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“Oh, god, Elian,” she moans, but over her sweet sounds, I hear the bike. It will be at least three minutes before he gets in here, so I turn my attention on her.
“Faster. Feel me, my hot breath in your ear, telling just how much I’m going to enjoy breaking you. I’m going to enjoy watching you swallow my dick, getting it all slobbery and wet before I slide into your tight hole. I want to feel you come and pulse around me, milking my dick.”
“Fuck, Elian. Please, please let me come. I want it.” More begging incites a grin on my face from ear to ear.
“I want your orgasms. All of them are mine. Am I understood?” The gruff tone of my voice has her whimpering on the line.
“Yes, yes, yours.”
Her mumbling becomes incoherent and then I tell her, “Come. Imagine me deep inside that gorgeous little body, fucking my little deviant.” That does it. She screams out loud, and I’m thankful she’s alone at home. A second later, Ahren pushes open my office door and saunters inside as if he’s not just gotten out of bed. “Good girl,” I speak into the phone but glance at my brother.
My response is a chuckle, and he shakes his head. He settles on the chair opposite my desk after grabbing himself a drink and watches me from over the rim of the glass.
“Go to bed now,” I tell her. “I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Thank you,” Arabella says, and I can’t stop my chest from tightening. “Goodnight,” she tells me before hanging up, and I’m left staring at Ahren, the recollection of her first orgasm with me still fresh in my mind. But from the back, where I lock up all my bad memories, comes the reminder that she’s back.
“So,” Ahren speaks after swallowing a mouthful of the spiced rum I keep that’s imported from Jamaica. “You’re in a bit of shit.”
“This needs to be squashed.”
“She needs to learn that when you sign an agreement, you keep to it,” Ahren informs me before tipping back the last drops of the rich, honey-colored liquid and rises to get another. “You and Arabella are getting along well,” he remarks but doesn’t look at me.
“I need your help,” I finally admit. I hate asking for help, even if it means I’ll get something done sooner. I was brought up not to be weak, and the belief that asking for assistance in anything appears as if you’re unable to do it, which in turn makes you weak.
“I know what to do.”
I know he’ll be good at it as well. Distraction is part of Ahren’s DNA. The bad boy features and persona he’s created keep women busy for days, weeks even. “Take her to the cabin,” I suggest. “Give me a week. Let me just see where this thing between Arabella and I is going. If she’s not to my liking, I can break it off.” Even though it’s a white lie I’m telling my brother, guilt still eats away at me.
“You know that your little stalker isn’t going to stop,” he tells me before settling back in the chair. “She’ll come for you time and again because she believes she loves you. And,” he says, tipping his glass toward me, “she thinks you love her.”
“Pick her up tomorrow, take her on a ride, stop at the cabin, and then wait until it’s late,” I say. “There’s a storm coming, if you can just keep her there for a few days at most.” I don’t like this, but it must be done. She came back when she was supposed to stay away. I can’t have Arabella see her, talk to her, learn about who I really am. The little psycho was obsessed. I thought it was an innocent crush, one that would go away, but it became more. It turned dangerous.
Granted, she didn’t tell Ahren, or he wouldn’t be talking to me right now. But I have a feeling she’ll most definitely tell Arabella, and that will only end in disaster.
“Fine.” Ahren doesn’t sound happy, but this needs to be done.
Just a few days.
That’s all I need.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.24HERTHE PASTThe darkness is where I’m best hidden. I watch him. This time it’s a different woman. She’s nothing like the last one. Anger surges through me. And I’m tempted to walk in there, to break his happy night apart. I picture it now. Me storming in to tell the whore to leave, and when I do, he’ll hate-fuck me against the wall.
A smile spreads across my face when I think about it. He may send me away, but he can’t deny that there’s a connection between us. Even if he tries to fight it, I know he can’t. He’s trying to replace me with every woman in this fucking godforsaken town, and I hate it. Why can’t he see just how perfect we are together?
