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“I… I’m a college student. Twenty-one. I work at a restaurant down on the boardwalk.”
Who am I? It’s a good question, but I don’t have an answer. The cruel irony is that this is the question that plagues me all the time, the reason for my breakdown at work earlier. I’m just one year away from graduating college, and I still don’t know who I really am, let alone what I’m going to do with my life.
“Claire Monroe, the college student?” he asks, watching my face for any betrayal of a lie. It’s curious; The expression in his dark eyes is stormy and foretells of obvious danger if he doesn’t like my answers, and yet as tightly as he is holding me in place, he isn’t hurting me.
His dark features are beautiful and faintly familiar. As imposing as he is, something about his presence is also calming… authoritative. I’m scared, but there’s something foreign mixing in there with that fear. Whatever it is, I can’t put a name to it.
“Yes.” I breathe, tilting my chin up so he can see I have nothing to hide. I don’t know who he is or what he wants, but something in his demeanor is intimidating enough that the idea of lying to him is unappealing.
“Okay, Claire.” He nods slowly. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”
Chapter five
Remy
That seems to catch her by surprise. The sinful curves of her lips look like velvet when they fall open, and I want, in the worst way, to feel them on me. I’ve been hard since I turned around to see her breasts begging to be released from that bra that barely even manages to contain them. The sensation only intensified when I pressed her against me and felt her captive under my touch, completely at my whim. Some men wouldn’t hold back, and I have to admit, I’m fighting the urge to do wicked things to her. The women who walk willingly into my room know what they’re signing up for. They’re not there to talk about politics and childhood memories—they’re there to be fucked so hard the rest of their pain disappears and they forget they’re hollow inside. They’re there for me to fuck them so hard that I forget I’m hollow, too.
“Your bedroom?” She asks, looking around at the lavish room I grew up in. I haven’t been back in years, but much like the rest of the house, it’s exactly how I left it… clean, simple, without any trace of the person who lived there. I didn’t even notice that it smells like her until she was under my touch, but now her delicate scent surrounds me. It’s not floral, but a delicate vanilla, like she’s spent the night baking cupcakes or something.
“Wait… you’re—”
The door bursts open, cutting off the rest of her revelation. The shock on my sister’s face is immediate, swallowing the rest of her words about ‘spilling it’ as she takes in the scene before her.
“Remy?” Rhea looks from me to the woman in my grasp, and then she charges at us with a hand in the air like she’s heading into battle. “Fuck, Remy!” She yells, swatting my hand until it stings. “Let go of her!”
“You know this woman?” I straighten and remove my hand from her delicate neck, unable to stop my eyes from swooping down to admire the peaks of her breasts again, being held up by the cups of a lacy black bra I’d love to peel away from her skin.
“Remy, I’ve told you about Claire.” Rhea snaps. She can’t seem to decide between shock and anger as she stares at me like she’s seeing a ghost.
“You told me that she exists. How am I supposed to know she is who she says she is?”
“Because I’m telling you she is, you jackass.” Rhea swats at me again, but I step to the side, avoiding her hand. “Let go of my friend!”
I release my grip on the girl completely and raise my hands as some sort of bargaining chip, a sign of surrender. Claire steps away from me quickly but doesn’t dare take her eyes off mine. Accusation colors her stare, but there’s a hint of something else underneath all that indignation. “You can’t be too careful,” I say coolly.
“No, but you can be too stupid, apparently.”
“I was just making sure she wasn’t a threat.”
“A threat?” Rhea’s laugh is cold and unamused. I expected this from her; I just didn’t expect it to be because I’d accosted her best friend. “What did you think? That she was hiding a revolver in her bra?”
At Rhea’s words, I glance over at her friend again, standing still in a bit of shock, her arms crossed over her chest like that’s really doing anything to conceal her body from me. My eyes graze what’s visible—her pink lips parted slightly with the remnants of shock, the swell of her breasts, and then trail down a flat, smooth stomach. My cock tightens painfully as I imagine what is hidden under that fabric. But, no, there isn’t quite enough of it for her to be hiding any sort of weapon there, really. My eyes trail down around her hips, where my hand had been moments before, and land on a shapely ass. “Maybe a shiv in the waistband of those panties.” I muse, not bothering to keep the smirk off my face.
Claire seems to realize I’ve let my eyes linger and turns to Rhea. “I’m going to finish what I came up here to do, which is to get dressed.”
“Of course,” Rhea says, her words weighed down with an apology that isn’t hers to give. “You!” She hisses at me, her tone going from apologetic to enraged in a split second. She got that fun trick from our mother. “You get your ass downstairs and start working on your apology. Not only did you show up here unannounced, but you attacked my best friend. My best friend, who, for the record, is more family to me than you’ve been the last three years.”
I almost grin despite the cutting edge of her words. True or not, I know she chose them carefully to wound me. It’s not that she doesn’t love me. I hurt her first. That guilt often threatens to wash over me like waves in the ocean if I think about it long enough, so I really don’t give it the time of day. I push all thoughts of Rhea out of my mind until our monthly call, and even then, I give her only what she needs—essentially just an audience. I listen to her tell me about her life, but never divulge anything of my own life. Every so often she calls me out on it, but then I switch subjects and Rhea recognizes that I’m not going to bend, so we let it die.
“I apologize,” I say, brushing gently against Claire as I make my way out of the room. When I catch her eyes on me, they’re wild. Fear mingles with something that looks suspiciously like desire. I turn away before I can contemplate that, but not before she sees me smirk.
“I’m so sorry.” Rhea groans from behind me. “He is… insane. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Claire says, her voice breathy. She’s rattled, and something about that is oddly satisfying to me. She seems like the kind of woman who prides herself on keeping it together. “Just give me a minute?”
“Of course. Meet us in the kitchen when you’re ready.” Rhea closes the door softly behind her.
I’m halfway down the hall by the time she catches up to me. “What are you doing here?”
