The bed creaked, moans and breathing followed, and I shook my head, wishing I was deaf instead.
They were fighting.
While they were having sex.
It was weird.
“Because you’re not stupid,” she threw back at him. “No one will feel like me on your body.”
The headboard banged into the wall faster and faster, and my head filled with their grunts and moaning, their panting picking up pace.
“Rika,” he breathed out.
“You would never risk losing this,” she taunted.
“No,” he agreed. “I don’t want anything but this. Fuck, baby.”
“I love you, Michael,” she whispered loudly as they got caught up in what they were doing. “I’ve always loved you.”
And I stood there, no longer wincing or dreading my invasion of their privacy but feeling everything they were feeling and wanting more.
The skin touching skin. My body on fire and alive with him. His breath. His tongue. His mouth and hands. His teeth nipping at my stomach and thighs.
That feeling of wanting nothing else, and I would rather never eat again than not have him.
I don’t want to…make you dirty.
“I will find out what you’re keeping from me,” Michael growled as the bed rocked.
“You can try.”
“I should pull out right now and fucking leave you like this.”
“No, please,” she whimpered.
“Or maybe I’ll just have lots of fun getting the answer out of you. Flip over.”
Weight shifted, her body turning over maybe, and I knew the position they were in. I hadn’t done that yet, but I wanted to. Someday.
You won’t make me dirty. There is no you. There is no me. This is us. Us.
My eyes burned, and my chin trembled. I didn’t want to do those things with just anyone, though.
A body pressed into my back and I blinked, swallowing the tears in my throat.
“I was supposed to come to you for our next appointment,” Will teased, resting his head on my shoulder.
Upstairs, Rika and Michael went at it, growing louder and harder.
“Don’t worry,” he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice. “I won’t tell them you were eavesdropping.”
I turned around, but he wouldn’t let me leave. I smelled liquor on his breath. Had he not been to bed yet, either?
“You have this look on your face,” he told me, keeping his voice low and intimate. “Are you wishing someone would do that to you or are you remembering when someone did that to you?”
That. Meaning Michael and Rika’s fucking.
I pushed past him and descended the stairs, finding my way through the great room and to the front door again.
“Need a ride home?” he asked.
“You’re drunk.” I pulled the door open. “I’ll call someone.”
I slammed the door, not caring if Michael and Rika heard me at that point, and walked down the stairs, rain pummeling my hat and shoulders.
The door behind me opened again, and before I knew it, I was swung around, engulfed in strong arms, with a mouth on mine and tongue inside me.
I grunted, trying to push him away as I tasted the faint remnants of whiskey, his tongue brushing mine and playing with me. Forced up on my toes, Will devoured me, gripping the back of my neck, his breath and heat filtering through my body like syrup, down to my toes. Every inch of me suddenly starving.
He pulled away from my mouth, but kept me in his arms. “You need to get fucked and bad,” he told me. “If you don’t want him to do it, I will.” Then he leaned in, whispering over my mouth. “And I would make that offer sober.”
He let me go, and I inhaled shallow breaths, the cool rain welcome on my hot skin.
“See you soon, Winter,” he taunted and went back into the house.
I stood there for a moment, waiting to get my shaking under control before I ordered another ride.
He might be right. I was twenty-one, plenty old enough to have a healthy, active sex life, but when it did happen again, I wanted it to be like it was for Erika and Michael. They seemed to like to play games, but it was passionate, and it was love.
The love was what felt good. Unfortunately, it had been one-sided in my past experience. I could be tempted to take Will up on his offer to let off some steam, but he wouldn’t be more than that. I wanted him as a friend.
The real question was, was he on Damon’s side or mine?
I pulled the leash out of my pocket, letting the heavy, metal clip at the end dangle at my side.
Where the hell was my dog?
“I’m not sure what you heard, Miss Ashby,” Crane told me, as he walked back into the foyer from the rear of the house. “But no one was home except you this morning. Damon left for the city before you were even awake, I was taking care of some errands, and there was no one else here.”
I stood just inside the open door to my house, the rain pouring in fat drops on the driveway behind me.
“And my family?”
“They left last night after the party.” I heard him open a drawer on one of the tables and pull out keys. “I took them to the airport myself.”
“Left?” I blurted out. “What do you mean?”
My mother and Ari were gone? Without me?
“Yes, the Maldives for the honeymoon,” he informed me as if he were reminding me. “Damon sent Mrs. Ashby and Mrs. Torrance on ahead without him. He’s supposed to join them in a few days.”
“Wait, so they were already gone when I came home last night?”
I felt dizzy, my head like a balloon floating away from my body. The confrontation with Damon played in slow motion in my mind, reprocessing everything we said and the threats he made, and all the while, they weren’t even in the house. His taunts about what he and Ari were going to do had been empty, and I’d gone to bed under this roof, alone in the house with him, with absolutely no security that my family was close.
“Yes, ma’am,” Crane finally answered.
I pulled off my baseball cap and fisted the top of my hair, closing my eyes. Fuck.
