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Chapter eleven
Normally I would have greeted the doorman, leaned a hip against the desk, and snagged a few chocolates from the glass bowl. Not today. The fight with Caspian had my adrenaline pumping and my heart racing—a hurricane set in motion. Everything around me was a blur. The white marbled floor blended into the taupe-colored walls. The chandelier that looked like trails of glass rain droplets hanging in rows from the ceiling was clouded by the trickle of blood that still poured from the cut by my eye.
“Mr. Huntington,” the doorman called out as I rushed past him.
I waved one hand in the air, not bothering to look over my shoulder. “I’ll catch you on my way out, Charlie.”
Today there were two security guards at the elevator entrance. Neither of them was Ralph or Jack.
They both glared at me, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. Fuck them. I pressed the button to summon the elevator.
The steel doors slid open, and one of them, the burly one with dark hair and a beard, held his arm out like one of those bars at a railroad crossing or a parking garage. “No one is allowed in the penthouse.”
The fuck did he just say?
I smirked. “And I suppose you’re going to stop me?” I glanced at his arm. “Withthat?”
He opened his mouth to say words I gave zero fucks about hearing, and I cut him off by grabbing the baton from the holster on his hip and slamming it between his legs. His face paled as his hand dropped to his sac, and he sank to his knees, gasping for air. Yeah. Fuck you. The other guy charged at me, but I made it inside the elevator before he could make it around the first guy and reach me. I flashed him a grin. Fuck you, too.
I figured I had about five minutes before the elevator made its rounds and those two were bursting into the penthouse ready to kick my ass—or call theactualcops. By then Lyric would tell them exactly how welcome I was in her apartment.
The lights on the little circular buttons lit up as I passed each floor. I lifted my shirt over my head and held it against the side of my face, trying to soak up as much of the blood as possible. For a seventeen-year-old girl, Lyric was picky as fuck about keeping her place clean. And I was about to barge in dripping blood all over her floor.
The elevator doors opened directly into the living room, revealing the breathtaking view of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows. The lights were off. She wasn’t curled up under a blanket in the corner of the large leather sectional like usual. The smell of freshly baked cookies didn’t float across the room from the kitchen. There was no music playing on the surround sound.
There was nothing but silence, too much silence.Where the fuck is she?
Maybe she was sleeping. I’d just left her a few hours ago after an intense fuckfest that landed her ass in a sex coma.
Lyric got off on trying to make me jealous. She liked the way I fucked her when I was mad. Not gonna lie. I liked it too. We were fucked up that way. If this shit with Caspian was another one of her games, I’d make sure she remembered whose pussy that was every time she sat down.
Last night at The Chamber she’d let two guys feel her up like they were blind and her body was covered in Braille. She thought that just because I wasn’t there, I wouldn’t find out about it. Fuck that. I always had eyes on her, and that was one secret The Chamber didn’t keep. She wasn’t so cocky when I’d showed up at her penthouse at midnight ready to show her exactly what happened when she forgot who she belonged to. She was lying in bed, completely oblivious that I had walked in. I’d yanked the covers off, fucking dying when I saw her in nothing but the same panties I’d soaked in my cum.
“What are you doing, Linc?” she asked when I leaned down and cupped her pussy through the thin fabric.
“Did you fall and hit your fucking head?”
She rubbed a hand over her eyes before opening them all the way. “No.”
I slid my finger over her slit. “Have a stroke?”
“What? No.” Her voice was scratchy from sleep, and it was sexy as fuck.
“So, there’s no reason why you should suddenly have amnesia.” My fingers slipped under the elastic on her panties, brushing over her bare cunt.
She sucked in a breath. “What are you talking about?”
I smirked, even though she probably couldn’t see me. She knew exactly what the fuck I was talking about. “This…” I rubbed a slow circle over her clit. “… is mine.” Her hips lifted, just the slightest movement, but I knew when her body was begging for me. My fingertip worked down her slit to her greedy little hole, then slid inside. So fucking wet. “This is mine.” My free hand squeezed one of her tits. “Mine.” I leaned down, trailing my tongue along the side of her face, then stopping to nip her earlobe. “Mine.” I whispered against her ear. “It’s all fucking mine.” She sucked in another breath. “Not some assholes you let touch you at The Chamber.” I shoved another finger inside her. “Mine.”
I walked down the hallway and into her bedroom, glanced around, then made my way toward the door to the en-suite bathroom. It was open, and the lights were off.Okay, she’s not in the shower. I pulled my t-shirt from my face and looked around the bedroom. The covers were pulled back, like she’d just gotten out of bed.
“Lyric. Where the fuck are you?”
And then I saw them—little plastic markers folded to look like tents, bright yellow with bold, black numbers. Two on the nightstand, next to a couple of bags of coke, and another on the ground beside her bed, surrounded by more coke.
“That’s my girl.”
Her lips were wrapped around my cock. My fist was in her hair. My hips rocked back and forth as I fucked her perfect mouth. Someone told me that coke makes your dick numb. Numb dicks fucked longer, and I was here to teach a lesson. A long, hard fuck was exactly what I needed.
