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I knew without looking that Vincent wasn’t in bed with me anymore. I used my hand to push Mickey’s tail out of my face so I could check the clock on the nightstand. It was barely after nine in the morning. Not particularly late, but late for me. I couldn’t allow myself to get used to this – the long nights of pleasure, the sleeping in, the not needing to answer Preston’s endless calls or prepare myself for the next interview or speech.
Even though certain parts of my life could never go back to the way they’d been, I still had a life to get back to. It had just become a hell of a lot more complicated in the past twenty-four hours.
I let my fingers slide through Mickey’s fur for a moment as I thought about the young man who’d likely named the cat and his sister. I still hadn’t seen any pictures of David, but I was more than curious now to know what kind of man had held Vincent’s heart for so long. Of course, part of me didn’t really want to know, because I’d never be able to compete with what they’d had.
And the fact that I was even thinking about it that way – like I was competing for something that belonged to a dead man – was too fucked up to consider for too long.
I carefully sat up, forcing the cat to move away. He gave me an irritated look and then jumped off the bed and stalked from the room, his tail high and proud. I glanced around the bedroom, admiring it in the light of day since I’d barely noticed it the night before when I’d stormed into Vincent’s room, not caring about his privacy in the least. I still couldn’t believe the sight that had greeted me in that shower.
I could feel the color rising in my cheeks as I once again saw all the scratch marks I’d left on Vincent’s back…and farther south.
I chuckled to myself as I remembered how Virginia used to always accuse me of being cold in bed.
If she only knew…
Vincent’s room, like the rest of the house, had a certain sterility about it. Mostly because it lacked anything personal. It was done in mainly white and black colors, and there were no pictures on the walls or any of the furnishings. He had a huge bookshelf along one wall that was stocked full of books to the point it almost looked messy. I got up and went to look at some of the titles and then smiled to myself as I realized what they were.
Children’s novels…old ones. The classics.
There were endless copies of books from the Hardy Boys series, Nancy Drew, and The Black Stallion. They were carefully organized in order and most of then looked old and worn, like they’d been read dozens and dozens of times. There was a shelf with some more modern mystery and horror books, but most of the bookcase had the older, children’s collections. I carefully pulled one of the Hardy Boys books out and flipped it open. The inside cover had a short missive scrawled inside of it.
For David.
Always…Vincent.
My heart broke at the short note and when I checked a few more books, I saw the same message. Not in all of the books, but in many of them.
I quickly returned the books as they’d been. What had started off as simple curiosity left me with mixed feelings, and I hurriedly made my way back to my room to get dressed. I could smell the telltale signs of bacon cooking and coffee brewing, so I pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from my bag. I’d really need to do laundry soon, because most of my clothes were either covered in grass stains or the proof of my sexual awakening.
I smiled to myself as I hurried to the bathroom to use the toilet and brush my teeth. I still looked a mess, but in a well-used kind of way, and I had no particular desire to change anything about my mussed-up hair or flushed skin. It wasn’t like Vincent didn’t know what he’d turned me into. God knew he’d had me begging for release often enough in the past few hours as he’d jacked me off while spewing his cum all over my ass. I hadn’t even been functional enough to participate in him cleaning me up with a washcloth.
But the second I stepped into the kitchen, I realized I most definitely should have taken the time to get cleaned up. Because standing at the stove was not the dark-haired, hard man who’d somehow wormed his way beneath my skin in the span of a matter of days.
Nope, I was staring at the now familiar back of my idol.