I didn’t just imagine it this morning. There was someone in the house with me. Several someones, to be exact. All those noises and movements happening simultaneously in different parts of the house? I wasn’t just scared and overly alert of every little creak. I knew what I heard, dammit.
And then someone messing with me in the theater bathroom that night? Damon claimed it wasn’t him. This all had to be him.
“I’ve searched the house, top to bottom,” he said. “There’s nothing here.”
“Like I would trust you,” I snapped.
He worked for that monster. He was paid to fall in line and protect Damon’s interests, not mine.
And Damon had a very long history of loving to scare me.
Crane didn’t argue, though. He just bowed out. “Excuse me, ma’am.”
He walked past me, his keys jingling, so I assumed he was leaving, and I called out, keeping my voice stern. “My dog is missing,” I told him. “Would you please take a look around the property before you leave?”
“Yes, Miss Ashby.”
“And my friend?” I inquired. “He got home safely last night?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I couldn’t talk to Ethan after what I’d learned, but I didn’t want him lying in a ditch somewhere, either.
“And you will not hurt him or involve him—or anyone else—any further,” I stated rather than questioned.
“Mr. Torrance would say you’re the one to answer that question, ma’am.”
Oh, I’m sure he would.
If I ran, if I complained, if I embarrassed him or misbehaved in any way, he would hurt me by hurting those close to me. It was almost impressive what a strategist he was. People could endure a lot, and he knew I’d have no problem risking myself to fight him, but risking others was a heavier burden.
Crane left, closing the door behind him,
and I locked it, going around the rest of the downstairs to check all the entrances, windows, and close the doors to rooms I wouldn’t use. Finding one or more open later would give me a clue someone was in the house.
I took off my jacket and took out my phone, turning it on to call my mother.
Or trying to call my mother.
The phone wouldn’t fire up.
And then I remembered that I’d forgotten to plug it in last night to charge. I exhaled a breath, fighting the urge to cry.
Yanking open the drawer on the foyer table, I pulled out a charger and plugged in the phone, but I thought better of leaving it out in the open. Instead, I threaded the cord through the back of the drawer and hid the phone inside while it charged. He’d get it away from me if he really wanted to, but hopefully I’d get it charged enough to make some calls first.
How could my mother leave me like that? He got them packed, changed and out of the house in a matter of a few hours before I got home last night, and he or Crane hadn’t relayed a message, I hadn’t gotten any calls—that I knew of yet, but I’d check my phone as soon as it had a charge—and no one else had contacted me to let me know my mother was concerned or trying to reach me.
She hadn’t just left me. Arion would have, but not my mom. What threat or lie did he feed her to get her out of the house? Did he even handle it himself or did he use some of his dad’s hired muscle?
And were they really in the Maldives? Like all the way in fucking Asia? Ari always wanted to go. He would’ve agreed to anything to get rid of her.
But he wasn’t joining them.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Even I knew that.
Walking into the kitchen, I took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with bottled water, hooking the tip of my finger over the edge of the glass to feel when the water reached close to the top. Taking a long drink, I closed my eyes and listened to the house. To the wind and the rain and the floors, absorbing the hum of the refrigerator, the heater warming the water, and the silence.
Too much silence.
My blood coursed under my skin, and my hair stood up on my arms.
I still felt it. The same thing I felt this morning.
No creaks. No footsteps. No music.
No Mikhail.
But it was still there. The heaviness in the air.
And I knew.
I just knew.
I set out a bowl of food for Mikhail in the mud room and freshened up his water, just in case he was outside somewhere. I knew he wasn’t. He would’ve come back by now. But just in case…
And then I took my water and headed upstairs, into the bathroom, my eyelids trying to close like I hadn’t slept all night.
I set my water down, it clinking against the granite countertop, and walked over to the tub, sitting on the edge as I turned on the water. Making it as hot as I could stand, I sat there running my hand under the water, the steam wafting up to my face.
I closed my eyes, feeling my pulse thunder inside as everything else was so quiet.
I feel you.
I feel you everywhere.
The cloves on his clothes, the fountain on his skin.
The words on his tongue, the breath on his lips.
The hand on my neck, the sharp in his silence.
Down the hall. Sitting in the study. Outside in the rain.
At the open bathroom door.
Or right in the corner of the room.
Right here. Watching me.
He was always coming.
Or…
Maybe I never left. His words came back to me.
When he was in prison, he was here. When I wanted to want other men, he was here. When I danced, when I cried, whenever I was alone, and when I was quiet in a room full of people and thinking about him, he was here.
The truth was, I’d had what Michael and Rika had. I thought I had anyway. Those days were when I was the happiest. Even though it was a lie, it was the best I’d ever felt.
Damon.
It was useless to close the door. My fight wasn’t enough.
He couldn’t be contained. I had to let go.
I stood up, kicked off my shoes, and pulled my T-shirt over my head, letting it drop to the floor. I didn’t lick my lips even though they were dry or barely breathed even though I was starved to.
Calm and slow, as if my brain was floating high above my head, and I was watching myself from above, I removed my bra and unbuttoned my jeans, letting both fall, as well, and hooked my fingers under the hem of my panties, pausing.
