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“You better cover that pussy up if you don’t want me to fuck your brains out tonight, Wynn.”
Fear flickers across her eyes but she stiffens her hold on the hem of her shirt. I’m not sure what she’s doing. I already warned her, and if she wants to play games, then I will happily amuse her.
I roll to the edge of my bed and set my feet on the floor, my dick making itself known. Her eyes lower to it and the hunger that consumes my every thought crosses her gaze too.
She pulls the shirt down and narrows her eyes at me cruelly. “You looked on purpose, so I wanted you to see what youwon’tbe having.” Her nipples are hard and the nightshirt does nothing to hide them.
“You sure about that?” I murmur in a low, dangerous tone.
She stares at me like she doesn’t know what to say, looking down at my swollen dick more than once before she rolls her eyes and crawls into her bed. “How old are you anyway?” she quips, facing her closet doors instead of me.
I lie back down and smirk. It’s actually sort of fun having her here. “I’m twenty-nine, and you?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Tragic,” I whisper, not intending for it to come out as a snipe, but it does.
She doesn’t respond. I turn my lamp off after a few minutes of silence. It’s already past midnight and I’m fucking exhausted. The wound on my ribs that I had treated at the hospital is still sore, but the dull throb of it doesn’t really bother me now. My eyes start to shut when I hear her voice.
“Liam?”
“Yeah?”
“If I’m tragic, what does that make you?”
I think about that for a second.
“Cruel.”
She huffs, not in an annoyed way, but more like a breath of relief, the kind that you know someone is smiling after.
We don’t speak again. I fall asleep watching her body softly move with each breath she takes.
8
Wynn
My sleep isas restless as my waking moments are. I’m so fucking tired… Even my dreams bring me no peace, no ease from my long, dreary days. If anything, they make things worse. Sometimes I dream so vividly that I’m more exhausted when I wake up than I was when I fell asleep.
Tonight is one of those nights.
The shitty part is that the dreams aren’t even exciting. I’ll be sitting at a desk working, or grocery shopping, sometimes even just going for a walk. All I know is that I am so, so tired.
The ceiling of my room is covered with ugly coats of beige paint, well past due a renovation. I wonder if that’s where the mildewy smell is coming from.
Old painted ceilings are all that keeps me sane in the wee hours of the night. How depressing.
I shift to my side and pull the covers up to my mouth as I watch Liam take steady breaths. His dark lashes kiss his cheeks in the dim light. At least he doesn’t seem to be in pain anymore. He woke me a few hours ago with low whimpers from what I’m assuming were nightmares.
My gaze shifts to the window. The rain stopped thirty minutes ago, but the moisture is still heavy in the air. I like that about rainy days. The weight makes me feel like it’s okay to be down. No one judges you if you’re sad on a rainy day.
Hushed little chirps draw my attention to Liam’s nightstand. His phone lights up and he stirs awake, tapping on the screen to silence the alert. I close my eyes enough so if he looks over at me, he’ll think I’m sleeping.
Liam quietly gets up, pulls a hoodie over his head, and slips on his sneakers. I lift my head slowly as he steps out of the room and shuts the door.
Where the fuck is he going at four a.m.?
I walk toward the door and peek out into the hall. It’s already empty and quiet—Liam’s nowhere in sight. My brows knit together. Maybe he’s just going to the bathroom or something.
