Moth to a Flame

19. CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Landon

“Are you sure you have everything you need?” Rosemary asks Regan. This has to be the thirteenth if not the millionth time that the question has been brought up over the last week and a half.

Since they closed a few minutes ago, it’s just three of us here. Us and Mojo.

I’m not annoyed by it. Neither is Regan.

Mainly because the two of us will be heading home soon. It’s either that, or I’ll lose my fucking mind, which is different than being annoyed.

I want her. Plain and simple.

How could I not? Just look at her.

My gorgeous future wife.

It’s impossible to stop admiring her in the form-fitting black dress she wears over her leggings, with the black cardigan I got her.

The urge to fuck her and feed her and love her is ever-strong. A relentless force that has grown and become another side of my personality.

“Yes. Please, don’t worry,” Regan tells her sister with a soft smile on her face.

She’s calm. Sated. Happy.

Owned, too. But that doesn’t show on the outside. Her new tattoos and chastity belt are for me and me alone.

She accepts it, me , wholeheartedly. She’s not scared or turned off by my possessiveness. Every wonderful piece of her is enamored with every psychotic piece of me.

But those needs have to be bottled up while we’re here. Other than placing my hand on the back of her neck and reveling in the feel of her thick locks, I’m quiet.

I’ll be a prick to rush either of the women. Rosemary is struggling without her sister. I get it, I truly do. I’d be just as torn if Regan would’ve moved away from me. Which would never happen. Ever.

In her defense, she’s taking it far better than I ever could. She hasn’t once asked Regan to come back to the apartment.

She masks missing her sister by asking her over and over if she has everything she needs. The second question always follows, as it will today in three…two…

“Your clothes and books.” Sadness creeps into Rosemary’s brown eyes that match her sweater. “You haven’t packed those yet. Let’s do it today.”

“Landon got me new ones, remember?” Regan breaks out of my hold, folding her sister into her arms. “You should move in next to us. We’ll be neighbors again.”

Woof!

“See?” Regan lets out a chuckle and pulls away. “Even Mojo says you should come.”

She’s been so carefree ever since I tattooed her and let her ink me. The nightmares aren’t as bad. Her recovery time once she wakes up has shortened significantly.

Hell, she even leaves Jigsaw around the house or the drawer of her bedside table. That’s how safe she feels around me.

And it’s only been three days.

I don’t and won’t ever take her trust lightly.

I’ve been doing everything in my power to keep the smile on her face and the parole hearing out of our conversations.

Behind the scenes, I stay alert. Prepared. I have a new duffel filled with a serrated knife and a baseball bat with spikes on it.

Every night before I go to bed, I pray to the universe for Lester’s early release.

May he be an exemplary prisoner with an immense sense of repentance, in the name of the universe and any god who’s willing to listen, amen.

“I’m holding down the fort. For Grandma and Grandpa.” Rosemary sniffles, tearing me from my thoughts.

I never had the chance to meet my sister. Rosemary is the closest thing I have to one, and my rotten heart aches uncomfortably whenever we reach this part of the conversation.

Besides being overprotective, the woman is funny. When there are no customers in the store, the three of us talk about books and she and Regan share their childhood memories with me.

In my house, it was always fire and passion. Fights and accusations and too-loud makeup sex. In Regan’s, other than the tragic night in the park, their lives were creepy and loving, and full of laughter.

I make a mental note to draw more information out of Regan on the ride home. I have to learn everything about her. Everything.

“The invitation doesn’t have an expiration date,” I add, wrapping an arm around Regan’s waist and pressing her to me. “Just so you know.”

Thankfully, I’m not in one of my restrictive suits today. Through my sweater, I can feel her body melding into mine.

Why would I need a suit when I don’t visit my office?

I haven’t been there in over a week. I’m perfectly capable of managing my business from my corner in Everglow Repairs or from home.

For the time being—or for all eternity—I need to take care of Regan.

Having her wander around the house is the most rope I’m willing to give her.

“Oh, the two of you are so wonderful together. Both of you in black.” A tear slips out of Rosemary’s eye. “Have I mentioned how much I love it when you color coordinate? You make a beautiful couple.”