No creaks. No footsteps. No door opening or closing.
But I felt him.
The cool October air caressed my skin, making the flesh of my nipples pebble and harden, and I only hesitated another moment before I pushed them down my legs.
Stepping into the water, I lowered myself, an inch of water underneath me and immediately making chills spread across my skin with the utter warmth. I almost groaned.
Closing my eyes again, I hugged my knees to me as the water ran, steam billowed around me, and my toes curled in the water.
The heat coursed through my body, settling my muscles and nerves, and making my limbs feel like anchors. I didn’t want to move, and I didn’t have the will to care right now.
Hurt me. You still won’t win.
No creaks. No footsteps. No doors.
Nothing.
What did he see when he watched me?
His enemy? Or something he wanted?
Was I someone to torment or something to play with? Did he know the difference?
Did he want me to like it?
What did he see?
I spaced off, feeling the hairs on my arms stand up and my skin harden like armor as I felt him, and anger and violence swirled in my gut, because I wanted to tear at him and hurt him and prove to him that I wasn’t scared yet.
That I was going fucking mad, but I wasn’t a baby.
What would he see when he looked at me right now?
My watery eyes, trembling hands, and huddled form?
Or did he see that I was alone? That I was naked, wet, and alone for so long?
So long.
I took the sponge and soaked it with water, squeezing it down over my bent knees and letting it fall down my legs over and over again. Then I did the same thing to my neck, moving my hair to one side and letting hot water run down my back.
Moving the sponge to the front of my neck, I tipped my head back, straightened my spine, and sat up tall, squeezing the water out, while letting my legs fall cross-legged and away from my body so the water could cascade down over my breasts and stomach. It caressed me, the warmth feeling so good, and I panted as I did it over and over again, rubbing the sponge down my neck.
And in your bed tonight, when it’s late and dark, and the rest of the house is quiet…you’re pissed and angry, because you think you hate me, but you slip a hand under the covers anyway, because no one will be the wiser if you indulge yourself in the memory of me…
I laid back, still only an inch of water under me, because I hadn’t plugged the tub yet, and slowly ran the sponge down my torso, between my breasts, and down my tummy, nearly reaching my panty line.
Tears sprang up behind my closed lids, but I wasn’t sad. Every inch of my skin buzzed with heat—with wanting something to happen, anything to happen—as long as I could get rid of what was winding through my brain and stomach like a goddamn screwdriver and pooling between my legs.
Anger and fury and heat and need so strong you’re a fucking animal, Winter. It’s primal.
Primal.
There was no sense, but it was strong. It was need.
My chest rose and fell harder and harder, the sponge rubbing down the inside of my thigh, and I gripped it, seeing him watching me in my mind. Making him watch what he’d never do to me, and what I could get on my own.
I grabbed a breast, feeling its round, perfect shape and squeezing it, then tearing my hand away and making it bounce.
Dr
opping the sponge, I cupped myself between my legs and rolled my head, slipping a finger inside me and moaning.
What did he see when he looked at me? Did he want it? Did he want his mouth on me and his hands on my eager skin, sweaty in my sheets as he fucked me with my sister out of town?
Or did he want his little dancer to perform for him? To make him come but never get me dirty.
Growling under my breath, I slid my body up, hooked my legs over the end of the tub, and adjusted the nob, making the thick stream of water a slow dribble and less hot.
The little flow of water fell down out of the faucet above, hitting my clit positioned below, and I let out a whimper, my body immediately convulsing with pleasure.
I didn’t have any control here, though. I wanted to fuck. Gripping both sides of the tub, I pulled myself up onto the rim, my legs still dangling over the side as I got closer to the stream, positioning myself right under it.
The water hit me, pounding my little clit, and I opened my mouth, letting out a groan as I rolled my hips into it. The air tickled my skin as I jutted out my breasts and rode it harder and faster, getting tapped and teased by the little stream.
The flesh of my nipples grew taut, and I wanted a mouth. I wanted to be kissed and sucked, and I needed exactly what Will said I needed.
I spread my legs wider, baring my pussy as I strained the muscles in my legs and arm, masturbating myself on the water.
He watched me. Did he like it?
I whimpered and moaned, feeling the pressure rise inside me as my body begged to be filled. Moving my ass faster, I grabbed the fishhook faucet like it was his head, fucking harder and breathing in and out, deeper and louder.
“You’re not the boss,” I gasped, taunting him. “Not the boss of me. Little sister does anything she wants. Whoever she wants. You’re not my daddy.”
My orgasm crested, I shook and jerked harder, and then I threw my head back, heat coming out of my pores and pleasure wracking through my whole body like sparks.
“Ah, fuck,” I cried out. “Fuck.”
Every muscle tightened as it coursed through my body, and even though I burned with the strain of my position, I’d come so good I wanted to cry.
I stayed like that for almost a minute, letting myself calm down, before I lowered myself back into the tub.
Kill Switch (Devil's Night #3) Page 26
