by Ella Goode
She’s more than I imagined her to be. Her cunt is hotter, tighter, and wetter than I anticipated. I tongue her mouth and use my knee to drive into her, marking every millimeter of her virgin cunt with my steel cock.
I cup her tit in my hand, molding it, massaging it, plucking the ripe nipple until it’s hard and rosy. I bend down and take that pert nib in my mouth. Her nails scrape against my skull, and shivers run down my spine. I want to come but not before her. I reach between us and find her clit. I rub that little piece of skin in circles, and Glory goes crazy.
She throws her head back, arches her back, and drives her hips against mine. Her body tenses as her orgasm begins to take over. Her mouth opens, and wordless pleas drip from her lips. I want to hear my name. I need to hear it.
“Tell me you’re mine, Glory. Say it. Say you belong to Corby.”
“I...uhhhh...right there...my God…”
“My name,” I order. Sweat drips down the sides of my face as I thrust inside of her.
“Corby. Corby. Corby.”
Stars explode behind my eyes as my release shoots out of me in long, milky threads. She cries out as the heat of my cum splashes against her walls. Her own orgasm explodes inside of her, pushing her over the edge of sense into sensation where all that exists is wave after wave of pleasure.
I pummel that virgin cunt, coming and coming until there isn’t a drop of liquid left in my body. Spent, I collapse at her side. “Baby, baby, you’re mine forever now,” I tell her, gathering her shuddering body against me. “Can’t ever leave. Won’t let you.”
I don’t know if she responds because sleep drags me under, but I do know that I don’t let her go all night long.
Chapter Eighteen
Glory
I try and stretch but quickly realize I’m not getting anywhere. Big arms are wrapped around me tightly, holding me close. I’m not going anywhere. I smile, remembering how we couldn’t keep our hands off one another throughout the night and also because I’m happy that I waited for the right person to take my heart.
I open my eyes to see the sunlight pouring in. I feel the slight ache between my thighs, but I welcome it. This sex thing was way better than I thought it was going to be. Corby is working hard at showing me what it would be like if we really lived together. I have to admit that he’s definitely winning.
After yesterday I know that what I feel for Corby is real. The fear and panic I’d felt at losing him before I ever really got to have him had me tossing away all my reservations. I knew in that moment that I needed to throw out any thoughts of trying to keep barriers up between us or questioning if this could hurt me.
I try and reach for my phone when I see the screen light up. I get one finger on it and drag it close enough for me to grab.
“Crap!” I try and wiggle out of Corby’s hold. He grunts and tightens it. My boss is trying to get a hold of me. I suppose I am the center of a story. “I have to work.”
“Kiss me, and I’ll let you go.”
“Morning breath—" He cuts me off with his mouth.
“You’re mine now. I get to kiss you whenever I want,” he says against my mouth before releasing me. I sit there. A sexy smirk forms on his lips. If I’m his, then he’s mine. I get lost in that idea. “Thought you had work?”
“What?” I asked, confused. My phone vibrates in my hand, reminding me of real life again.
“Oh crap.” I roll over before slipping off the bed naked. I grab Corby’s shirt from the floor and pull it on as I head out of the room. My stuff is still in my bag, and there’s no time to find some clean clothes.
I pause when I think I see something move outside on the ground. Then I see a bunch of people out front. I step out on the porch, and cameras start going off, as well as many voices shouting questions over one another. I stand there in shock for a moment, unable to move.
An arm wraps around my waist, picking me up and bringing me back into the house. He puts me down and starts pulling the curtains. When he turns back around, he doesn’t look too happy.
“Pants!”
I look down, having forgotten I’m only wearing his shirt. I let out a groan.
“I'm supposed to find and write the story. Not be the story!” I throw my hands up. My phone starts buzzing again. I’m either going to get a raise or be fired. I’m really not sure which at this point. “Is that paparazzi or the news thinking you tried to kill someone?”
