Page 35 of The Tower

His rhythm grows more insistent, and Vale’s body responds, arching beneath him as pleasure builds. In my real-world bedroom, I’d be matching her movements, my hips lifting to meet each thrust, my hands clutching at the sheets as the sensors in the bodysuit translate every stroke into shockwaves of pleasure. Now, my fingers between my legs are a poor substitute.

“Come for me,” he commands, and my body trembles in response to his voice, to my own touch, and to the sight of him claiming Vale so completely.

Pleasure builds as I watch, my imagination filling in the sensations that the laptop cannot provide.

“Look at me,” he demands. “I want to see your eyes when you come.” I obey, my fingers stroking my sex, my gaze fixed on the shadowed contours of his face, wishing desperately that I could see him fully, know him completely.

My climax crashes through me, digital and real converging in a shuddering wave. As I’m gasping, the mist that always obscures his features parts. And for a single, terrible heartbeat, I see his eyes in the moonlight—ice-blue and intense.

Grimm’s eyes.

No. No, no, no. Except it’s true. I can’t deny what’s on my screen. What I built myself. A world where Liam Grimm is the prince I’ve craved for months. The lover I’ve surrendered to night after night. A prince who’s even now disappearing from my screen in a flurry of smoke and mist, leaving me alone amidst these mountains.

This isn’t right. It’s not what I want. But even as I think it, a disturbing warmth settles between my thighs, and I close my eyes, my body still tingling from the lingering echoes of virtual pleasure.

I’d created Prince Killiam out of nothing but code. I’d fed the AI every scrap of my private world—my diary, my calendar, my chats with Ruby. Even my dreams and fears. Any information that would help build this world in a way that was uniquely mine—and would ensure that my prince would be Vale’s perfect mate.

It built Grimm.

Arrogant, controlling Liam Grimm. With a shudder, I slam the laptop shut. What the hell am I supposed to feel now?

Ten

Beautiful Poison

I wake to a room bathed in soft morning light that would be lovely if it didn’t make my aching head threaten to split open. For a disorienting moment, I don’t know where I am. The bed beneath me is too vast, the sheets too luxurious, the silence too complete. This isn’t my suite at Reed Tower with its pastel walls, heavy drapes, and linens soft only because they’ve been washed so many times.

Creature comforts are not something my father spends his money on. At least not for anyone but himself.

Then it all comes rushing back. The gala. My father’s announcement. Escaping with Grimm. Then finding him in Elysium.

To say it’s been a whirlwind would redefine understatement.

With a groan, I sit up slowly to keep the headache at bay as I glance around the room, my eyes landing on the white gown, crumpled where I’d left it, a deflated mockery of my father’s plans for me.

I savor the moment, recalling the pleasure of stripping off that straitjacket last night.

Now, I push the covers away, ease out of bed, and stretch. My hands are shaky, and I realize I must be hungry. I sigh. I’m going to have to either put the dress back on or go to the kitchen in the robe.

The idea’s not appealing, but wearing my pseudo-bridal gown is less so.

I’ve just slipped back into the robe when I notice the tote bag sitting just inside by the door. Curious, I retrieve it and am delighted to find a pair of leggings and a soft gray T-shirt. I lay both out on the bed as memories of last night filter back in fragments. His fingers are on my wrist. His voice, low and dangerous: “Sex. Control. Obedience. Ownership. Surrender. Call it what you want, Princess, but that’s the price for escaping with me tonight … and for keeping you safe tomorrow and beyond.”

I’d slept naked, and he’d clearly come into the room to deliver clothes. I swallow, my pulse kicking up and my body going warm as I imagine him tugging back the covers. Touching me. Kissing me. Stroking my skin.

I shiver, and my cheeks heat at what might be a memory but is probably just desire.

I should be furious. Desperate to learn the truth. But I’m not. Because there’s something else there too—a shameful, persistent heat that lingers whenever I think of those words and the way his dazzling blue eyes had darkened when he spoke them.

Stop it!

I force myself to push the thoughts away, then slip into the bathroom. My head spins, and I hold onto the counter as the dizziness passes.

My reflection makes me shudder. My face is a disaster—mascara smudged beneath my eyes, foundation creased, lipstick long gone. I look exactly like what I am—a woman who fled in the middle of the night, leaving everything behind.

The state-of-the art shower calls to me. It’s nothing like my bathroom, which has had only a modest update since Reed Tower was built over a century ago. I even find a shower cap in one of the drawers.

I put it on, then strip off the robe, turn on the overhead spray, side jets, and steam, then step into heaven. I stand for a blissful moment, letting the water wash away the sweat of uneasy sleep and the lingering traces of my old life.