Blasphemous (Torn #3)

by Pamela Ann


The night where it all began…

“All my life, my heart has yearned for a thing I cannot name.”

- Andre Brenton


“So… a thunderstorm, huh? I don’t know how to take that.” Emma wondered out loud, writhing as my lips touched her sensitized skin.

Kissing the back of her earlobe, I murmured against it. “You simply struck me without warning.”

I started nipping on her neck as I rolled my body on top of hers, nudging the head of my c**k on her slick entrance with obvious intent on taking her again.

“I want you again, Bass,” she moaned as she opened her legs to accommodate me and guided my c**k inside her entrance.

“Emma,” I whispered against her ear when the head penetrated her opening. She moaned my name as I pulled back and slowly inched deeper inside her wet channel.

I had never felt this alive, electrified to be with another woman. “Don’t make me fall for you, Emma.”

“You won’t.” She sounded quite sure. Maybe I could prove her wrong. “Bass!” she cried out when I fully entered her with one rough thrust.

I started kissing the side of her soft face and her earlobe before I exposed a small part of me. “What if it’s already too late?” I whispered as my heart pounded so hard against her br**sts.

She looked into my eyes, bright-eyed and speechless. My probing gaze didn’t falter as it clashed with hers. Yes, Emma, it really is too late, I thought as I took her lips and started to show her just how much I’ve wanted her, waited for her, for the longest time.

I purposely didn’t give her the chance to respond because I wanted those words to remain in her thoughts. I wanted her aware, that’s the direction we were heading.

It was inevitable.

We were destined to the undeniable. The unavoidable.

A normal pessimist would tell you that love does not happen overnight, that it takes time to develop. That one needed to get to know the person first before falling in love with them. Why? Because they haven’t experienced what love truly was. It strikes without giving you notice. It doesn’t give you ‘time’ to process the emotion. One doesn’t need ‘time’ to ponder it through because it won’t give you that privilege. It could be cruel. It could be tragic. It’s a black magic trickery of a kind that’s unexplainable because, once you’re struck, you are marked, enslaved, and held hostage to it, forever.

All my life, I wondered and wondered what it was about. A wise person would have thought that you had it all figured out once it found you. No fame or fortune could’ve prepared me for the exhilaration brought by meeting Emma for the first time, though. She brought out emotions that were alien to me, but I held my stance because, when it found me, there was no other way to go about it other than to welcome my fate.

However no amount of advice, reading or knowledge could prepare me for it. For falling in love was being in a constant state of elation. It was the closest feeling to flying. It didn’t matter how high you got, though, one must eventually come down, sooner or later. The lows of being in love, sadly, were a bitter emotion. It brought out the ugliest form of demons.

You see, I was a fan of poets. It was a benefit harbored from being schooled in Switzerland at a young age. I believed poetry was the fruit of love. There was no better way to express such an emotion that was so profound and complex other than the depth of words. For years, I had always wondered how Shakespeare and Marlow, along with the other greats, were driven to write such astounding proses that were so much a part of us. They had to have experienced the beauty and the loss of it. That’s why they were remembered for producing the best works because the best ones always happen when you’re in the highest throes of passion, or, better yet, gutting the loss and experiencing the ugly side of it. Look at all the artists who wrote songs due to a broken heart, they produced gold because the emotions were heartfelt; they were raw and so very real.

I completely believed in fate, in our destiny being carved before we even existed in this world. So, I made a promise to myself that once I found the woman who could unman me, I wasn’t going to run the other way. Instead, I was going to embrace it—hold on to it—until I was out of breath.

Sadly, that belief was going to be put to test.

“People are afraid of themselves, of their own reality; their feelings most of all. People talk about how great love is, but that’s bullshit. Love hurts. Feelings are disturbing. People are taught that pain is evil and dangerous. How can they deal with love if they’re afraid to feel? Pain is meant to wake us up. People try to hide their pain. But they’re wrong. Pain is something to carry, like a radio. You feel your strength in the experience of pain. It’s all in how you carry it. That’s what matters. Pain is a feeling. Your feelings are a part of you. Your own reality. If you feel ashamed of them, and hide them, you’re letting society destroy your reality. You should stand up for your right to feel your pain.”

- Jim Morrison

Chapter 1


“Someday, someone might come into your life and love you the way you’ve always wanted. If your someday was yesterday, learn. If your someday is tomorrow, hope. If your someday is today, cherish.”

- Author Unknown


The sun was barely up when I landed back in Aspasia. After eight weeks of using the deathtrap transportation, I finally got over my fear of it.

