AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I don’t know.” I set my spoon down in the bowl. “You’re so… different. Malice is like an inferno or something. He’s always burning hot. Ready to explode. You seem like the opposite of that.”
At the mention of Malice, I can’t help thinking about what happened the last time he was here. My body tingles at the memory of him between my legs, kneeling at the foot of my bed as he spread my thighs open and…
My face flushes, a burst of embarrassment rushing through me as a new thought occurs to me.
Does Victor know about that?
I don’t really know how the cameras he had set up worked, but it seems possible that he could have seen everything that happened that night through the camera that was hidden in my room.
I glance up at him, and although his face is impassive, something about the way he looks makes me sure I’m right.
Oh my god. He does know.
25
VICTOR
I watchWillow duck her head, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
In my mind, I can see her like she was a few days ago, when Malice was here. I remember his head between her legs, and the way she writhed and thrashed on the bed, losing herself in the pleasure he was giving her.
I hate that I can remember every single detail of it—and that the thought still makes my cock twitch.
Willow seems to desperately want to move on, and I let her, not wanting to talk about it either. I’d rather pretend it never happened. She eats the rest of her soup in silence, her face still red. When she finishes, she puts the spoon down and finally looks at me again.
“Are you going to leave now?” she asks, and it’s clear she wants me to.
“No.”
She presses her plush lips together in frustration. “Why not? I’m not an exciting person. Unless you want to do more random housekeeping, you’re wasting your time.”
“You’ve been sick all weekend,” I point out. “If you don’t eat well and take care of yourself, you’ll slow down your recovery.”
“I’m already feeling a lot better,” she insists.
“Good. Then the soup is working.”
She stares at me for a bit, as if she’s trying to come up with some argument that will convince me to go. But I know she won’t, because I’ve already decided to spend the rest of the day here, blocking off that time in my head. Maybe she realizes that there’s nothing she can say to change my mind, because she finally gives up and pushes back from the table, padding into the living room.
I can hear her muttering under her breath as I clean up the dishes and cookware, and then the TV comes on. When I finish up and follow her into the small living room, there’s some home improvement show on, and she’s watching the screen intently.
I brush off the couch cushion to make sure there aren’t any tissues or crumbs lurking on the worn fabric, then sit down next to her.
For a while, we watch in silence. The show is terrible, full of people who are trying to live outside their means and making awful design choices along the way. A woman with overdone makeup and an attitude problem starts acting like her kitchen backsplash is the most important thing in the world to her, and I frown, glancing over at Willow.
“Why do you like this so much?” I ask. “It’s not good.”
She hesitates for a second, then shrugs a shoulder.
“I don’t know, I just like seeing people turn their lives around. I like watching them make their home beautiful and create something better for themselves. Like this lady. Her house was half destroyed by a storm, and now they’re coming in and fixing it up for her, exactly how she wants it. Everything was shitty, and now she’s getting a second chance. I just think that’s… nice.”
I narrow my eyes, first at her and then at the screen. The lady she talks about so fondly is currently making the interior designer’s life hell by not being able to choose a tile for the all-important backsplash.
I don’t really get it. The show is crap, and the people are doing everything wrong with their decorating choices. The tile the woman chooses is a terrible color, and it’s going to clash with her counters in the worst way.
But there’s something fascinating about the way Willow watches the show. It makes me stare at the TV more intently, trying to figure out what it is about it that speaks to her so much.
When that episode ends, another one comes on, this one aimed at helping two newlyweds repair the wife’s grandmother’s old house so they can live in it. Willow is just as invested in this new episode, and I find myself glancing over at her often, soaking up her reactions as if they’re pieces of treasure.
