Leaning back into the counter, I watched Abigail give me more access to her when two fingers slipped inside her. Everything tensed and paused. I took notice, making her my focus.
Guiding her hips, I spun her around keeping her ass against my crotch, our bodies tight and flush against each other. My teeth dragged against her muscles, and my hand moved inside her panties. All I cared about was the self-torture of making her come on my fingers and tasting them after.
No real relief.
I wasn’t going to let myself enjoy her… yet. I still didn’t deserve her.
She only had a piece of the truth, and when she got the rest, she would come to her senses. Those senses would keep her running until she hit safety far, far away from the Clave.
Her ass grinding into me had a grunt get caught in my own throat red handed, as I bit down on her while she rocked on my fingers. Abigail was the definition of control and neatness; seeing her undone and messy made me want to lose control even though I knew better.
Losing control was too dangerous for me.
“Grimm… I’m…” Her satin voice was hoarse from all the captive moans she held back.
Whispering into her ear, I playfully pinched her clit, making sure nothing I did was too hard. She was clearly vanilla, and I was clearly not a flavor of ice cream.
With her ass pushing into my crotch and her hips tensing, I felt her body vibrate, legs shaking, with her mouth open like the orgasm took over her whole body. Abigail came with every part of her, and I had a front row seat to watch every feature and limb get involved.
It made me wonder if her heart also participated.
That’s when my playing with Abigail stopped—when I realized Abigail didn’t do anything half-assed. Everything was full body and full of heart, whether you liked it or not.
Transparent or not, I needed her heart to have boundaries, like not thinking that me getting her off made me her boyfriend.
Pulling my hand out of her panties and bringing my fingers up to my own lips, I tasted Abigail, trying to memorize it, because this was the closest I was going to get to having her. Her heart was a loaded fucking gun pointed right at me, after probably giving her the best orgasm of her life.
She leaned into me, back against my chest. “Return the favor?”
Pulling away, she almost tumbled backwards when I twisted the shower on and expelled my boxer briefs from pushing against my still hard dick. Mentions of her heart weren’t enough to get rid of the ache. “I’m good.” I pulled my fingers from my mouth and stepped into the shower.
“Seriously?” Her voice had to have been three octaves higher when I could feel her eyes burn through the thick layer of glass and steam between us.
With the shower door closed, it was hard to hear her above the water rushing, so she opened the door to the shower, demanding answers. Abigail was one-hundred percent transparent or absolute boundaries; there were no in-betweens.
I expected her to give up, but she was proving to be more stubborn than I actually anticipated. A storm chaser, begging to get dirtied with the truth—a truth she wouldn’t see coming. I was the truth she wouldn’t see coming.
I’m a high ranking cult member.
I’m a killer for hire.
I’m a prescription drug addict with a monster living in my head, and hallucinations keep me from knowing if you coming on my fingers is actually real life.
I’m a fucking mess with a bank account that looks prettier than I do.
The shower door opened, and I felt the rush of room temperature air fight against the steam. “I don’t get you.”
“No one probably will…” I spoke into the water pouring from the shower head when I clamped my eyes shut and let it cleanse me.
“We’ve been toeing the line, and we finally stumble over it, just for you to bolt. What the fuck?”
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Abigail with her jeans on, shoes kicked off, and white shirt not buttoned, but covering up her breasts. I was sure being vulnerable and naked wasn’t someone she loved being at the same time.
That’s exactly what I made her feel: uncomfortable.
“For your own good. You’re too good for this world.” Taking the bar of soap into my palm, I lathered up my chest and let it cascade down me in a poor attempt to keep busy. It didn’t hurt my back was to her the whole time too.
“What are you talking about?”
My shower was huge, I could image Khaos having some kind of fucking orgy in here if he hadn’t recently purchased Hugh Heffner’s house. Fucker loved attention, loved girls, and hated being alone. His place was a constant party.
It was big enough that she had to take a few steps to erase the distance between us to slide between me and the wall. She was fearless and stubborn, which was almost catastrophic when I placed my hands on her hips and squeezed my hands into her hip bones. I wanted it to hurt even if I didn’t mean to. Our bodies and lips hovered, leaving not much safety space as the water dripped from my hair onto her bare chest where the shirt wasn’t buttoned.
“I’m not fixable, Abigail. There’s so much more at stake than you thinking you can fix whatever is broken with me. I’m a monster because that’s what they made me to be.”
She looked terrified and turned on all at once as her eyes held mine with such precision I found myself impressed she didn’t sneak a peek at my length between us.
“This is the part where you believe your friend and run away…” My voice deep and hideous, the monster was talking, and I listened.
Her eyes welled up, making me wonder if she had ever been rejected at all. She was gorgeous with her exotic features and long legs, making modeling an obvious choice, but that didn’t mean much in LA. Everything hit the brass ring of pretty minus the personality.
Shoving past me with a hard shoulder, I knew I had given her all the truth she needed: Men are assholes, and sometimes it isn’t something a good woman can fix.
Nothing about my dick was solid now. I was limp all over.
I stayed in the shower until I heard the bathroom door slam that I never closed in the first place. Waiting until it was safe, I stepped out grabbing a towel and lazily wiping it over my body covered in droplets distorting my tattoos. My mirror, Abigail’s hope of fingering her meaning something more… both were shattered. My closed fist collided with the solid black marble counter, and I knew letting things get this far meant she could walk away from her job, one I was determined to keep her from leaving. Leaving wasn’t an option when the Clave couldn’t be sure how much you saw or heard. We’d let you think you left, but in reality, we saw everything, just like the owl in our logo.
Every employee to be fired or who quit or simply stopped caring to show up all ended up in a body bag—all accidents, with little evidence. Those were the only times my brothers came with me to handle business.
4 horsemen, not of an apocalypse, but of your demise.
Patting my bed down, trying to find my phone, I finally did in the plush blankets. I needed to find a solution to her not quitting and forcing me to put her down directly after that bad decision.
ME: Abigail is going to be on your desk tomorrow.
KHAOS: Tell that to Brett.
ME: It’s not optional. Tell him yourself. Paid day off, you’re out of the office, errands - I don’t care. She can’t quit.
KHAOS: What are you gonna do? Hold her hostage?