She screams.
So loud I’m forced to abandon her clit to cover her mouth. She shakes uncontrollably in my grip, fresh tears running down her cheeks and soaking my hand. I expect her to run the second she comes down from her high, but she surprises me by relaxing in my arms.
Safe with a monster.
It’s a laughable thought.
My humor is muted, though. I’m too transfixed on the way her cunt continues to spasm around me fingers that are still wedged inside her. How her hot breath tickles my hand with every strangled surge of air she attempts to suck into her lungs.
She groans against my hand that covers her mouth as my other fingers slide out of her. I step back, leaving her trembling form, wrecked and used and sated by the sink. Her blue eyes sear into mine in the reflection. Bringing my wet fingers to my nose, I inhale her scent—lavender and mandevilla. So delicate and sweet.
I flick my tongue out and run it along the glistening remnants of her orgasm on my fingers. She sucks in a sharp breath, watching my every movement like I’m the most fascinating creature she’s ever encountered.
Her taste is foreign to me.
Sugar laced with something addictive, like heroin.
A sweet shot of obsession.
“Now I understand the pissing match Wednesday night,” I say, flashing her a knowing grin. “I understand quite well.”
She cries out when I pounce on her. I easily twist her body around and push her bare ass against edge of the sink. I dip my mouth to hers, trying to memorize her scent for later when I jack off to this memory in the shower. A barely audible whimper from her has me wanting to chase it and taste it and suck it from her lips.
My mouth crashes against hers. I can taste the twang of my blood still smeared on her lips. I wonder if she can taste the blissful high of herself. The kiss ends sooner than I’d like, but if I don’t escape the confines of this bathroom, there’s no telling what I’ll do.
I can’t let myself go there with her.
She’s just a substitution for what I really want.
The one I will have one day.
“See you later, prickly princess.”
With a wink, I leave the trembling girl alone. I wonder how long until she realizes her wings are gone. She’ll remember this moment—the moment I ate them while she rode my fingers into oblivion.
Sorry, beautiful, but you’re not an angel anymore.
Chapter Eighteen
Landry
I need help.
Not help to escape this hell, but real psychological help. After what I allowed—what I actually enjoyed—today at school, I’m positive I’m losing my mind.
This isn’t normal.
Certainly not healthy.
Oh, God.
Tears sting my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. Not here in his room. Not now. Not while my father lies in his bed just a few feet away, softly snoring, while I watch. If he woke up and saw me so wrecked, I wouldn’t be able to blame it on worrying over him. No, he’d see right through that.
And he can’t see that.
Ever.
As much as I don’t want to be in his room, I need to feel him out when he wakes from his nap. To see what he knows and if any of it leads back to me or Ford. I’m getting pretty good at reading him, so if he knows anything, I’m sure I would be able to tell.
From somewhere within the condo, Sandra yells at someone. Probably Noel. She holds her position of power over them all, reaming them constantly when they don’t measure up to her standards.
I just hope that it’s not Della. It’s the most frustrating thing when someone yells at a completely deaf person. She isn’t affected by it. It only punishes everyone around her.
Thoughts of Della make my mind drift back to Ford. I tighten my thighs, clenching my sex. It’s sore. Aches from the abuse.
I nearly laugh.
Abuse?
Then why did my body freaking sing at his cruel touch?
Truth is, there were many parts about this morning, while locked in that bathroom, that I secretly enjoyed. A dirty little secret that I share with Ford’s evil alter ego.
He’ll be here soon.
I can’t face him. Not now. Not ever.
Glancing over at my father, I make sure he’s still sleeping before picking up my phone and texting Ford.
Me: I would appreciate it if you don’t speak to me ever again.
His response is immediate.
Ford: What??? Why?
Is he even for real?
He’s sick. Suffering from a mental illness. And my idiotic self got swept up in the darkness that is Ford Mann. Because I’m apparently a magnet for monsters.
Ford: Laundry, what happened?
Me: YOU. You happened, Ford. I was an idiot for trusting you.
He starts ringing my phone. Thankfully, it’s on silent. It buzzes and buzzes and buzzes. Psycho. He’s a stalker. Without a moment’s hesitation, I block his number. That will buy me some time. At least until he shows up to tutor my freaking sister.
I can’t escape him.
Not him or my father.
This life is a prison. I’m going to have to grab Della and disappear. Even if that means living a life on the run, always trying to outrun my father’s limitless resources. It’s better than waiting around for a plan. My plans keep getting derailed.
My phone buzzes again and a burst of anger flashes through me. He won’t leave me alone. I’m ready to call him every name in the book, but it’s not him.
Unknown Number: Hey, you. It’s me. Ty.
I blink at the phone, unable to form thoughts. Ty Constantine is texting me. How? Why? What the hell is going on right now?
Unknown Number: Okay, so this is probably creepy. I’m sorry. It’s just I had to leave in such a rush the other day when your dad got mad. And then I heard he got attacked. Just worried is all. Are you okay?
I change the contact to Ty Constantine before replying back.
Me: I’m fine. How did you get my number?
Ty: Let’s just say it was work to get it. How’s Alexander?
Me: Asleep. Lots of pain meds. Broken nose and cracked rib. Cheek is stitched up. Looks like he’s been in a car accident. But, he’ll be okay.
Unfortunately.
I know my father. He’ll come out of this, hunt down the man who did this to him, and ruin his life. He will ruin Ford’s life.
Ty: Ouch. Tell him I’ll hold down the fort while he’s gone. ;)
A smile tugs at my lips. I can almost imagine his handsome face in front of me, winking in a teasing manner. Ty trying to fill Dad’s shoes at his company is laughable.
“Who’s making you smile like that?” a voice rasps out.
Jerking my stare from my phone to my father, I attempt to quell the rising surge of panic. Even in his battered, sleepy state, he’s powerful and very much still the person who has his thumb on me.
“Uh…” I chew on my lip and then shrug. “Ty. I don’t know how he got my number.”
Dad blinks at me slowly, his lids heavy thanks to the drugs. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“He wants to know how you’re doing. How are you doing?”
“Been better.”
My phone buzzes again, but I don’t look down at it. I’m trapped in my dad’s penetrating stare. I squeeze my phone so hard I wonder if it’ll crack. Swallowing hard, I motion toward the end table.