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Even knowing all that, I made my way into the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom and caught myself still smiling in the mirror over one of the sinks of the double vanity. For a farmhouse that had probably been sitting in this exact spot since the beginning of time, everything inside it was beautifully updated. Half the space was taken up by a giant shower stall that was tiled from floor to ceiling, with two shower heads on either side of a rainfall head that took up all the space between them. An entire wall of glass enclosed it with a single door in the middle. As if this massive shower wasn’t enough, there was a giant claw foot tub that sat just beside it.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine the kinds of things Jersey would do to me in this shower if we made it back to this house together. Really, it was all I could think about while I stood under the rainfall. It only took a few seconds before my fingers were moving down my body with those thoughts. His breath would catch at the feeling of how wet I was even without the addition of the water, like it did every other time, like he couldn’t believe I wanted him. How the man didn’t seem to realize that he was a walking orgasm was baffling.
His hand would stay there, like mine was now, barely touching my clit until I could feel his heart beating out of control against my back while his other arm wrapped around my breasts to hold me there. His middle finger would start moving slowly, just enough to make me want to hurt him and enough to make me start to squirm against him to try to force the friction that my body desperately wanted. I’d call him an asshole for teasing me, tell him to just fuck me already, and he’d immediately smack my clit. He’d let go of me just to pull my hair until I was looking back at him over my shoulder.
If I hear any words that aren’t Jersey or please come from that mouth, I’ll fuck it until you black out this time, Fancy Face.
And I wouldn’t be able to breathe. His words had that power when his voice sounded strangled and in pain because he wanted me as badly as I wanted him, but he got more enjoyment out of making me fight for it than he did out of just giving me what I wanted. He liked to torment me just as much as he liked to please me. That power to just rip all the air out of my lungs and all coherent thoughts from my brain seemed to come effortlessly to him. I wouldn’t be able to taunt him once his hand started moving faster, once his fingers moved inside. I leaned forward until my nipples hardened against the cold glass, because his other hand would release my hair to move between my shoulder blades and push me forward this way.
“Please, J.”
They were the only words that would be left available for me to use the closer that I got, the only ones in the entire fucking English language that I could remember. As soon as he heard them, his pace would change. He’d add his other hand so one could focus entirely on my clit while the fingers of his other kept their rhythm in and out until my legs started shaking.
Break for me. And shatter me with you.
And I would.
I did.
Just at my own fingertips.
My own useless fingertips that didn’t make stars explode in front of my eyes, that didn’t reach deep enough, that didn’t keep going until I’d come so many times I nearly blacked out and couldn’t hold my own body upright anymore even after I’d begged him to stop.
But Jersey would do it that way. Against the glass, against the wall, right on the tile floor. Anywhere and everywhere that he wanted.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
jersey
I turned the tracker on and just stared at the little red light while it blinked back at me for a few minutes, waiting for someone to break down the whole damn door and beat me until I wasn’t breathing anymore because it had been a part of the game; a part that I’d failed. When that didn’t happen, I felt like I might just dry heave myself to death at the thought of Memphis trying to come rescue me now that the device was transmitting. Turning it off wouldn’t do any good now either. She’d still know that it had been turned on.
And now I had to figure out what I was supposed to do with the fucking thing to keep Bryson from finding it. He knew it had been taken from me when they first picked me up. Someone going through the effort of returning it to me would put that person in immense danger right alongside me if Bryson found out about it. Then they’d be in here relentlessly, searching for anything and everything that was being snuck in for me. They didn’t come in and scour the room regularly as it was, and I sure as shit didn’t want them to start. Shoving it up my ass would only work for so long. Sticking it in my ear risked the possibility of it being knocked back out with the next punch. I couldn’t attach it to any of my clothing and trust that it would stay hidden. I swallowed it without giving myself much time to rethink it. That’d work longer than any other option at this point.
I’d managed to scoot my way around the entire perimeter of that room. When I didn’t find any extra gifts left for me, I had to remind myself that I was a fucking prisoner and being tortured. I didn’t get to be disappointed that the tiny comfort of sleeping for a few hours because of a secret pain pill had been withheld from me. Something as small as that wasn’t going to wreck me.
The outrageous shit that people clung to when everything else had been taken from them was fucking depressing.
* * *
When Bryson blew through the door the next time ahead of his team of merry miscreants and their gear, he did it with the fury of a pissed off tornado. I didn’t generally give in to feeling fear, but I was suddenly under the impression that he very much wanted to kill me on this particular visit. Dying would’ve been a pleasant release from the rest of what I’d been enduring, but it still wasn’t something to which I was looking forward. I waited quietly while they set up our usual table, but I paid significantly more attention when the camerawoman carried in a laptop this time instead of the camera.
I watched them set it up on the table and place both chairs on the same side with the screen facing the chairs. The same two assholes from every other day came to drag me off the ground and drop me into one chair. I was suddenly faced with a rather horrifying image of myself in the corner of the screen. They’d set up a webcam for this. I didn’t look much like me anymore. Even to me. I wasn’t sure how many days we’d spent doing this. I didn’t have a way to track time and I’d already lost count of how many times Bryson had been in this room, but I very much looked like a homeless person who’d been hit by a fucking car. The thought of my girls having to see me this way had me instantly hoping that today would be the day that Bryson just killed me, so they didn’t have to see this anymore.
I hadn’t even noticed that Bryson had taken the chair right beside me.
“Not so pretty anymore, are you?” He asked and laughed. “Can’t imagine any gorgeous woman would want much to do with this version of you. Hope you had your fill already.”
“Your infatuation with my love life is concerning.”
“They don’t even look anything like each other,” he said.
“What?”
“Your wife and Trista.”
There wasn’t enough oxygen in the world.
“Your wife was stunning. That perfectly thin, little frame. Tall. Blonde. She had it all. That’s what a woman is supposed to look like.”