Regan insisted. I never tell her no. Fuck, I don’t even roll my eyes at how corny it is.

I’m a thirty-five-year-old man. I can handle corniness.

A little.

Well, fine. As much as Regan would like. Anything to make her happy.

Another thing that’d make her happy? My cock shoved up her pussy while I order her to keep her eyes on my new tattoo.

“We’ll get going.” Guess I am being a prick, after all. I nudge Regan into her sister’s arms for one last hug. Then we’re out.

The first thirty minutes of the ride home are spent without either of us saying a word. While I navigate through the city’s traffic and into the interstate in my Porsche, I let Regan unpack from the long day.

She chooses songs like Hippie Sabotage’s “Devil Eyes,” which plays in the background right now, closes her eyes, and leans back on the headrest.

But, just like every other day, I get restless after enough time has passed.

“You owe me, little one.” My fingers lace into hers, and I pull our joined hands over the console, stealing a glance at her.

“Owe you?” She flutters her eyes open, and that flash of brown sets my blood on fire. “For what?”

A flash is all I can afford at the moment, unless I want to crash into the SUV in front of us.

“You said I was good today.” Her voice is adorable after her half-hour rest. “I got on my knees for you in the repair room when you ordered me to. I mean, I had to lock up when Rosemary went for a drop-off. But I was fast.”

“Not that,” I growl, remembering her lips wrapped around my cock. The tears in her eyes when I fucked her face hard…Damn it. “For sparing your customer’s life.”

“Huh?”

I have to see her confusion. The scrunched nose and her bottom lip pouting. So I keep my answer to myself and sneak another look at her after I accelerate and pass by two cars.

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“No…” She pauses, then, “Oh. Oh. You did glower at Joyce. What did she do?”

“She was flirting with you.” What started as playful, turns out to be…not so much. I’m jealous of everything and everyone.

“Was not. Joyce isn’t into me.” Regan’s lighthearted laugh and her thumb rubbing my palm are a balm to my soul. “We’re about the same age. She’s being nice . She’s always been nice.”

“Too nice.” I tighten my grip on her hand. “Too nice to my woman.”

With my parents, this would’ve been the point of the conversation where my dad would get defensive. He wouldn’t mean to, but he’d end up fueling my mom’s delusions anyway. By shouting back at her, telling her she’s making shit up.

She was. He loved her and only her. He took it very personally when she called him a liar.

Regan isn’t my father. She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met.

“Okay, caveman.” I feel her heat as she leans into me, groan when she presses a kiss to my cheek. “Tomorrow, I’ll put up a new sign on the storefront. Nice customers will be refused service . I’m not sure if Rosemary would agree, though I bet that with little convincing, she might.”

“Brat.” I haul her hand to my mouth and bite on her knuckles. She yelps, then laughs, and just like that, I’m not upset. Not even jealous. “You scare me. How easily you disarm me, little lamb. It’s concerning.”

“It’s not my fault that you fell in love with me,” she sasses.

“Yes, it is. You’ve been such a bad girl, tempting me. Apparently, no one’s ever disciplined you. Good thing I’m here to do that.”

“Oh, please, Daddy.” That fake pleading voice. She knows how fucking hard I get from it. “Please, don’t punish me. I promise I’ll be good.”

I’m not just hard. I’m throbbing. Any minute now, I’ll put her into my lap and make her ride me on the highway.

To save us both from dying in a car crash, I call for images that I’m sure would kill the mood. Like the family photos she showed me on her phone.

And there goes my boner. Keeping the momentum, I say, “Your parents.”

“Hold up. No. No, no, no.” In my periphery, I see her hands crossing in a time-out sign. “He’s my father. When I’m in the mood, you’re my Daddy. These two don’t mix. Please, I don’t want to imagine him when we’re together.”

I hardly ever laugh. With her, I do. Even if it’s a short one.

“We’re not going to fuck. We’re going to avoid getting into a car accident while you tell me more about yourself.”

“Okay.” She clears her throat, leaning back into her seat. “Ask away.”

