It makes no goddamn sense. I know nothing about this girl. But sending her off to fend for herself is no longer an option.
“You can stay here until I leave,” I tell her.
“When will that be?”
“I’m not sure.” I can almost feel the tension creeping back into her limbs. “Not for a few days, at least.”
That seems to calm her well enough. She shoulders her backpack and heads for the bedroom, stopping halfway there to say, “Thank you, Silas.”
Hearing my name on her tongue does strange things to my stomach—and other body parts. “Don’t mention it.”
She closes the bedroom door, and I take the stairs up to the loft. There, I find a tall dresser and a plush reading chair, plus the futon she promised. I pull the futon out into a bed and then find a spare set of sheets in the dresser, alongside some men’s jeans and T-shirts that I can only assume were Jack’s. No towels, though. And after driving all day, what I could use more than anything is a long, hot shower.
I check for towels in ten different places and come up empty. Finally, I have no other option but to ask Norah where they are.
I knock softly on the closed bedroom door. “Hey. Where’d you guys keep the towels?”
Muffled footsteps approach before the door swings open. She’s still got her tank top on, but no shorts. Just plain black panties. If I wasn’t holding on to the door frame, I’d be on my knees, my mouth watering for a taste of something juicy.
“They’re above the washer,” she says, drawing my attention back to her face. I didn’t even know this place had a washing machine. She seems to sense my confusion. “I’ll show you.”
I follow her to the kitchen, trying and failing not to watch her ass sway from side to side as she walks. Every inch of this girl’s body is forbidden fruit, begging me to take a bite. She opens a pocket door to reveal a washing machine, and on the shelf above it, stacks of colorful towels.
“Thanks,” I mumble. She smiles.
I grab a towel and shut myself in the bathroom before the bulge in my khakis can make things even more awkward. Goddamn, what is this girl doing to me? I’ve never had such an intense and immediate reaction to a woman before. And now she’s going to be staying here. What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I strip down and step into the shower. Thankfully there’s already soap and shampoo in a plastic caddy. In my race to get here, I didn’t think to bring much of anything—including clothes. Hopefully something of Jack’s will fit me. As I’m soaping up my body, my thoughts float back to the drive up here. To Norah’s thin tank top, her creamy thighs.
And, oh yeah, her hand on my dick.
My cock is hard, and has been since the moment I first saw her. But it’s the pressure in my balls that needs relieving. I wrap my fist around my shaft and stroke. I think about porn. I think about blonde chicks with fake tits and leather cuffs around their wrists.
I think about anything other than the girl asleep in the next room.
But after a while, the usual bondage fantasy just doesn’t cut it. My cock knows what it wants. It wants Norah Benson on her knees. Her soft, pouty lips wrapped around the head, her pink tongue stroking the underside. It wants her hands gripping my shaft, her big, green eyes gazing up at me, questioning. Is this right? Am I doing it right, Daddy?
Fuck, yes, baby girl. You’re doing it just the way I like...
I bite back a moan as my cock throbs in my fist, shooting cum all over the shower tiles.
One by one, my muscle groups start to relax, as the reality of what I’ve done starts to sink in.
I am in deep fucking trouble.
Chapter Six
Norah
In the hazy space between sleep and waking, I almost forget where I am. I forget that my dad is dead because of me, and that I’m technically sleeping in a stranger’s bed. But as my eyes adjust to the light, the memories come flooding back, and I can’t stem the tears that follow.
How did this mess become my life? Why did I let an utterly despicable asshole like Brody take control of my mind and body? My parents never beat me, though they weren’t always around. My mom’s a pretty scattered person, and my dad was constantly working.
Materially speaking, I had everything a girl could ever want. But knowing my parents love me isn’t the same thing as feeling their love. Brody saw what I was missing and worked hard to fill in the cracks. He weaseled his way into my mind and heart, until I was convinced that he was the only one I needed. And the only escape I got from Brody’s control were the weeks I spent here at the cabin with my family.
I aim my sobs into the pillow as the memories come rushing back: playing cards on the porch with my parents, helping my mom hang the laundry, all the afternoons I spent hunting and fishing with my dad. Maybe if those moments hadn’t been segregated to only a few weeks every summer, I wouldn’t have fallen prey to Brody’s manipulation. I wouldn’t have let him mold me into the kind of person who lies and steals and cheats to get what they want.
Because that’s who I really am underneath. I put on a good-girl act for my parents, but inside, my blood is poison, killing everything I touch. What happened to my dad was my fault. I can lie to my mom, to the police, to the whole damn world, but there’s no lying to myself.
Thankfully, lying to Silas came easily enough. Brody always said the best lie is one that includes a version of the truth. When Silas threatened to kick me out, I knew I had to tell him something. Not the whole truth, but just enough for him to understand why I couldn’t go home.
My stomach twists and gurgles. At first, I think it’s my guilt eating away at me, until I remember I never actually bothered to eat dinner. I dry my eyes, and drag myself out of bed, listening for signs that Silas is up and walking around. Hearing nothing, I tiptoe to the kitchen for a towel and then scurry back to the bathroom to shower. I put on a fresh pair of panties and a black tank, plus my shorts from yesterday.
I’m about to leave the bedroom when I remember my dead smartphone. After rummaging through my backpack for the power cord, I plug my phone in to charge, but don’t bother powering it on. I don't need to deal with the barrage of threatening texts that are undoubtedly waiting for me.
In the kitchen, I make toast with peanut butter as quietly as I can, knowing Silas is still asleep in the loft. As I’m putting away the bread, I hear him yawn, and decide to leave everything out in case he wants breakfast. I also put the kettle on. My mom’s a big tea drinker, so there’s always plenty of tea bags in the cupboard. Instant coffee, too. My grandma on my dad’s side used to say there wasn’t anything two people couldn’t come to terms with over a cuppa.
I pray she’s right, as I pretend not to watch the hottest man I’ve ever seen making his way down the stairs.
“Morning,” he says. I do a double take before I realize why the jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing look familiar. He’s wearing my dad’s clothes. “Hope you don’t mind, I raided the drawers. I didn’t exactly pack for this trip.”
“It’s fine.” I swallow the lump of sadness and try to smile. “I put on water for tea or coffee, and there’s bread for toast.”
He nods. I let him find the instant coffee on his own so I can check him out without being noticed. The jeans he’s wearing are about an inch and a half too short for him, and the Guns N’ Roses T-shirt hugs his body like spandex. I knew he was a big guy, but now that he’s testing the seams of my dad’s old clothes, I have a clearer idea of just how jacked he is. I wonder what he does for a living, if he works out a lot or if he gets his muscles from breaking up boulders with his bare hands.