril stalked from the offices and Lucian turned back to face Jesse and Terrie’s concern.
“You and I need to talk,” he told Terrie. “There are obviously a few details about your friend Tally that you neglected to mention in the past few months. I think it would be a good idea if you mentioned them now.”
* * * * *
She had made such a fool of herself. Tally accelerated out of the company parking lot, barely missing an incoming employee as she rounded the curve and headed for the freeway.
She breathed in deeply, fighting the excess emotion straining to be free. She needed to scream or rage or something. It had never been like that. Never before had an orgasm completely eluded her in such a way. They were often not satisfying, barely taking the edge off the hunger that strained inside her, but rarely had she failed to achieve any relief at all, and with such horrifying results. They had known. Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel as fear and humiliation swept over her. They were aware that she had faked the release; that she had been unable to achieve her orgasm despite the fierce, exacting pleasure sweeping through her body.
God, it had felt so good. Their hands, their mouths, Lucian’s lips at her clit, his tongue raking the little gold ring that pierced it. The pleasure had been unlike anything she had known in her life, sweeping through her, sensitizing every nerve and cell in her body until the need for release had consumed her. Yet the harder she had reached for it, the farther away it seemed.
She was burning now. Her skirt was hopelessly stained with her own juices, she knew, and horribly wrinkled. Wrinkles were a sign of sloppiness, both of mind and of appearance; the sisters of the Catholic school she had once attended had lectured that point to her constantly. Her blouse wasn’t even buttoned straight. She clenched her teeth against the overwhelming urge to scream out her mortification.
Years—years of careful control, of watching every move she made, controlling every hidden impulse and presenting an appearance of unshakable calm had been destroyed at the hands of the two men who now knew her most shameful secret.
She needed the pain.
A low growl of fury passed her lips before she throttled it back and once again forcibly controlled her inborn fury. They were dominants, for pity’s sake. Trojans. Part of the much whispered about Club. They liked their sex wild and rough, their women submissive and screaming, not whimpering from the gentleness of their touch. Of all the men she had thought could bring her to mind-blowing orgasm, she had thought Lucian and Devril surely could.
The drive to the upscale apartment complex where she lived was made in record time. She refused to admit she was speeding. She never broke the law. It was a point of pride for her. Just as an unwrinkled skirt, smooth hair and unblemished skin were points of pride. One’s inner person was reflected in the way she carried herself, how she handled hardships. She grimaced at the thought. Why were those old, harshly worded lectures tormenting her now? The good sisters of the St. Augustine’s Academy were a part of her past, or so she had tried to convince herself.
Tally, only whores wear skirts above their knees. You must rise above such hedonistic impulses. Your parents deserve so much more than such a disrespectful child…
What shame you bring to your parents, Tally. Such disgrace…
If your mind must become the Devil’s playground, the least you could do is give an outward appearance of decency. Even the prostitutes that stroll the streets show more decorum…
She shook her head, parking the car and heading quickly for the cool silence of her apartment. She needed a shower. A cold shower. She needed to forget that she was different, that her needs were so depraved that even a Trojan couldn’t fulfill them.
Cool silence greeted her as she entered her apartment. It was dim, perfectly neat and spotless, and so cold. Tally stared at the desert tones of the living room. Despite the warm colors, the room was cold, sterile and unwelcoming, just like her life.
Her fists clenched as she fought back the need to move something, anything. To scatter the potpourri filling the jade vase across the floor. To shatter the crystal against the wall. She wanted to destroy the very essence of what her life had become. Sterile. Unlived and unloved.
“Stop it.” She breathed in roughly, pushing herself away from the door and striding quickly through the room. The dining room was no different. The heavy oak table had never known a spot of food spilled on it. She couldn’t remember the last time she had used the stove in the kitchen.