“Do you want to do the salad?” Vandal asked me when we reached the kitchen. “I’m going to throw meat on the grill.”
He set out all of the ingredients for the salad and went out, flipping on the outside light as he went. I washed everything and chopped it up, wondering if the knives in his knife block had been featured in any of his books. It was full dark by the time he came back inside, but I had no idea exactly how late it was. Despite him having bought me a sub sandwich earlier, I was starving again, as though my body was determined to make up for all the meals I’d missed lately.
Going back to being hungry again when this was all over was going to suck.
To be honest, I was ready to devour almost anything by the time the steaks were done, but they were grilled to perfection. It was hard to believe eating steak and fancy salad was Vandal’s idea of being broke. The food, along with my choice of beer or soda, was like an early Christmas for me.
As prisons went, this one was pretty sweet. As long as the wardens didn’t go on a power trip, I might even learn to like it here.
Chapter 4
When my hand cramped up, and I couldn’t write anymore, I chose two books I hadn’t read, and two books I’d loved when I’d borrowed them from the library, and spirited them away to the room that had been assigned to me. Even though it was only about ten o’clock, it had probably been the longest day of my life. I tried to stay awake through the first chapter of Zero’s newest book, but my eyes kept drifting closed even though he was very good at creepy descriptions and building sympathy for the main characters.
There was something terrifying about making the main character of a zombie novel a six-year-old boy.
I drifted off to sleep in the comfortable double bed, luxuriating in the fact that I could pull up the covers because the air-conditioning was so effective. I was more at ease than I’d been in weeks, with a full belly and no more worries about being homeless in a week or two. Sure, Vandal was an asshole, but his fit of paranoia had put me in a much more comfortable position than I’d been in yesterday. If I could make myself useful and unobtrusive, maybe things would eventually get less awkward.
What felt like hours later, I woke up lost and discombobulated from a dream that was a tease of danger and sensuality more than a memory. Even without opening my eyes, I knew the bed I was in wasn’t my own. Nothing smelled like the cheap green apple car air freshener that hung in the corner of my living room to help cover up the lingering stench that made my rent cheap. Hard to believe the smell of decomposition could permeate a dwelling so thoroughly.
At least Vandal had been polite enough not to mention the odor when we’d been at my place.
Ohhh…right. Vandal.
That’s where I was.
What had woken me though? There was no clock in my room, but it was full dark outside. Thanks to the moonlight that shone off the lake, I had a lovely view from my gabled window. The cottage was old, but there was no denying it was beautiful and well-kept—if it weren’t for the company, it would be a pleasure to spend the summer here.
There was a strange sound. Was that what had woken me? Someone watching television?
It sounded like a horror movie.
What horror movie would two famous horror writers choose to watch?
I tiptoed out of my room and made my way down the stairs, somehow managing to avoid most of the squeaky floorboards.
Just as I was around the corner down the last flight of stairs, I heard an unmistakable grunt of male pleasure. Here I’d thought they were watching a horror movie, and I’d almost walked in on them watching porn? That would have been damned awkward. I’d heard some guys watched porn together—supposedly they even threw it on at parties and thought nothing of it, but I’d never seen the phenomenon in real life. Besides, did people even watch porn on television anymore? Didn’t most people watch it on their laptops or phones?
The sound coming from the living room definitely wasn’t from a laptop. It wasn’t tinny enough for that. And where on earth had the TV been hiding in that room? In a cabinet?
So…what kind of pornography did two famous horror writers watch at the end of the day? Was it shocking, or was it something typical? Women faking orgasms didn’t do it for me, and if these two were impressed by that sort of fare, I’d be sadly disappointed in them.
At least there were no fake “oh yes!” sounds drifting up the stairs.
There was a gasp of pain, which made more sense to my bleary brain.
I peeked around the corner, hoping I’d be able to see the screen from where I was and sate my curiosity before sneaking back off to bed.
The first impression I had was of a lot of skin…and a distinct lack of a television.
I swayed, then grabbed onto the oak handrail to stop myself from tumbling down the stairs.
Zero was fucking gloriously naked, tattooed, and…bound.
Fuuuck, that was hot.
He knelt on the living room floor, ropes crisscrossing his chest, making him look like a shibari model. His arms were bound behind his back, showing off his well-muscled, heaving chest. A cloth blindfold covered his eyes, his sensual mouth was slightly parted, panting, and his head swung back and forth as though trying to see. Black moth tattoos danced here and there along his skin, making him the hottest encyclopedia I’d ever laid eyes on.
He whimpered, his hips straining almost as hard as his cock.
“I told you to get two thousand words done today. Just two. You had all fucking day.” Vandal growled low as he strolled into view, shirt off, muscles glorious in the warm light. Between his black hair and dark eyes, and the demonic tattoos, he looked that much more like Lucifer. With him standing above Zero, wearing nothing but a pair of old jeans, it took me a minute to pull my gaze away from his gorgeous body and his menacing expression to notice the thin stick he was holding. He swished it, cutting the air with a whistling sound that made me flinch. Zero froze in place, probably anticipating impact that didn’t happen.
“I got sidetracked with research and the girl,” Zero murmured, voice strained. “And it took me time to pack up and get here after you called.”
“You got sidetracked by the fucking internet,” Vandal corrected. His stick connected with Zero’s bare upper back. The kneeling man hissed, body going even more taut, although he didn’t cry out or break position. “How about the truth this time.”
“I got sidetracked with the fucking internet,” Zero admitted.
“Doing what exactly?”
“It started with research,” he said hopefully.
“But what did it end with?” Vandal prompted.
“Porn.”
Vandal walked around to stand in front of him, almost blocking my view, and stroked the stick he was holding over Zero’s balls. The kneeling man’s breath left him in a whoosh, and he waited, his expression saying he fully believed Vandal wouldn’t hesitate to hit him there. The stick’s tip followed the length of Zero’s erect cock from root to tip, making it bob eagerly despite what Vandal might choose to do to it.
The anticipation hung, delicious and dangerous in the air, and my insides trembled. I stifled a groan.
“Porn, huh?” Vandal mused, tapping the end of his stick against the shaft of Zero’s cock, but more as a warning than in punishment. Zero flinched anyway. “How are you going to finish on deadline if you keep screwing around?”