“Mix of both. I did shoot a man and get a woman in a matter of days.” He shrugs. “I’ll get it handled.” He guides me toward the kitchen. “I don’t like when you run from my bed.”
“Well, it’s our bed now,” I point out. “I am living here now.” He smiles big before he lifts me, sitting me on the counter.
“Yeah. Our bed then.” He kisses me, and I wrap myself around him. A hard knock sounds at the door.
“Let me in!” his agent shouts.
“Fucking hell.” He pulls me off the counter onto my feet. “Clothes.” He moves me toward the bedroom. He grabs my bag on the way and drops both of us in the room before closing the door.
I hurriedly get dressed, and my phone keeps going off the entire time. I can hear Corby getting heated with his agent, so I answer it, giving them time to sort this all out.
“What the hell is going on?” my friend Willow screams into my ear. “You’re dating some famous writer? Mark has been stalking you! There was a shrine? What the freak?”
Clearly she heard a lot about what happened. Not surprising since she works in a bakery which can be as gossipy as a salon at times.
“A shrine?” I think that might’ve been one of the things Corby left out.
“They said Mark is under arrest, but they think he’s been working with someone.”
“What?” It doesn’t make any sense. “Why would he work with somebody to stalk me?”
“Hold on.” I hear shuffling before her voice comes back over the line. “Okay, I’m going to tell you something. Not just because I’m worried and I think you should have a heads up, but I overheard Sheriff Larson talking to his deputy. They didn’t see me there. I think some girl has been stalking your boyfriend guy.” I snort a laugh at anyone calling Corby a boy. “What’s so funny?”
“Sounds funny when you call him my boyfriend.”
“We’re not going there right now,” she snaps. “I’m your best friend, and you don’t even tell me? And for the record, Ames is pissed too.”
“Shit! It’s been crazy. I’m sorry. We’ll catch up later, but spill the rest of the tea!” And she does.
Apparently they’ve been using Mark’s phone to track this woman. They were planning a sting that was happening very soon. They even think it might be the same woman who tried to claim Corby was the father of her child. One that no one thinks is actually real. This woman and Mark sound like a match made in mental heaven.
“Heard about your car too. You need a ride?” Willow can be both sweet and a bit wild at times. I guess almost dying can do that to you. You want to experience life.
“Yeah, I’m going to have to sneak out of this place, there's paparazzi everywhere. I’ll share my location with you so you can come to me.”
“I don’t need you to share it, it’s all over the news.” I groan, knowing she’s right. Everyone knows exactly where I am. In some ways I hate that, but I have to admit in others I don’t mind everyone knowing that I’m at Corby’s. It lets them all know he’s mine.
“Bring some snacks from the bakery!”
She snorts a laugh before hanging up. I want to get the exclusive story on this sting operation. Maybe punch this crazy girl in the face. The only person who will be having Corby’s babies is me.
I pause, realizing the thought I just had. Why doesn’t that seem crazy? I’ll have to question that later. I finally get one of the windows open. I look around to make sure the coast is clear. I think I can escape out the back and through the trees.
I text my mom before I slip out the window, telling her t
o spread the word nobody better be renting a room or serving food to those vultures outside the house. Then I send one to Corby when I’m far enough away that he can’t try and stop me. My heart flutters when he texts back instantly telling me to be careful and to get my story.
It’s better this way. The paparazzi will think I’m in the house. All the attention will be kept there. In the meantime, I’ll be off getting the rest of the story, and they’ll be stuck speculating on Corby’s sex life. This is perfect.
Or so I thought…
Chapter Nineteen
Corby
"I can’t believe this is who you've replaced me with," cries Crystal. I didn’t know what her name was until today when, after tying me to the chair, she dramatically slapped her chest and cried out that I had killed her, Crystal, a woman who could never be killed. She is obviously not dead, unfortunately, but does look as unhinged today as when I caught her in my bedroom, rubbing one out on my sheets. "What will you say to your son?"
