Shadows of Deception Ch. 04

Note: Depending on when this is published there may be a discrepancy in Roman's name from Solis to Aurelius. I wasn't 100% sold on Solis, it was just a placekeeper till I found something I liked more. His name is Roman Aurelius. Happy reading.

Four: Dirty Thoughts by Chloe Adams

Roman smiled as he watched the footage of the storage room camera. He'd lost count of how many times he'd played it back; the audio was the best part. It captured every sound clear as day, and combined with the little souvenir he'd taken, he'd gotten a fair bit of fun out of it.

It was far from the only footage of himself and a woman but thus far, it was his favorite.

The camera didn't have a clear view of them, as there was a slight blind spot that Roman was well aware of, yet Belladonna had been oblivious to. He would look up at the camera occasionally with a grin as Belladonna's moans and whimpers grew louder. From what could be seen, her black hair was tousled and snippets of her red dress were visible, but her face remained largely obscured, but that was alright. Every beautiful twist of her features, each little pleasure-filled expression was burned into his brain. Her hands were clutching onto his chest and jacket, and it looked like she was also pulling at his hair. While the exact details were obscured, it was obvious what was happening between them.

He had saved the video onto his phone and found himself watching and listening to it repeatedly throughout the day, enjoying it like one would a calming meditation podcast or a captivating novel. He had toyed with the idea of sending it to Belladonna, wondering if she would appreciate it as much as he did or if she would be furious with him.

He'd never been slapped in the face by a woman but he was fairly certain she would be the first, if he made a fool of her in public, and Roman would make no such mistakes. In private, however, as he said, he knew a sex kitten when he saw one. Sure, she'd been putty in his hands but only a complete moron would look at someone like Belladonna Black and think she was all bark and no bite.

He came to the conclusion that some secrets were best kept to himself; they became even more enticing when kept hidden. With that thought, he pressed play and watched the video again.

With each passing moment, her voice grew more desperate and breathless as she choked out his name. It was like sweet music to him, an elegant crescendo that he savored with every fiber of his being. He reveled in the way her body arched and trembled under his touch, as her orgasm hit and he relished the way she eagerly pulled him into that rough kiss when their office door suddenly swung open. Mercer stood there, looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his face. But Roman was unfazed by the interruption - Mercer had caught him doing far worse things before. Watching this home video was merely child's play in comparison.

He didn't bother stopping the video, why should he? So what Mercer was there? For a moment the two men just engaged in a staring contest while Belladonna's raw moans and gasps that filled the silence. After a few more seconds, he paused the playback and the silence seemed almost deafening without Belladonna's intoxicating sounds filling it.

"Is this a bad time?" Mercer asked.

"Depends on what you have in the folder."

He held out a decently thick folder to Roman, who stared at it for a moment before accepting it, and then he began flipping through its contents with all the enthusiasm of someone reading a newspaper to catch up on current events like it was a punishment.

"The last six months of Jimmy's life."

He waited for Roman to motion for him to sit down; Mercer may have been his number one guy but he knew well enough that such a relationship didn't make them friends. Apparently, Roman decided it was worth the interruption, and Mercer took his seat.

"Six? What happened to the whole year?"

"He wasn't here." Roman looked displeased and all traces of anything aside from pure disdain left his features, making them a little... sharper.

"What the fuck do you mean? Where was he?"

"Not sure where he was or what he was doing but he wasn't here." Mercer gave a shrug.

"You sure about that?" His icy tone might have bothered another man but Mercer didn't seem affected by it in the slightest. He just nodded once.

"I asked nicely." Everything about Mercer's tone indicated that nicely meant not-so-nice tactics.

Roman heaved out an annoyed breath, "Maybe you should go back and ask not-so-nicely."

Mercer nodded, reading Roman loud and clear.

"The timelines work if you're thinking what I think you're thinking. Would take much to make a convincing trail."

"Whatever could you mean, Mercer?" Roman smirked, still looking at the file.

Mercer was pretty thorough, Jimmy had been arrested multiple times for petty crime, nothing too serious but serious enough that he spent some time in Coalhaven Penitentiary. It looked as though in his most recent stint in Coalhaven, he'd made some friends in high places.

