“And you fucked that up. So, like I said, get out.” I toss the ball into the air again, but she catches it this time.
“You’re angry with me.”
“Is it obvious?”
Dropping the ball to the floor, she crawls onto my lap before I can stop her, and pushes me back onto the bed. Straddling my body, she reaches behind her back for something. “I want to show you another trick.”
Hands on her thighs, I go to push her off, but her muscles vise around me, holding me captive. “I’m done with your tricks.”
“This one you’ll find useful.” A blade gleams in the corner of my eye as she twists it, smiling. “When you’re angry. It’s as easy as one long slice to release all that tension inside of you.”
Cold metal bleeds through my shirt when she sets the steel tip against my chest and pops one of my buttons. I don’t even bother to look where it falls. My eyes are riveted on hers, searching for any sign that she might plunge that blade into my ribs. Another button. Followed by another, until a wide gap shows off my bare chest.
“Just as fear can be an aphrodisiac, so can pain. If you learn to love and embrace it, you become invincible.”
The relentless pounding of my heart isn’t fear, but excitement, evidenced by the hardening of my body.
A cold burn streaks across my chest where she drags the blade, scoring my flesh, and I clench my teeth to the pain. “Fuck,” I grit, muscles flinching with the chasing sting. Never taking her eyes off me, she lifts the blade, showing blood running down the steel, which she licks away.
“You taste like rage and lust.”
Everything inside me begs me to throw her off and tell her to get the fuck out of my room. Instead, I grip the back of her neck, the rage exploding to the surface when I push her down onto the bed beside me. I swipe the blade from her hand and twist it in the same taunting manner as she had before.
Her lips part around a smile that I could cut from her face. “What do you wish to do with that knife?”
The blade is a quick diversion, and I stare at my distorted reflection in the metal. Without much prompting from my head, the cold steel is propped at her throat, my eyes locked on hers, as I reach down and tear away her panties beneath the dress. Furious with her.
One-handedly, I spring my dick from my pants.
She squirms beneath me, as if to fight me, but I’m stronger.
I wedge my legs between her thighs, and a cold sting smarts my cheek where she slaps me. The giggle that follows only goads my fury, and I press the blade enough to lift her chin.
“If I ever catch him fucking you again, I’ll take this knife and drag it across your throat.”
She lets out a moan.
A fucking moan.
Slamming my dick into her, I watch her eyes roll back, her tongue sweep over her lips.
Incoherent words in French dance around my head, while I rock against her.
“Tell me what you’re saying,” I demand.
Eyes weighted with desire, she gives a heavy blink and moans again. “I said fuck me harder, young master.”
So I do.
Chapter 15
Isadora
Present day …
When I was fifteen, Aunt Midge thought it’d be fun if I babysat one of the neighbor kids for extra cash. A little five-year-old girl, whose mom worked late into the afternoons, leaving her daughter with no one to pick her up from the school bus stop. I never had siblings, a pet, or anything that I might be remotely responsible for keeping alive, so I’m not sure where Aunt Midge got the idea this would be good for me.
For eight dollars a day, I met the kid at the stop, walked her home, and hung out watching mind-numbing episodes of Larva until her mom got home. Didn’t seem like such a bad gig, until, one day, she decided to change it up by asking if she could play in the backyard. It was fenced, so I didn’t think anything of it. About ten minutes before her mom was due home, I ventured out to call her in.
She didn’t answer.
I searched every corner of the yard.
Didn’t find her.
To say I was panicked was an understatement. I literally suffered an anxiety attack while racing through the house in search of her. Wheezing for air, feeling dizzy with the urge to pass out. Full on panic.
With only a couple minutes before her mom showed up, I happened to wander outside to check the front, and found her camped out in the middle of the road, drawing with chalk.
Middle of the goddamn road.
Out of my mind, I swiped her up and carried her, as she kicked and screamed, to the sidewalk, where I could properly ask her what the hell she was thinking.
“Mommy lets me play in the street.” She was lying, of course, and not a minute later, her mom pulled up, totally oblivious to the drawn hearts and rainbows she drove over.
I didn’t bother to say a word, but later that night, the guilt gnawed at me. So much so, I skipped school the next day, to confess what happened and quit my job, feeling like a total failure. A year later, I learned the little girl was killed. Hit by a car in front of her house while she played. According to the article, she was left home alone after school.
Knees tucked up into my chest, I sit on the bed, staring off at the wall across from me. I don’t even know what it means that Laura was on the balcony earlier today. If she’s so mentally unstable that she’d try to jump, or chase her dead grandson over the railing. All I know is I can’t get the visual of her lying on the pavement with her skull cracked open out of my head. I should be asleep right now, but the scenario just keeps playing on a loop, and experience tells me it won’t stop until I check to make sure she’s all right.
Cold hardwood floors hit my bare feet, and I pad quietly toward my locked door. Cracking it open, I peek to find the hallway empty and quiet, and continue on down one flight of stairs, and past the foyer, where I skid to a halt. “Shit.”
Sampson lifts his head as I approach, but doesn’t bother to move from where he’s made the Blackthorne crest his bed for the night. Instead, his big blockhead pans slowly after me, as I tiptoe past.
The sight of him rattles my nerves even more, and I gotta believe the dog can sense it, the way he keeps a wary watch, while I scamper toward the elevator. Just a quick check will, hopefully, allow me to close my eyes and get some sleep, though. Start over tomorrow.
The elevator doors open, and I’m hit with the sound of screaming for the second time in one day. I race toward Laura’s bedroom, But skid to a halt a second time when I find Lucian camped out on the floor beside her door.
One leg propped up, he rests his elbow atop his knee, a drink dangling from his hand. He only spares me a momentary glance, eyes brimming with exhaustion and apathy.
“I’ll … sorry. I’ll leave you alone.” I spin around to leave, but pause and turn back toward him. “Is she okay?”
Without bothering to look at me, he gives a subtle nod and tips back his drink.
“Do you need anything?”
Lips pressed to a hard line, he shakes his head.
My heart is pounding in my chest, mostly from the unexpected encounter, but also because the man just makes me nervous as all hell.
Again, I turn away, but stall halfway. “I’m … sorry about my comment this afternoon. About your outfit? Diarrhea of the mouth sometimes.” I catch a flicker of distaste dance across his face, until he lifts his glass again for another sip.