“Since when did he start telling you scary stories?”

“According to Mom, since they found out she was pregnant. Same as he did with Rosemary.” When I don’t comment, silently telling her to keep going, she sighs, as if that pleases her. “My first memory of him was from when I was three and she was five. We had sleepovers in my room or hers, and we’d fall asleep to stories about monsters and ghosts.”

I realize we’ve been quiet for too long. Turning my gaze to her, I find her worrying her bottom lip, her eyes fixed on the glove compartment in front of her.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.” A tortured groan slips past her lips. “I can’t believe I’m being so insensitive. You asked about Dad’s scary stories, and here I am, gloating about Rosemary and how fun it’d been to grow up with my sister. I didn’t even stop to consider if you’re up to talking about it now. Fuck, I feel horrible.”

“Don’t.”

Every good memory of hers is a good memory of mine.

“You don’t have to say that.”

“No, I don’t.” I get off the highway, following the signs leading to our home. “I’m always up to anything when it comes to you. I’ll always be happy that you had a great childhood. Great life. It’s not like it was at my expense. Even if it were. Had I been given the choice between the two, I’d let you have a sister. It’s a no-brainer. I’ll always want what’s best for you. Nothing to feel guilty about.”

The paths are getting narrower. Soon, if I roll down the window, I’ll be able to smell the ocean.

“You’re too selfless, Landon.” Concern taints her voice.

“I care for you. And I’m interested in the story you’re withholding from me. Talk.” She’s hesitant, and I won’t have it. “We’re almost out of time. Almost home. When we get there, I’m bending you over the first hard surface we stumble onto. I’ll fuck five orgasms out of you. Six if you’re good. If you talk to me.”

“The chastity belt.” That little tease is lifting the skirt of her dress. Pulls down the waistband of her leggings to flash me both her gun and her pussy. “I don’t know if I want it off today.”

The glint of metal and the scent of her arousal. Her thick thighs and soft skin.

Fuck. Me.

“You say that like you have a choice.” I push her dress down or I’ll lose it.

“Fine, fine,” she huffs and laughs. Who would’ve thought that the girl who couldn’t touch herself would become this tempting? Me. I did. “The first scary story I remember was of this monster we had under the bed. Dad convinced Rosemary and me that it was real.”

“He did?” Yes, I grew up in a fucked-up home and saw a lot of shit.

This is something else.

“Yeah. He described it in great detail. It was green with purple horns and dark blue, long, curved fingernails.” Her voice turns into the one you use to tell scary stories around the campfire. “Dad said it had wide, red eyes that could take pictures and send them directly to Satan when it was in the mood to punish anyone.”

“All that when you were three?”

“That’s the first memory of his stories, yeah.”

“Were you ever scared?” I give her a side glance, smirking. Of course she wasn’t.

“Never. We had such a vivid image of it in our heads that when we peeked under the bed and it wasn’t there, we were actually disappointed.”

“Huh.” It’s insane how much deeper and deeper I fall for her.

“What about you? Tell me about your family.”

“They’re boring.” And fucking awful.

“Landon, please.” She covers my palm with her other hand. “Hearing about your past won’t make me change my decision to be with you. Same as nothing can change yours. We’re together forever.”

“Some things, some people, are a waste of breath. Hold on, love. I see something.”

We’re nearing the entrance to my house.

The wrought iron gates come into view. A shadow of a person standing by his car is backlit by the lights in my driveway.

My senses are on high alert, protectiveness in overdrive, muscles straining. Adrenaline shoots through my body.

I reach for the Smith & Wesson I keep in the glove compartment. Regan should feel safe without her pistol on her all the time. She can too, because I’m always prepared.

“Where are you going?”

“Shoot him first, ask questions later.” I grip her chin, making sure she hears me. “You cannot leave this car. Understood?”

Any remnant of humor is lost from her face. She’s powerful and somber and a fucking queen.

“I understand.”

“Good girl.” I’m out of the car, hand on the trigger. “Whoever you are, you just signed your own death sentence.”

“Nice to see you too, motherfucker.”