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“Got it. Okay here’s what you need to do. You’ll have to finger yourself. There might be this soft kind of elastic texture to the side. Says it’s moon-shaped if you still have it.”
“Does it really say that?” Angelica sounds skeptical. So am I.
“I guess that’s right, just based on this picture. You may not have a hymen at all. Most women don’t, but maybe he felt it or something and was afraid to push more and hurt you. That’s all I can think of.” Carina snorts. “I really can’t imagine the Butcher not wanting to hurt someone.”
“What if it’s not about my virginity? What if he realizes if he takes it too far he’s going to be stuck with me and he doesn’t want that?” My insecurities start to come out.
Either way, I’m going to see about taking my own virginity. If Fernando doesn’t want it, I’ll deal with that heartache, but if he’s not going to do it, I am. I’m taking ownership of it.
“He kidnapped you. I think it’s safe to say he wants you,” my sister points out.
“Yeah, because he saw me. But now he knows me, and I might not be all he thought I’d be.”
I’m only a pretty face. That’s what I’ve been told my whole life. Fernando might be realizing that too.
17
BUTCHER
Irearrange her pancakes for the third time, then the fourth. The tower doesn’t look perfectly straight, so I once again nudge the top two to the left a little. Leaning down, I do my best to eye the top to make sure it’s level.
The bacon is crisp, and I have it warming in the oven until she’s done with her phone call. I bite my cheek. The phone call is making me nervous. Hell, everything about Bianca this morning has me on edge.
She’s mad at me. I don’t know why.
I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure it out. With the edge of my spatula, I ease her eggs over just a touch toward the side of the plate. I don’t want the syrup to touch them once I pour it over the pancakes. She wouldn’t like syrupy eggs. I can’t let that happen. She deserves the best.
I stand up straight. “Shit.” I should’ve made her some oatmeal to go on the side, something with spiced apples. She’d love that.
Whirling, I hurry to the pantry and grab a Granny Smith and a container of quick oats. All I have to do is make a simple syrup and cook the apples for a short while in the syrup and some cinnamon with a dash of vanilla at the end. The oats can cook at the same time, and then I can mix it all together.
I eye the stack of pancakes. Maybe I should just start over so everything’s hot and fresh when she comes back.
Reaching for the plate, I stop when I hear the slightest grunt.
It’s been hard for me to keep myself in the kitchen while she’s been in the bedroom talking with Angelica–and likely telling her sister exactly why she’s upset. I want that information almost as badly as I want Bianca, but not quite. And, since I want Bianca more, I minded my business in the kitchen and allowed her privacy to speak with Angelica. But the grunt I just heard–that didn’t sound like something Bianca would share with her sister. It sounded … I can’t think of a word, but my cock certainly likes it, because I’m suddenly hard as a rock.
I drop the oats and the apple on the counter and stride around toward the bedroom. The sound comes again, and my cock kicks at my zipper.
“What the fuck?” I whisper under my breath and stop right as I get to our bedroom door.
It’s shut. For privacy. I shouldn’t go barging in there when Bianca clearly wanted to keep her discussion between her and her sister.
Even so, I put my palm on the handle.
“God, what the hell is even in there?” Bianca mumbles. “This should be easy. Maybe I should add another finger? Go deeper?”
My eyes widen so much that I swear I must resemble a cartoon character.
“Don’t look, Mama Kitty. This is X-rated business.”
My mouth goes dry. I can’t think. Everything in my head is a gray tornado of twisting reason and failing resolve.
I turn the door handle and push it open slowly.
Bianca is on the bed, her legs spread wide, and one of her fingers is deep inside her pussy. She arches, a hiss coming from her mouth as she seems to try to push even farther into her pink cunt. “It’s not there.”
“What’s not there?” I stalk to her.
