Unlocking the door, I shove it open and find a fucking disaster. Furniture is ripped apart, walls are shattered and a mess. Nothing is straight the way she likes it. It’s dark and dim. The total opposite of my sweet girl. She would hate this.
Which strikes fear through my heart. “Ophelia!” I scream as I rush to the second floor, needing to lay eyes on her. Upstairs is just as torn-up as down. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m not leaving until I do.
“Where the fuck are you?” Searching each room, I find her on the shower floor in her guest bathroom. Pillows and blankets surround her. Exhaustion and tearstains make her appear rumpled. Her arms and hands are cut to shit, and dust and plaster coat her hair.
“Philly,” I stroke her cheek gently, and she jolts awake. Her eyes are wild and filled with fear as they search for something.
Finally, they settle on me. But nothing changes except to add sadness to the maniacal look. “What are you doing here?” Her tone is curt. Not what I’m used to from her.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I’ve been worried fucking sick about the damn woman. “I was banging on your front door for thirty minutes before Laken had mercy on me and gave me a key.
“You should go,” she says, sitting up straighter before climbing out of the tub, ignoring the hand I offer to help her out. “I don’t want you here.”
That stings. “What the fuck is going on, Philly?” This bathroom is the only room in the house that hasn’t been demolished.
“I don’t want you here. Please leave.” Walking away from me, I’m momentarily stunned. She’s out of my sight for a minute, but my feet move when I hear another door slam shut and then the sounds of pounding. She’s tearing apart another area.
Following the sound, I find her in her room, in the closet. “You need to talk to me, Ophelia. I can’t help if I don’t understand what’s happening.” I attempt to keep my voice gentle, but I’m losing my fucking patience.
“I said leave!” she shouts at me, her chest heaving with the exertion of her fury.
Raising my hands, I take a step back, but I don’t back down. I never have, and I’m not about to start now. “You need to tell me what the fuck I did wrong before you throw me out of your life,” I hiss. Reining in my anger is more challenging than I thought. Must be the exhaustion I’m feeling from my long-as-fuck shift.
A fierce laugh erupts from her. But there’s no amusement in it. No, it’s filled with rage and agony. “What you did?” she repeats. Swinging the hammer above her head, she knocks out a portion of the wall. “Cameras.” She swings again, drywall flies around her. “Pictures.” And again.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” The only picture I took of her was her sweet cunt dripping with my cum, and I sure as hell didn’t share that with anyone.
Dropping the sledgehammer, sweat is already trickling down her neck, and I’m the sick fuck who wants to lick it, despite how mad she is. Her legs are as cut up as her arms, and when she lifts her shirt—my shirt—to wipe her face, I notice bruising along her hip.
“What happened?” I take a step closer, reaching out to touch her. I need to fucking feel her in my arms now, but she flinches away.
“You have cameras in your house. Cameras I didn’t know about.” Her jaw is clenched so tight I can almost hear her teeth grinding together.
“I do,” I admit. “For when I’m working. In case someone breaks in.” I’ve had them for years. My captain suggested it after he was robbed and his place got trashed. No one ever found the asshole. Seemed like good insurance. I don’t understand what her problem is or where this is coming from.
“Maybe you should have mentioned this before we started fucking, so I could, at the very least, decide whether or not I wanted to be recorded for whatever fucking amusement you must have wanted to have later.” The hurt lingering in her voice keeps my feet rooted to the spot.
Taking a calming breath, I try to explain. “Philly, I have them on timers. They only record when I’m on shift.”
“Ha!” Storming towards me, she shoves me to the side and stomps downstairs. Like a lovesick fool, I follow after her. “Explain these, then.” Tossing some pictures on the counter, my eyes widen when I see her giving me a blow job, us in my bed, on the stairs on our way to the bedroom.
At the firehouse.
The restaurant.
But it’s the last one that guts me because I took that one.
“When did you get these?” I can’t stop staring at the last one; even my fucking dick twitches. It was a prideful moment for me. But someone got their hands on it.
“Two days ago,” she whispers, the wind taken out of her sails as she sags against the counter behind her.
“I didn’t take these.” Except the one. She’s going to fucking explode.
“This one.” Her dainty finger damn near puts a hole through the image as she stabs it. “That one is close. Someone had to be damn close to get it.”
Fuck. If she hated me before, she’s going to despise me now, but I need her to know I took this for my pleasure. “I took that one. When I was on my way out the door.”
“You WHAT!” she screeches, and I wince.
“You were fucking hot like this. I wanted to crawl back into bed and fuck you into oblivion, but I had to get to the firehouse. I took it because it was a long-as-hell shift, and I needed something of you.” Gazing down at the image, a fiery rage erupts in my veins. “I never thought anyone would ever be able to get it. My phone is locked up fucking tight, Philly. I don’t even lend it to people. I swear to God this was just for me.”
“Well, it isn’t now. And neither is any of the footage from your cameras. We’re everywhere now, Torque. A real-life amateur porno. The world is watching us.” Her tears spill over, and there’s nothing I want more than to wipe them away, hold her in my arms. Make everything better.
“What do you mean?” But I have a feeling I already know.
Tossing her phone to me, she says, “Turn it on. Check out just how fun things have been for me lately.”
As soon as I do, I see the emails, the texts, and the video links sent to her. Some from strangers, others from people she knows.
“Jesus Christ,” I bellow when I watch us in full display on one of the biggest amateur porn sites on the web. “Did you report this?” Because I’ll be damned if someone is going to get away with this.
“So more people can see me in the most intimate way possible?” Her head shakes, her body trembles, and I can tell she’s on the edge of complete collapse. “Please just leave, Torque. I can’t do this right now.”
That’s horridly apparent. I fucking hate it with every fiber of my being, but I know if I ever stand a chance of her forgiving me for the stupid cameras I never gave a second thought to, then I have to back off.
For a short time.
Until she feels like she’s in control again.
Safe again.
“I’ll go, Philly, for now, but this, us, we’re not over. You’re mine, and I’m yours. There’s nothing that’s going to stop that.” I don’t mention the fact that she could be carrying my baby right now. That would send her right over the fucking edge of the cliff she’s precariously perched on.