"No wonder Jimmy had the balls to push drugs in my club, someone was backing him." He paused and looked back to Mercer, "Any idea who?"

"Hard to say. His stuff had Lysander Finch's branding all over it, but Finch wouldn't trust a piece of shit like Jimmy with that much product right away." Roman set the file down and rested his head against his thumb and forefinger.

"Who was his cellmate?"

"He had two," Mercer replied. "A guy named Vega, and another guy, Pete Jordan who oddly enough had an accident a few weeks after Jimmy became his cellmate."

"Tell me about Pete Jordan."

"Works for Tony Marcone. He's a made man and a favorite of Tony. Had a lot of inside support but he didn't seem to like Jimmy. In his first two months, Jimmy visited the infirmary at least half a dozen times."

Roman nodded along, finding several medical and incident reports where Jimmy "fell" out of his bunk multiple times. Fell onto a fist, maybe.

Not that Roman cared about Jimmy's well-being. Fuck him.

"What changed?"

"Most of Marcone's crew was being released and Finch's men went in, seems like a power shift inside left a leadership role open."

"And Jimmy made a new friend." Mercer nodded. "When was Pete Jordan released?"

"He wasn't. Pete Jordan had an accident in the library, one that left him comatose. He's medicated but the state can't decide what to do with him since he doesn't have any family and no medical facility will take him in."

"Not even Slatevale?"

"Not even Slatevale." Now that was something of an achievement. "A week later Jimmy gets a new cellmate and all visits to the infirmary stop at least for Jimmy."

"Looks like Jimmy got a favor done for him, but friendship isn't free." Roman mused to himself.

"Could explain why he was pushing Finch's product in the club. He didn't have a choice."

Roman nodded.

"Still want those other six months?"

Roman pursed his lips before letting out a deep breath and looking off into the distance for a spell. "No, new plan. Talk to his cellmate and find out what you can about what happened in Coalhaven. I want to know everything that went on in there. Don't be polite."

Mercer nodded again, and the office went quiet as Roman was somewhat deep in thought again. Mercer looked at the forgotten phone on his desk but quickly looked away when Roman noticed his stare.

"She's different from your usual types."

Roman smiled and chuckled, "Still worried?"

"It's kind of my job."

"Still think she's a threat?"

Roman asked as he played the audio and the sound of her moans and heavy breathing filled the room. He gradually pushed the volume louder while not breaking his stare. Mercer had seen a lot of stuff in his time under Roman's employ but even he had limits to some degree and eventually, he shifted in his chair. He didn't bother replying, because he knew Roman was trying to make a point.

The point being, he would do whatever he damn well pleased.

"You've got something on her, she's got something on you. Seems like you've both got a lot to lose."

Mercer's logic was simple but it wasn't that simple, it never was.

"But I don't lose. People who bet on me to lose, lose." He paused and looked back to the growing file he was accumulating on Belladonna Black. "Close the door when you leave." Punctuating the request with the sound of his zipper.

Sleep that was once plagued by memories of violence and fear was replaced by memories of Roman Aurelius. The things he whispered and those dangerous hands of his shoved into her panties, teasing and touching, bringing Belladonna to the edge of pleasure and holding her there. She tossed and turned as her unconscious mind tormented her with the carnal curiosities that surrounded Roman and just what was under those extravagant suits he wore. But tantalizing as the dreams were, they couldn't provide the relief she wanted and it wasn't until she woke up in the middle of the night, her chest heaved and she threw the covers off desperate for a cool breeze over her heated skin.

Glancing at her alarm clock, Belladonna noted the time: just after one forty-five. She was one of the rare few who still relied on an old-fashioned alarm clock rather than her phone. For her, it provided a welcome separation, ensuring that her phone didn't dictate every aspect of her life. Somehow, this simple choice made waking up a bit more tolerable.

With just a few hours left until her alarm blared at six, Belladonna braced herself for the chaos of fashion week, kicking off tomorrow--or, technically, later today.

Like every year, it promised to be a week where mornings would come early and nights would stretch into the wee hours in a relentless routine that would consume her.

