“Boss…” Gareth starts.
“Not now, G. Deal with this problem and call Cain if you need him. That crazy motherfucker will be happy to help.”
Gareth gives me a silent nod. I clap my hand on his shoulder before making my way up the stairs. The sound of movement and heavy dragging follows me up the stairwell, and I can’t help but smile to myself.
My girl. It has a ring to it, but Little Rebel is so much better.
Sixteen
Kat
Dragged Out – Chelsea Wolfe
The scent of burned wood fills the air. I look over and see my third incense stick has burned out, yet the smell of damp remains. Like it always fucking does.
With a sigh, I take the wet cloth and clean the counter for a third time, but it’s still not enough. I stare at the coffee on the table that has long since gone cold. I can’t stop, because if I stop, I’llthink. And thinking has done me no favors these past few days.
I love this little apartment. Over the last few months, I’ve been doing everything I can to make it feel more like home, and it’s slowly getting there. But for the past few days, it’s beginning to feel like my prison, trapped alone with my thoughts and the smell of damp. I end up cleaning just to feel something.
I grab my phone out of my pocket.
ME:
Hey girl, wanna come over?
HARPER:
Just finishing a date with N. Everything ok?
ME:
Yeah, just need some girl time :)
HARPER:
Say less! Be there soon!
Pocketing my phone, I begin to pace, my hand toying with the necklace at my throat. It’s been three days since the incident at Headstone with Kirk. Despite my cleaning frenzy, I’m doing okay. The thoughts don’t tend to hit me most of the time, but when I stop—that’s when the tsunami of emotions crashes. Today is one of those days.
Fuck this.
I walk towards my bedroom, the subtle scent of sandalwood and vetiver making my body instantly loosen. I pull out the old milk crate that holds all my records and start flipping through the modest stack. It doesn’t take me long to find the one I’m looking for. I gently place the vinyl on the platter, followed by the needle. The turntable spins to life with the familiar, comforting soft crackle and pop.
The haunting lyrics ofDragged Outby Chelsea Wolfe follow me into the bathroom. I turn on the shower, and it splutters to life as I pull off my clothes. The sweatpants and old, thriftedJackasst-shirt fall to the floor as I turn to the shower, avoiding the mirror.
The water hits my chest, and my breathing slows as the warmth envelops me in a steamy hug. As the water cascades down my body, my thoughts drift to the other night, as they always seem to do the last few days. Despite the heat of the water, an icy chill creeps into my skin as I remember the feeling of Kirk’s hands on my hips, his mouth against my neck. My skin feels thick with his touch. I grab my loofah and scrub at my skin with force, the painful sting erasing his touch.
Warmth slowly replaces the chill as my thoughts drift to Elias, his icy sapphire eyes pulling me back to my center. The way he literally carried me as if I weighed nothing, his hands digging into my thighs. Or the way he talked me through my panic attack. My panic attacks can last for hours sometimes, and he was able to return my breathing to a normal rate just by talking me through it. I wonder how he’d feel about being on speed dial for the next one?
What would have happened if I had invited him in that night?The unbidden thought hits me out of nowhere. What would his hands feel like on my skin? What would his beard feel like against my face, my pussy?
Heat pools low in my stomach.
As my thoughts drift to his mouth, my hand lowers. A familiar yet distant ache builds between my legs. I let out a sigh as I dip my fingers inside myself, using the wetness to swirl around my swollen clit. My fingers move faster as I imagine him here, in the shower with me. My face pressing against the wall as he pushes himself inside me, whispering in my ear how much of a good girl I am.
My breathing turns ragged as I imagine him slamming into me, my nipples pressing into the cold tile.
“Yes,” I breathe.
