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Spreading his knees wide, Cyrus secures his cane in his armpit, then sticks a hand down the front of his pants, completely unconcerned that I’m right fucking here staring at him.
“So, you did see her. Was she in bed? What was she wearing? A nightie? Fucking sweatpants and a hoodie again?” He snorts.
What the fuck?
“I’m not sure.”
“Get sure.” His voice scrapes my ears as he pulls on his cock, his fist inside his pants pressing against the zipper from underneath, pushing it to its limits.
“She was buried under a heavy comforter. I couldn’t even see her body.”
“Her body? Was she naked?” He quirks his head, murmuring, “Fascinating,” low enough I have to read his dampened lips.
“No,” I say too quickly, my own body feeling stiff and underused, like I need to hit something. “She was covered up. All I could make out was a mound in the middle of the mattress.”
“Was the mound moving? Was she riding her hand? Tell me what she looked like. What she sounded like. What shefeltlike.”
He shuts his eyes, giving me the opportunity to picture it myself—finding Lenox alone in bed again, this time awake and riding her hand. White-blonde hair fanned out around her as she fucks herself furiously, panting, moaning. Her tongue wetting her bottom lip as she finds me at the doorway, just like tonight when our eyes first met in four Lost.
My own cock aches for release, so I stroke myself through my pants before I even realize what I’m doing.
Keeping my steps slow, I approach her, taking in her sweat-slicked body glowing blue from the fish tank. Then I just. Fucking. Watch. Only after she makes herself come, both her pussy and my cock leaking, do I drag her ass to the end of the mattress and spread her thighs as far apart as they go. Teasing her quivering slit with my cock’s head, I drag the fat tip through her wetness, coating myself enough to slip inside without any added pressure. She tries to squirm, her eyes closing on a moan, but I seize her hips with a threatening growl, keeping her full gaze on me instead as I pull out, then slam back into her until my thighs hit her ass cheeks with a clap. I pump in and out of her just like that, driving her crazy, so crazy her long fake nails shred everywhere she can reach—my forearms taut from holding her in place, my shuddering abs trying to keep from blowing too soon, the back of my neck when I bend to snatch her lips to taste the absolute fuck out of her.
Cyrus’s stuttered breath brings me back.
Ripping my hand away from my cock, I shake my head. What the fuck am I doing? What the fuck is Cyrus doing?
Is this the effect Lenox has on people?
It’s no wonder she did well here. Holy fuck, I’m about to explode in my pants from a fucking fantasy. With another man in the room. A man who’s admitted to wanting to kill me.
Concentrate, motherfucker.
“I didn’t touch her.”
“But you wanted to,” Cyrus states confidently.
He’s the kind of fox Lenox was referring to, the kind okay with molesting women in their sleep. But like I told her, I’m not that kind of fox.
Seeing Lenox in her bed, I did want to touch her, but nothing like Cyrus is thinking. I wanted to preserve her. Innocence is hard to come by anymore, and it’s even harder to keep intact. I wanted to keep her exactly how she appeared in that moment—soft. Not because I get off on it but because I don’t. My mom is soft. My sisters are soft. I did for Lenox what I would’ve done for them. I wish my dad had been exposed for what he was doing behind our family’s back long before it got to this point.
I didn’t know Lenox was already past this point, has been past this point for years, and is now trying to come out the other side.
“I didn’t see her. I didn’t hear her. I didn’t touch her,” I say, willing my blood to return to the rest of my body before Cyrus opens his eyes and sees the evidence of my lies for himself.
It was only when Lenox showed me her rough edges that I really wanted her. I wasn’t turned on by her fighting me, I was turned on by the fact that she had fight, period.
“She was sleeping soundly until I stomped on her husband’s arm.”
The movements in Cyrus’s pants grow fast, erratic,loud.
“What did that sound like?”
“His arm breaking?”
“Yes,” he hisses like a goddamn snake. “Describe breaking his arm to me. How did it feel to know he wouldn’t be able to touch her with it?”
Touch her with it? Does he mean just sexually? Or physically, too?