It’s a rhetorical question and one that doesn’t require an answer, I presume, given that I have a gag in my mouth. The son in question is a young boy whose age I can’t peg because I’m not really around kids, but if you put a gun to my head instead of the knife Crystal’s waving around, I’d place him around four or five. He speaks. By the roundness of his eyes and the fear flickering, he has some understanding of either the situation or his mother’s unsteadiness. It’s the fear in his eyes that is holding more tightly than the zip ties around my wrist and ankles.
"You should be ashamed of yourself. You have a wife and children to take care of. You can't be running off and shacking up with random hoes." She sends a scathing glance toward two pillows she has tied to a chair opposite of me. I gather it is supposed to be a stand-in for Glory who has crept off to investigate the very woman who has me bound and gagged in Mark Toscati's living room. Much like his car, his house is a wreck. I guess he kept his neatness for balance sheets and ledger books. Crystal, the stalker from the city, is unconcerned that she's standing in trash from three months ago.
I realize in a moment of writerly inspiration that having all this trash would easily cover up the stench of a decaying body. At some point, your neighbor is going to report you, but the moment the authorities get a glimpse of the interior, they'll just write it off as a hoarder gone bad.
A pair of fingers snap in front of my face. "Are you paying attention to me?"
We both know I wasn't, but since I have a cloth taped across my mouth, I feel fully justified in remaining silent.
"What are we going to do, Corby? I want to believe you're a good man and that you'll do the right thing, but when I told you about the baby, you ran off."
"I can't talk while there's a dishrag stuffed halfway down my throat," I say from behind the gag, but it comes out something like ah hain haw hmmm hmmm uh ihuh uh awfhae how mwa whoa.
Crystal frowns. "I don't like your tone."
The one good thing about my situation is that Glory is safe. The only one in danger is the boy upstairs. He needs to be permanently separated from this woman.
"You're not all there, my friend. Best untie me, take some money, check yourself into a hospital, and forget about me," I advise. She, of course, can't understand me.
"I spent a lot of time planning this. I had thought about kidnapping the girl, but I didn't want to sully my hands on that filth."
My brows crash together. It's one thing to insult me and my manhood, and an entirely other thing to ridicule Glory.
"Oh, you don't like that?" Crystal huffs. "Well, I didn’t like seeing you stick your penis in her”—I stiffen immediately—“and that's all I've been imagining since I saw you bring her into your house," she screeches. She slaps her hands across her eyes.
At least she wasn't spying on us. I heave a sigh of relief. Glory doesn’t deserve to have her privacy invaded because of my problems. I need to get rid of this woman, figure out what to do with the boy, and get back home before Glory decides I’m too much of a story for her to want to be involved with. She was shocked and dismayed by the number of journos outside of the house today. I want—no, need—Glory to go back to thinking I’m the loner thriller writer whose most exciting thing in life is writing five paragraphs in a day instead of three.
Like she said repeatedly, she’s not supposed to be the story. When we met, she had doubts about me, and I don’t need shit like this stirring those up again. I would’ve walked out or even wrestled Crystal to the ground, but in front of the boy she’d held the knife up to her throat and swore she’d take her own life if I didn’t sit in the chair and listen to her. I managed to talk her into taking the boy upstairs, but she only agreed to that after she’d bound me. I don’t know if Crystal is his mother, but I didn’t think a young kid needed to be traumatized by seeing someone kill themselves.
Crystal swipes a glass of cloudy liquid off the counter and wades through the trash. I think I wrote this scene in my third book, “Love Kills.” A madman serial killer has captured the policewoman he’s obsessed with and proceeds to drug her and keep her drugged for a whole year while he carries out gruesome killings in front of her. My mind flashes to the boy upstairs. I wrote about kids dying in my eighth book, “Happy Life,” which went through several revisions because my editor thought it was too graphic. I should’ve listened to her. Crystal bends close and peels away the tape. I spit the cloth out.
