Chapter Fifteen
Megan
Three hours, fifty-seven minutes and twelve seconds. That is how long I’ve been staring at the clock, waiting for the creak of the motel room door to announce Dexter is back. The birds have chirped; the sun has begun its rise, yet I’ve not slept a wink.
My woozy head isn’t the only thing to blame for my lack of sleep; it is being without him, my protector, the man who killed to keep me safe.
It was only when inspecting the bruise circling my neck did the reason for Dexter’s psychosis come to light. He wasn’t mad I turned him down before attacking him with my blade. He was dispersing the energy that blazes through your veins any time you kill.
It took me days to come down from the high I felt when my father sucked in his last breath. The adrenaline that arrived with his death was merciless. So much strength surged through me, I was able to hang him from the second story beam in our barn. I didn’t want his death to look like a suicide. I wanted him to hang like the rodents in the western movies he watched. He said they were cowards, and a hanging was too upstanding for them. Since he never expressed a more heinous way to die, I had no choice but to hang him. I had considered burying him with my mother, but even with bugs replacing her eyes, she looked peaceful, so I didn’t want to disturb her.Especially not with him.
My muscles ached for days, but the visual of him hanging lifeless in the barn where he had buried my mother was beautiful. Nearly as wondrous as the blood splattered on the rim of Dexter’s hat.
Dexter stood up for me.
He killed a man for me.
And what did I do to thank him? I treated him like every other vile man I’ve crossed paths with in my life.
I thought Dexter wanted to use and abuse me. I was wrong.
When I tried to hurt Nick’s baby, he retaliated with as much violence. The fumes from the cloth held over my mouth burned my airways, but it was nothing compared to the effect of Nick’s betrayal on my heart. He told the police I wasn’t his girlfriend. He begged the judge to issue a restraining order so I had to stay away from him. He acted like he hated me when all I had ever done was love him. If that wasn’t bad enough, he sent me far, far away, to a place more interested in medicating me than helping me.
Dexter would never do that. He threw away my pills to ensure my thoughts remain lucid and clear. He wants me to make my own decisions.He might even possibly love me.
My assumptions weaken when a giggle sounds through my ears. It isn’t the big, vociferous laugh I’ve grown accustomed to the past two days. It is dainty and cute, similar to a giggle a female would make when a prickly chin is dragged down her neck.
With my heart pounding in my ears, I turn toward the patter of steps. Thick curtains are drawn across the window, blocking out the early morning sun, but it isn’t dark enough for me to miss a visual a thousand years won’t wrench from my mind.
Dexter isn’t alone. He has a pretty brunette in his arms, and his tongue is down her throat.
I try to look away, but one image stops me before I get too far: Dexter’s wintry blue eyes. He watches me over the brunette’s silky mane, his bloodshot eyes locked with mine. His gaze is so penetrating, my mouth feels every lick of his tongue.
A tingling sensation builds low in my belly when he steps closer, bringing his eyes level to mine. I stare at him with an equal amount of shock and disgust. The image of him kissing another woman should fill me with rage, but unlike when I watched Nick and Jenni, I’m not seeing two people. I’m only seeing one: Dexter.
He is kissing her, but he is tasting me. He samples my mouth with long, devoted licks and vicious bites. Her purrs are barely heard over my throaty moans. The sensation ripping through my body is intoxicating, making my head as woozy as the red drink I consumed with dinner. I am hot, sweaty, and utterly breathless.
When Dexter’s guest switches her attention to dragging his shirt over his head, Dexter’s eyes drop to my manically thrusting chest. His chest puffs when he notices I am sleeping naked as requested. I even stripped the mattress of bedding to ensure there wasn’t a thing between us.
The ache of my nipples doubles when Dexter’s tongue darts out to replenish his kiss-swollen mouth. He knows the sharp points at the end of my perky breasts are for him. He is aware I’m willing, ready, and able. He just needs to push her away, to choose me over her.
Realizing she has competition, Dexter’s guest doesn’t stop at his shirt. She falls to her knees before her hands dart to his belt. Anger roars through my body when she rubs her palm along his erection straining his zipper. She is mistaking his excitement as a consequence of kissing her.
It’s not. It’s for me. I did that to him. She’s just an obstacle—one I plan to get rid of.
When Dexter’s penis leaps from his boxers, I shoot my eyes to the side. I hate that I am missing out on seeing the veins pulsating in his penis, but I can’t stand watching the brunette’s mouth create an O before she narrows toward his glistening tip. It fills my head with horrible, depraved thoughts and has my hand sneaking across the mattress in search of my razor.
My attention is only diverted for a second. The slump of a body on the mattress secures my utmost devotion faster than lightning brightening a black sky. Unfortunately, the crash wasn’t Dexter pushing the brunette off him; it was from him dumping her onto the bed I’m sitting on.
She giggles, the alcohol leaking from her pores explaining her immaturity. She’s drunker than my daddy every Fourth of July.
Eager to get the party started, her hands dart up to the buttons of her shirt. Even though I hate her with every fiber of my being, my anger isn’t as palpable as it could be. Her extremely generous breasts are displayed in their full glory, yet Dexter’s attention remains on me.
His cock thickens with every second we spend staring at each other. It is as if she isn’t even in the room. It is just me and him, one criminally insane patient with another.
I want to say we use our time well, communicating nonverbally, but that isn’t the case. Dexter’s eyes are too glazed to convey his thoughts, and the excessive adrenaline from his adventurous night is still apparent.
I lose Dexter’s gaze when the brunette scoots up the bed to ease her jeans down her thighs. I clamber away, wanting to ensure not an inch of her skin touches mine. She’s pretty, and her scarcely covered body increases the throb of my pulse, but that’s because I’m angry. . .isn’t it?
