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Suddenly, the way she says it, it doesn’t sound so crazy for a woman with a penchant for one-night stands. Paranoia is something I understand. “I see.”
I close the gap between us, grab the back of her neck and pull her into me, kissing her hard on the mouth. She maneuvers out of my grip. “Never ever touch me like you did before. Come at me out of nowhere and you just might get yourself killed.”
When I release her, she takes me by the shoulders and spins me around, until I’m facing away from her, toward the kitchen. Then, starting at my ankles, she runs her hands up my thighs and back down again like I’m being frisked and,oh my God, it’s hot and what the fuck is this?
Her breath is warm on my neck and her hands are everywhere and the next thing I know we’re in the kitchen and I’m pinning her to the floor with my knees. She rolls, and I let her until she’s on top of me, the look on her face somewhere between desire and murder, and in that moment it doesn’t feel like there’s a difference and either might be okay.
She leans forward and I sit up, meeting her halfway. She’s kissing my neck and my mouth andfuck—she’s undoing my belt. With a wry grin, she pulls a condom from her bra and holds it up. From there all bets are off. Her clothing goes, along with half of mine, and we are fucking like animals on my kitchen floor. I flip her onto her back.
She begs me not to stop, so I don’t. We move to the bedroom where we finish, only to start again. As I dip my tongue inside her, she takes a fistful of my sheets in her fist, ripping them from the corner of the bed. When I plunge deeper, she sucks her lip between her teeth, biting until she draws blood, which I taste when I kiss her. The noises she makes when she is pleased are music to my ears. She’s quiet when I’m not quite hitting the mark, but the second I do, she lets out an earth-shattering moan. Ali is a fun instrument to play, the kind you’re forever trying to tune, but oh, when you get it right, what a glorious sound she makes.
Fucking her is no different. It’s equally fun. She digs her fingernails into my back in a manner that is sure to leave marks, while making the sweetest sounds in my ear—raw, intense, incredible noises, evidence of pure pleasure. She grabs my hair and pulls my head forward as I drive into her. When I hit the spot that turns her moans into one long high-pitch orgasm, she shudders and wraps her quaking legs around me like a boa constrictor entangling its prey. After I finish, I stop to look at her. Her eyes are wild, her hair a tangled mess.
Later, she lays facedown, her left hip curled into my side. “Are you afraid of the dark?”
“What?”
“You have all the lights in the house on. Are you scared of the dark?”
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Maybe.”
“I like it.”
I rest one hand on her thigh. “Do you?”
“Yes,” she says. She looks me in the eye. “That way I can see what I’m getting myself into.”
“And what’s that?”
She smiles. “I haven’t decided yet.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Ethan
Her voice wakes me. It’s the sweetest sound you’ve ever heard, that voice. It calls me from the precipice of sleep with a peaceful resonance, with a sense of ease, with the notion that everything is right in the world. “Hey.” I feel her hand on my shoulder. She shakes me gently. “Wake up, sleepy head. Wake up.”
From behind my lids, I see golden light. When my eyes flutter open, the room is bathed in it. I cup my hand over my eyes, shielding them. I am not expecting the light to be this intense. “Ah, good. You are alive.”Abby.
I drop my hand and it hits me the same way it hits me every time I wake. Abby is dead. The palm, resting gently on my shoulder, belongs to the person speaking to me, isn’t my daughter.
“Who’s Abby?” Ali’s voice sounds neutral. Her expression, however, conveys curiosity and if I’m not mistaken, a hint of anger.
“Abby is my daughter.Wasmy daughter.”
It rattles me to admit that my daughter is dead, the same way it rattles me every morning when I wake up and the realization hits all over again. The fact that this happens day in and day out does not soften the blow.
“I was dreaming of her I guess.” It’s been a long time since I’ve heard Abby’s voice in my dreams in a peaceful manner. Most of the time the dream is the same. She screams my name, and when I hear her voice fade there’s nothing. Just silence, and a vacant stare attached to her lifeless body. And my hands covered in her blood.
“Abby,” Ali says, like she’s trying the word out for the first time. “What a beautiful name.”
I push myself up to a seated position and reach for my phone. “It’s nearly eight.”
I never sleep this late. Usually I don’t sleep at all.
Ali’s hair is wrapped in a towel. Not only has she showered, but she’s partially dressed. “How long have you been up?”
“Not long.”
