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“Good.” Bending a bit, he places the drill on the floor and then stands, bringing both hands to my face. The skin is a bit rough, manly, and they feel heavenly as his thumbs rub back and forth across my cheeks. “Has Pickles gone out for the night?” Verbally I can’t respond, too focused on the almost reverent touch, but I do nod. My mind can’t be playing tricks on me. This is real. “Then I want you to head inside and lock the door for me. I want to hear the mechanism engage before I leave. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Neither of us move after, our stares unwavering. “God, you’re beautiful.” Anything I could’ve said after dies on my tongue because his next action stuns me, completely and utterly leaves me breathless while those lips I’ve been looking at, memorizing the way they enunciate each word, press against my forehead. Their plumpness lingers there, but it’s his deep inhale that sends a shiver down my spine. Theodore Astor is taking my scent into his lungs, his mouth is kissing me, and right before I have to grip onto his shirt for support, the smug man pulls back and grins down at me. “Good night, Gabriella.”
“Good night.”
“Please head inside, sweetheart. I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“Okay.” And true to his word, he doesn’t leave my front porch until I’m locked in and everything works, leaving behind a different mess altogether. I’m a bit shaky as I turn off the lights and walk up the stairs toward my room.
I don’t acknowledge Mr. Pickles, who chooses to sleep in my studio.
I don’t bother slipping into a pair of pajamas after stripping down to just my panties.
I don’t bother taking either of my sleep medications.
All I do know is the feel of his lips followed me the entire time until sleep claimed me.
11
Gabriella
Warm fingertips glide up my thighs and hips, pausing just long enough to dig their nails in deeper, earning a hiss from me. I’m sensitive—I’m desperate—while the man behind me continues his torture.
His bare chest is against my naked back. My chest is on display to the open air inside a room that today promises pleasure, not pain or fear.
The walls still drip in red.
The furniture is still black and gothic.
The air is sweet, yet death lingers at its door.
And yet, I’m home. So at peace as I throw my head back and moan my approval, my hips gyrating against a strong torso with nothing covering his manhood or my slick little holes.
I’m ready for him. Need him in a way that’s borderline psychotic, but I’m made to wait as lips trail up my neck, pausing over my veins which throb in time with the pulsing of my clit.
“Always, my pretty girl.” Another pass, another open-mouthed kiss, yet this time his right hand rakes down the center of my chest, leaving a fiery trail behind that makes me shiver. My skin feels flushed and my bottom lip is caught between my teeth, and right as I decide to turn my head—to see my lover—his teeth nip me. “Don’t, Gabriella. Do that again, and I stop.”
“I need it.”
“Soon, but not yet.” The room is cold and my nipples tighten further, the little peaks craving the attention they don’t get. This is the third pass of his fingers just over my hips, almost featherlike—
“Oh God,” I cry out, my entire body coiling as his large hand cups my core, thick fingers parting my lips. They slide from my entrance to my sensitive nub, creating the most delicious friction. “Please.”
“Please what?” It’s a deep rumble up his chest, the vibration traveling through me. “Tell me.”
“I need you.” My confession is met with a hum before a fingertip slips inside, my entrance clenching—trying to pull it in deeper, but I’m being denied time and time again, and frustration sets in. “Or maybe I don’t. Maybe all I need is...oh fuck!”
Another finger enters me, and his pace isn’t gentle like a second ago. Now, he slams in and out in a punishing pace, the palm of his hand smacking my clit with each stroke.
My thighs tremble, walls pulsing as he hits a spot inside I’ve heard about but never experienced.
Something unintelligible leaves me—a moan or grunt, I don’t know—because every cell in my body is coiling tight. Tighter, almost violently, and then nothing, not a damn thing as he pulls them out just when my orgasm was prickling near.
“You were saying?” the man snarls while placing those wet fingers, my scent, around my throat. I try to turn my head, to see him, but they tighten a bit and I feel it everywhere. My skin tingles, goose bumps dancing along my sweat-slick flesh as I’m denied once again.
“I—”