My phone was incessantly beeping when I came out of the helicopter. Automatically, I fished for it in my purse. With my fingers, I tucked a strand of blonde hair behind my ear as I checked the message.

Mom: Your phone wouldn’t take voicemails, apparently. You should get that checked, or better yet, have your dad do it. We miss you. Call us, kiddo.

I was in London all weekend with Lindsey and Trista—and with an unexpected ex to boot. My thoughts dwelled on the events that occurred this weekend when I suddenly felt strong arms wrap around my hips, lifting me off the ground. I squealed with delight, knowing whose arms those belonged to.

“Miss me?” Bass asked in that sexy bedroom voice of his as he nuzzled my neck, seeking for the soft spot where he usually made me weak in the knees.

Being with Bass was always like this. I always felt like fainting, weak and deliriously happy.

“Yes, very much,” I whispered breathlessly. I was out of breath due to the fact that I really did miss him and also because I was contemplating telling him that Carter was in London. “How was Paris?” He, along with Dimitris Kosta and Taylor Montgomery, were partying all weekend. With women, I was sure of that.

The gorgeous man spun me around, granting me a view of his handsome self. His striking eyes probed into my soul, reaching in, pulling on my heartstrings. “Paris was lonely without you. I was tempted to come see you, but I knew you girls wanted to spend some time together. So, as much as I wanted to, I stayed on the other side of the English Channel.”

Bass was truly great—no, make that phenomenal—with melting me inside out. Here I was, lacking sleep, and still he managed to wake me up with mere words. I wanted to ask about women in Paris, but I was hesitant. Why? Maybe because Bass and I hadn’t really discussed our relationship, or that we never brought it up after that first time we agreed with this sexual arrangement. Every time I thought about it, I got antsy and so I tried to ignore the subject.

Because whatever this was between us, I wanted it.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lavished the feeling of his body against mine. It seemed that my emotions connected with his because, when he finally kissed me, I was transported into another world where no one existed except this very man. This was where I wanted to be. In his arms I felt safe, cherished, and treasured, but most of all, he never took me for granted.

Bass was the first one to pull away, smiling as he planted a few more chaste kisses on my lips. “You look sleepy. Partied that hard, huh?”

If he only knew, I thought with guilt.

He kissed my forehead before escorting me towards our ride. “Good thing you’re not filming today because, by the looks of it, you’ll be sleeping the day away.”

Hear, hear. I yawned before responding to him. “That’s the plan.”

After the quick ride from the airstrip to the cottage, I was ready to pass out. I was dizzy from no sleep last night, plus I had barely gotten any the night before.

“How was London? You had loads of fun?” he asked as he opened the door and entered our cottage with my things in hand.

How was London? Tricky question there, really. Well, it was a nightmare. One I did not see coming, but I wasn’t going to tell him about it at this instant. Maybe later, when the time was right. “It was not what I expected, but it was fun nonetheless.” It really was, for the most part. The other, where Carter was in the equation, was trivial to say the least.

I was adamant to give back all the things he had given me—most especially that token of utter mind-fuck, his great-great-grandmother’s ring. Hell, he didn’t want any of it anyway. So, I had to drag most of that crap with me, hidden of course. Being this secretive made me feel edgy, but it was hard to open the toxic can of worms with Bass.

This unprecedented situation wouldn’t have been such a major deal if that interview we did a couple of weeks back didn’t plant a seed of doubt in Bass’s mind. Imagine my horror when they pulled out old pictures of Carter and me together. It shouldn’t have mattered since Carter and I were through. Maybe not a lot of people know about it, but certainly everyone that I loved knew about it. More importantly, Bass knew it. However, those old, blasted pictures sprouted old doubts from Bass and I wasn’t about to bring it back to the surface after the weekend I had.

We entered my bedroom where he gradually placed my things on the opposite side of the room. I watched in fascination as he moved about before joining me on the bed. “The girls left okay?” he asked while those magnetic eyes roved over my face, lingering.

My cheeks burned from the intensity of his gaze. I had to lick my lips before responding to him. “They did. I just hope that Trista will make the right choice.” I was worried about her. Apart from the mess with Harry, her other baby revelation, simply broke my heart. I was protective of her and I didn’t want her to hurt. If Harry was the one who made her happy, though, then I will—though reluctantly—support her on that. I may not agree to most of her decisions, but I was her friend and friends don’t judge each other. They listen and hold you when you’re falling apart. They tell you that everything is going to be okay, even if it isn’t. They’re there to make you feel better, through thick and thin. That’s what true friendship is and that’s what I had with those women.