Hours spent in the studio, endlessly editing at her computer, only for a last-minute text message or email asking her to change something minor or major that required more of her time, as if the magic of editing did itself. It meant back pain from being hunched over for hours at her desk with bloodshot eyes and surviving on a diet fueled by mostly caffeine in several forms and takeout from at least a dozen restaurants in the city

She didn't have much of a social life so she wasn't losing out on anything. But it also meant that whatever social interactions she did have would be minimal, drowned out by the clamor of last-minute projects, deadlines, meetings, shows, after-shows, favors, and the relentless demands of the fashion industry.

But surprisingly, it wasn't the work that bothered her, Belladonna was a machine when it came to work and she would go until she physically couldn't anymore. It wasn't the extended hours or the extra workload or even the social gatherings that she was expected to attend that filled her with dread. No, it was the people.

In the fashion industry, egos loomed large. Everyone thinking their requests were so important that they would supersede virtually everything else.

From the self-assured models envisioning Vogue covers, to overconfident designers banking on their collections becoming the next big thing, filtering all the way down to their harried assistants, acting like they were the backbone of it all, convinced of their own indispensability.

Dealing with inflated egos was part of the job, everyone seemed to think their needs were top priority.

Yet, despite the chaos, Belladonna always remained calm and collected, this dynamic was both a blessing and a curse. Her easygoing nature and humble demeanor made her a favorite among collaborators, but it also meant she was in high demand. As the week wore on, exhaustion would set in, she'd keep her composure, but by the end of the week, she'd be running on fumes, and ready to chuck her camera at at least ten people. Counting down the minutes until she could finally collapse into bed with her phone set firmly to "Do Not Disturb" mode.

She hated fashion week.

She needed her sleep but as the minutes ticked on, no position was comfortable, the pillow too warm against her cheek, the sheets were suffocating, her legs were twitching with restless energy, her mind too preoccupied by things that didn't even remotely matter. But it wasn't just physical discomfort that kept her awake.

No, she was preoccupied with thoughts of Roman cornering her like a haunting specter, his hands gripping her hips as he pressed her into the wall. She couldn't shake the memory of his fingers slipping inside her panties, teasing and tormenting her until she was moaning and writhing under his touch.

There was the pulsing beat of the music that was barely audible but could be felt through the cinder block walls, the outright thrill of being so trapped with nowhere to go. The way her mind just shut off as soon as he'd hiked up her dress; the dress he'd told her to wear.

His fingers expertly explored her panties, teasing and stroking her swollen clit until she came undone under his skilled touch, succumbing to his every command as easily as one would fiddle with a fidget spinner. She had been nothing but putty in his hands, completely at his mercy.

And all this happened in the room where she watched him kill three men without blinking an eye.

Fuck.

Roman Aurelius had been in her life a grand total of less than three weeks and already he was practically running the show. It was impossible that he was doing this to her, unbelievable that she was letting him do this to her. Men didn't get to her like this, they weren't that interesting, but none of them held the dangerous edge that Roman had. None of them left her wondering if they'd kiss her or kill her.

Roman fucking Aurelius. His lips, his mouth, his hands on her skin, between her legs. Fuck. It had only been two days and she was quickly realizing the most dangerous thing about Roman Aurelius was his similarity to an addictive narcotic. And like any quickly spiraling addict, she needed another hit.

Summer's official start was about three weeks away but the room felt blisteringly hot and the fan spinning overhead did little to ease that, she tugged absentmindedly on a strand of her black hair, twirling it around her finger lazily. The thought briefly occurred to her to call him, she had no doubt he'd answer but she quickly shook it from her mind. That was pathetic. What was she even going to say?

'I can't sleep and I need to get off, so talk dirty to me?'

No way in hell, she'd never live that down. She didn't need him. Not really, Roman was good, there was no denying that and she knew her body better than him. She didn't want to admit it but part of her just wanted someone to take care of her, even if it was just having an orgasm. She glanced at her bedside table and tried to remember the last time she opened that drawer, it had been a while.

