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Josh
I’m fucking fuming, trying my hardest not to let the anger inside me take over. Emily does not deserve to see the shit show that would happen if I let this rage seep out. It’s burning me up. I can feel my veins heating up and pulsing as the fire tries to engulf me whole.
I need to calm down. She is safe; she is with me. If I let the rage win, if I let her see what happens when this overwhelming anger finds its way to the surface, I have no doubt that it will scare the shit out of her. And that’s the last thing I want to do.
She’s just starting to show moments of her spark, her humour and sass. I don’t want to do anything that will take that away.
I knew the moment I walked into the penthouse that someone had been there. There were shoe prints on the white marble tiles. The maid service has never left so much as a speck of dust in this place.
The tiny cameras disguised as ornaments were the other tell. Most people probably wouldn’t notice an odd ornament on a shelf they barely look at, but I’m not most people. A little OCD? Maybe, but when something’s been moved, or in this case, added, I can always spot it. That, and the fact that they were subpar. I could see the tiny red light blinking from a distance.
I counted three, just in the living room. Taking Emmy into the bedroom, I saw another two sitting on the dresser. The fact that someone is watching us, watching her, pisses me the fuck off.
Looking around the closet I’ve locked us in together, I can’t see any more surprises in here. But I’ll be damned if I’m letting Emily out until those fucking cameras are gone.
I hold my finger up, indicating for Emily to be quiet. I don’t know if those cameras in the bedroom have audio or not.
I’ve sent a message to Sam. If anyone can come and clean those cameras and find out what IP address they’re feeding back to, it’s him. He’s thirty minutes away though, so I guess Emily and I are going to have to get comfortable in this closet, because I’ll be fucked if I’m going to let whatever fucker put those cameras out there get another glimpse of her.
Pulling her to the very back of the closet, I sit on the bench seat that’s positioned against the wall before tugging her down onto my lap. She doesn’t hesitate, straddling me as she wraps her arms around my neck.
Leaning into her ear, I whisper, “Get comfy, babe. We’re going to be staying in here for at least thirty minutes.”
She looks at me, so many questions held in her gaze. “Why?” she mouths.
“I don’t want you to worry. I promise I will never let anything happen to you. I just noticed some things in the apartment that shouldn’t be here—that’s all. Sam’s on his way over to get rid of them.”
“What kind of things, Josh?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“Cameras.”
Emily’s eyebrows draw down as confusion crosses her features. “Why would someone put cameras in your apartment?”
“No idea, but I’m sure as fuck going to find out.” I trail kisses up the side of her neck. “In the meantime, how do you suppose we can kill thirty minutes?” I waggle my eyebrows up and down at her, attempting to put her at ease.
“Mmm, well, you could braid my hair?” She smiles.
“You want me to braid your hair?”
“Well, what are my other options here?”
“I could do that thing you like. You know, the one where I use my tongue to paint one of the classics on your pussy.”
Emily’s hips wiggle slightly, her pussy pressing onto my hardening cock. Just the thought of tasting her is giving me a raging hard-on.
“As much as I like that idea, and believe me I do, I’m not sure I’d be able to stay quiet. Considering we are whispering right now, how would I be able to whisper scream out your name when you make me come?”
She’s got a good point. “Okay, hair braiding it is.” Standing up, I sit her on the floor and walk over to the opposite side of the wardrobe—the one I’ve had fitted out for her. The racks are lined with clothes, shoes and accessories; I had Ella help me out in getting this done while I took Emily to the property in Western Australia this past week.
There’s a dressing table with stacks of bottles of girly shit. I find a brush and a pack of plastic hair bands. When I turn around, Emily is scowling at me. It’s hard not to laugh; she looks so fucking cute.
“What’s wrong?” I whisper once I’m seated behind her. Her shoulders are stiff. She shakes her head no.
“Emmy, what’s wrong?” I ask again.
“I’m fine. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me. What’s wrong?” She’s silent. She doesn’t want to tell me. I decide to wait her silence out and start brushing her hair.
