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I’m exhaustedby the time I get home that evening, and I'm so thankful that it’s Friday. However, my self-pity reaches new heights when I remember that I’m alone in the house tonight. Well, technically, not alone. Hawk and Wilder are staying at the frat house tonight, and Kai is around here somewhere—probably sequestered in his room. He has been even more distant this week. Living here seems as though it’s become an obligation to him.Ihave become an obligation. The only time he’s here is when he absolutely has to be—i.e. when Hawk isn’t around.
I fucking hate it!
Even when he is here, he’s more closed-off and resigned than before. I don’t know what’s happened, but I’m worried. And pissed off. And just so sick and tired of all this bullshit. I feel like I’m fighting fires on all fronts—Mel, Wilder, and now Kai. The apocalypse must be coming any day now if Hawk is the only onenotpissing me off on a daily basis.
The only way things could be worse is if Wilder were the only sane one left.God, I hope we never see that day, because then we truly are fucked.
Grabbing leftovers from the fridge, I heat them up in the microwave and pour myself a large glass of wine before sitting down at the island with my sad little meal for one.
The fact that I’m even acknowledging how pathetic it is that I’m eating alone shows how much I’ve changed since arriving here. Dinner-for-one used to be my go-to; now, it just feels lonely. The house is eerily quiet, and I hate not having someone to talk through my day with. I’ve become so used to Kai and then Hawk asking about my day as soon as I walk through the door and filling me in on theirs.
I want to know what happened at Nocturnal Enterprises today. I want to hear about Hawk’s expansion plans and try to get Kai to trip up and divulge which celebrities they’ve worked for—he’s never fallen for my tactics, however.
I miss the camaraderie. The laughter. The easy flow of conversation.
I missthem.
Kai hasn’t appeared by the time I’ve finished eating, so it would seem he’s not planning on showing his face tonight. The thought only sours my mood further.
In full-on pity party mode, I down the rest of my glass of wine before filling it to an indecently high level, and, after changing into my new kitty cat pajamas, I take my party for-one down to the cinema room. It’s the only room I can properly relax in without worrying about Mel peering in at me through the window.
After getting settled in, I spend the rest of the night watching documentaries about psychopaths because, if there’s one thing I hate more than anything, it’s not feeling like I’m in control. Which is precisely how Mel has me feeling. I’m a spinning top, spiraling out of control and completely at her mercy.
The only way for me to gain that control is to understand her. To learn what makes her tick, her weaknesses, and her vulnerabilities. Mel knows everything there is to know about me, but I know absolutely nothing about her.
And I think it’s past time I changed that.
I soak up as much information as my brain can handle, and despite the gruesome stories, my eyes grow heavy until I can no longer keep them open. I fall asleep listening to a criminal explain to the television camera crew how he was innocent and that it was Daemon, his alternate personality, who actually violently murdered seven men.
* * *
It’sthe building intensity in my core, along with the weight on top of me, that has my body jolting awake. My eyes snap open, yet with only the weak glow of the projector for light, all I can make out is the outline of someone hovering above me.
On instinct, I go to scream, but a large hand clamps over my mouth.
“Now, now, Angel,” Wilder purrs. “You don’t wanna wake the whole house before I make you come, do you?”
The fire he's stoking in my core grows stronger as his words penetrate, and I realize he's already got two fingers inside me, pumping lazily while he coaxes me into consciousness.
He keeps his hand over my mouth as he steadily picks up the pace, and although I can’t make out his eyes, I can feel them raking over my face.
"Wilder," I moan when he takes his hand away. I’m not sure if it’s a question or a plea.
“Come for me, Angel. I need to watch while you come for me.”
There’s something in his voice. It’s more than just an order. His tone is almost… imploring. As though he’s begging me to do what he wants. As if heneedsto watch while I fall apart beneath his touch.
Unable to deny him, my body obeys like it was born to comply with his every whim. My release sneaks up on me, not dissimilar to the way Wilder snuck in here without my knowing. My eyes drift closed as it takes possession of me, but the second they do, a hand fists the back of my head. I snap my eyes open.
“Look at me when you come,” Wilder growls.
He leans in, his breath fanning my lips, as the light reflects in the gray chips in his otherwise umber eyes. Even as my lips part in a low moan, I want him to eliminate the scant space between us and press his mouth to mine.
He doesn’t, and I cry my release into the room while Wilder continues to pump into me, dragging it out until I’m shaking.
When I can’t handle any more stimulation, I close my legs, begging him to stop. A firm hand wrenches them apart as a vicious snarl leaves Wilder’s lips. “No! Another.”
“I can’t,” I implore.