Over the past year, sex had taken a backseat, it just seemed so unimportant, and that was after the idea of being so close to another person stopped terrifying her. Nightmares persisted for weeks until it got to the point where Jackson just stopped coming over, then he stopped calling and stopped replying to her texts, and then she just stopped trying to reach him altogether. No doubt a lack of sex in her life had been the final nail in the coffin for her relationship. And it left a bitter taste in her mouth. Like, what was she supposed to do? Until recently the last time a man put his hands on her it had been in violence and nearly killed her, she had the scar to prove it.

In an oddly introspective moment, she found herself thinking, not wondering what Roman would have done in Jackson's place. She didn't know him well, hell most of what he did terrified her, kind of. But she had a strong hunch that a man like Roman would never have stopped calling, never would have stopped showing up, that when he saw something as his, he'd never let it go. And even after she'd mostly recovered, more nights than she could count when she couldn't even muster the drive or enthusiasm to chase after an orgasm, as if pleasure itself had lost its flavor. It became a distant memory, a realm not worth the effort or emotional investment.

That was until Roman had crossed her path like a stray black cat bringing all sorts of chaos into her life.

Fuck.

She continued to stare for a full minute before realizing if she was agonizing about whether or not she wanted to reach into a damn drawer in order to get off, then she probably really needed to. The only orgasms she had recently were courtesy of Roman and she'd already ruled out any involvement on his part.

She released the lock of her hair and reached over pulling the drawer open and reaching around before finally pulling out a small purple vibrator. One that hadn't been used in longer than she liked to admit. Its smooth surface was cool against her skin, and the desire to feel the overpowering pleasure of an orgasm struggled against her outright laziness to achieve one. She looked skeptically at it, she hadn't touched the damn thing in who knew how long, it probably wasn't even charged. If it wasn't then she was just going to shoot a dose of Nyquil and call it a night.

The soft buzzing sound almost startled her, it wasn't dead. With its soft little vibrations starting to send her mind to a cozy and sensual little nook of warmth, she settled back into her pillow and closed her eyes. Letting the little pulses take her back to a time when sex was the first thing on her mind in the morning and the last thing she thought about at night. When she craved to touch and be touched. The last time she'd felt like that was with Roman.

She could almost feel his hands, his breath, his lips, could almost smell him. Her hand trailed down her chest skimming over the fabric of her shirt and coming to rest above the waistband of her panties. The soft humming awakening things in her that she'd ignored for a long time; the memory of breathless sex and body rocking orgasms, rumpled sheets, hands in her hair, sensual bruises, filthy words, and nails raking across flesh.

She slipped the toy lower, beneath the cotton searching for relief that would help her sleep and maybe soothe her psyche. Her lips parted and she expelled a slow, shaky breath, stroking, teasing slowly and softly avoiding her clit entirely for a few minutes. Contented murmurs tumbled past her lips, punctuated with little breaths, her skin flushed hot again and she pushed her shirt up with her other hand, thumb coaxing a nipple to a hardened state.

Her body writhed against the bed as she worked herself higher with every little pulsating buzz of the toy determined to sate that persistent hunger. The coil in her stomach wound tighter with each delicate swipe of the toy just above her clit. Her chest rose and fell steadily as ripples of relief started to lap at her body.

"Fuck."

Behind her closed eyes, were images of Roman clad in darkness and that smirk on his face, those hands of his, his fingers beckoning her closer and closer. Higher and higher. In the back of his club, dress hiked up to her hips, back against the wall, his hand between her legs, the sound of his breathing against her neck. The way his hands had explored her body, the dirty words he whispered in her ear as he brought her closer to orgasm. Everything he'd done felt good, every touch was electric and she couldn't get enough of him.

"Oh, kitten. Be a good girl for me"

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

"That's it, Kitten, Come for me."

In the emptiness of her apartment, there was no one to hear the moan that spilled from her lips as her orgasm radiated from her core all the way down to her toes, her hips rose up and she tossed against the pillow as the overwhelming pulses pushed her into a long overdue orgasm. The gentle aftershocks sent the perfect warmth through her body and the heaviness that came with the post-orgasmic rush began to lull her back into sleep. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her breathing slowed to deeply contented breaths, the only sound breaking the silence of the room.