“Crystal—"
She shoves the glass against my mouth so hard my lip splits open. Some of the questionable liquid splashes into my mouth. Note to self: Be less detailed in your stories. No one really needs to know how to drug another person.
“I got this idea from you, you know.”
I do know, and I’m not going to have the same outcome as the saps in my book. I jerk my head forward, bashing it into Crystal’s skull. She cries out, dropping her glass. The trash swallows it up. I rock the chair back and forth until it tips over. Crystal’s fatal mistake here is tying me to a wooden chair. A metal one and I wouldn’t have been able to break the legs off. A metal one and I might still have been kept captive, but the chair breaks, freeing my legs. I bound to my feet at the same moment she rushes forward, her knife high in the air.
“Corby!” shouts Glory, appearing from behind Crystal. Crystal whirls around, and the knife slices toward Glory. I let out a roar, lower my shoulder, and rush forward, knocking Crystal to the ground. A hot pain spears my shoulder, and blood starts to bubble around where the chef’s knife found its way into my muscle.
Chapter Twenty
Glory
“I can’t leave you alone for two seconds!” I shout as I grab the woman by the back of the head, pulling her by the hair from under Corby. She’s already screaming, and she’s not the one that’s been stabbed. No, that’s my man she just shoved a knife into. I’m starting to think I’m inside of one of Corby’s novels.
She swings her arms as I pull her across the room a good five feet. I also drag a pile of garbage with her. The inside of this house is straight out of an episode of that TV show, Hoarders.
I had no idea when I wished for more news in Cherry Falls this is what I would get. I was thinking of something more white collar or maybe that Lily at the local bakery was using box mix, and all the goodies weren’t made from scratch. But every single thing in her sweet shop is made from scratch.
“He’s mine, you homewrecker!” She’s still swinging her arms and kicking her legs. She keeps blinking wildly. I’m guessing the headbutt that Corby gave her is still having some lingering effects.
“I had it under control.” Corby sits up. Blood starts to soak his shirt. I try not to focus on it. I need to get the crazy woman under control. The cops should be here any second.
When crazy here didn’t show up to meet the cops like Willow overheard, I knew something was up. I could feel it. But I never would have guessed someone would go to this extreme to get at Corby.
I had rushed back to Corby’s to see that not only was he go
ne but so were the paparazzi. I’m guessing his agent had something to do with the paparazzi. When I texted him and he didn't respond, I rushed over to Mark’s. The whole way I was thinking I was nuts but kept telling myself it wouldn't hurt to check there.
I’d sent a text to Sheriff Larson when I got here and saw what was happening. It was torture watching her swing the knife around, but I waited. I tried to bide my time, hoping the sheriff would get here before she pulled anything too crazy. That was until she tried to make him drink something. That was the moment I knew I couldn’t hold off any longer.
For all I knew, this was some freaky cult shit and she was going to make him and the young boy drink the Kool-Aid before she finished herself off. Thank God that little boy is still upstairs. I’m sure he’s traumatized enough at this point. I’m glad that at least he was spared some of the craziness.
I wasn't really surprised when I saw it was Crystal. She was all over Corby’s fan pages rambling about crazy shit. She was one of the people I went ahead and ran through my background check. She doesn't have any children, so I’m not sure who the boy belongs to. This also isn't her first psychotic break, either. She has a history of being delusional.
“Crystal, you’re going to hurt yourself. Knock it off!” I shout as loud as I can. I know she stabbed Corby, but I don’t want any harm to come to her. She’s mentally not well and needs help. To my surprise, she actually stops. I watch as Corby gets to his feet.
“You’re hurt.” She looks up at him, concerned. The knife is still sticking out of his shoulder.
“Don’t!” I shout when he pulls it out and tosses it toward one of the bigger piles of trash. “If you don’t die, I’m going to kill you.” I can already hear the sounds of the sirens growing closer. I let my hold on her hair go. Crystal is now sobbing. I want to hate her, I really do, but all I feel is sorry for her.
