11. Freya
11
FREYA
O z’s biceps flex as he kneads the dough into the worktop.
I may not have wanted to go back with River last night, but I feel better after the release. He was right to push me and even after my nightmare, my head feels calmer than it has since my father killed again. I tried to assure him I was fine to work but River insisted on me taking the day off. I’d been annoyed at first but watching Oz in the kitchen has me coming around to the idea.
The sun’s out, falling in rectangles through the window across the tiled floor. Oz is making cheesy garlic bread from scratch for our dinner later. A family dinner. Everything in this kitchen, from the childhood drawings still stuck to the refrigerator to the signs with pithy quotes on the walls, feels like a home. Oz’s home.
I sit on the island soaking him in. The tendons on the back of his hands. The freckles dotting his arms. The sleeves of his white t-shirt that strain against his muscles every time he pushes the heel of his hand down into the dough.
He’s taken his glasses off to bake and a lock of his ginger hair falls over his forehead. He looks so different like this. So relaxed and at peace.
A flash of dark hair breaks my concentration as Jude strolls into the kitchen. He rests his elbows on the worktop and snags a cube of mozzarella from one of the bowls Oz has neatly laid out with all the ingredients. “Are you aware Freya is eye-fucking you, right now?” he asks.
“Jude.” I drop my mouth and throw a cube of cheese at him. It bounces off his shoulder, but he just picks it up and pops it in his mouth.
Oz falters. He stops kneading and looks across at me. Sitting on the counter makes us pretty much eye-level and without his glasses on I get a little lost in the green of his eyes. “Are you?” he asks, his cheeks tinging pink.
I shrug shyly. “Maybe.”
The corner of his lip curls up. “Spread your legs.”
“Oz!” I scold.
He just raises a brow, the blush on his cheeks fading away as his dominant side comes out to play.
Jude throws a cheese cube into the air and catches it in his mouth.
“This is your fault,” I tell him.
He grins at me.
I shake my head but then I check the room, making sure Oz’s parents or Layla aren’t about to appear before spreading my legs.
It’s unseasonably warm today and, as River had ordered me a day of rest, I decided to wear one of the few summer dresses I own. It’s a thin white cotton number that comes to just above mid-thigh but when I spread my legs the hemline becomes downright indecent.
I blush as Oz’s gaze drops to between my legs. The heat in his eyes confirms what I already know. I’m wet.
Oz’s hand leaves the dough and disappears under my dress. He drags the back of his flour dusted knuckles over my panties, pressing the damp material into my core.
My hands spasm, trying to find purchase on the marble surface.
Oz draws back and brings his knuckles to his nose, inhaling like the scent of me is a shot of fine whisky.
I watch him, utterly captivated. Instinct has me wanting to press my thighs together but then Oz says, “Stay like that” and goes back to kneading the bread.
He uses just one hand this time, his eyes set on my core. The muscles in his arm flex and tense with each roll of the dough and I decide kitchen porn could be the next big thing.
The ringing of a phone breaks the moment and Jude curses before taking the call. “Just FYI Riv, your timing is shit.” He sighs down the line at whatever River says then heads to the door. “You two have fun,” he calls back to us.
I bite my lip around my smile and dip my head.
My legs start to close but Oz’s hand curls around my thigh. “Are you getting distracted, Freya.”
I peer up at him. “No.”
“Good.” Oz picks up the olive oil and drizzles it around a ceramic bowl. Still just using one hand he places the smooth ball of dough in the bowl then he takes the oil and pours a pool of it into his left hand. “Because I could keep you like this the entire time I cook.” He moves over to me and stands between my legs. “Spread out for me, waiting, like my own personal dessert.” He takes the edge of my dress between his fingers and draws it up even higher.
“Oz…” I start, very aware we’re doing this in his parents’ kitchen.
“Shush, I’m busy.” He tilts his hand, letting the golden oil in his palm drizzle onto my thigh. The liquid is cool as it trickles over my skin like the lightest feather. Then Oz’s hand heats my leg as he spreads the oil around, strong fingers massaging it in.
A low moan slips out of me as he strokes his hand higher, teasing the crease of my thigh.
Good god, these boys are going to be the death of me. I ease back onto my forearms and tip my head back, giving me an upside-down view of the kitchen door.
Oh my god. I shoot upright. “Layla, hi!” I squeal, desperately tugging at my dress to cover my thighs.
Oz coughs and moves in front of me, giving me some cover while I make myself decent. “What’s up?” he asks his sister as she strolls into the kitchen. “Dinner’s still going to be a few hours yet.”
I wriggle on the counter, pulling my dress over my oil slick thighs.
“I know,” Layla says. “Just gabbing a drink.”
Oz picks up the bowl with the dough as Layla rounds the island and opens the refrigerator.
I lean forward and rest my chin on his shoulder, burying my laughter in his neck when I realize he’s strategically holding the bowl in front of his crotch.
Oz reaches down and pinches my calf but he’s biting back a smile of his own.
Layla comes back out from behind the fridge door with a bottle of orange soda. She grabs a bottle opener from the drawer and flicks off the cap. She takes a sip, eyeing us as she does so. “You two good?”
“Yep,” Oz says.
“Uh huh,” I mumble.
“Okaaay then.” Layla watches us for a moment longer before rolling her eyes and heading to the kitchen table. She pulls out one of the chairs and takes a seat.
We watch her, both of us hoping she’s not planning on staying but then she puts her feet up on the chair next to her and scrolls through her phone.
Laughter bubbles up inside of me and I smother it against Oz’s top. He turns back around to face me. “Shhh,” he whispers through his smile.
“I should uh, go clean up,” I murmur.
Oz looks down at my legs where the olive oil is starting to soak through the dress. He slides his phone out of his back pocket and presses it into my hand. “Take a photo for me before you do.”
“Oz.” My eyes widen, heat rushing to my cheeks even as my core clenches at the thought of taking a dirty picture for him.
Oz just lifts me off the counter and curls my fingers closed around his phone. He turns me to face the door and brings his lips to my ear. “Go. Be a good little slut and do as you’re told.” He taps his hand against my ass and I’m too stunned and turned on to do anything but hurry out of the kitchen.
Upstairs, I twist the lock in the bathroom. My heart beats like a bass drum inside my chest. I’ve always been fairly confident when it comes to sex but thanks to the scars my father decorated my skin with, my body is a different story. I’m not ashamed of my scars. They’re proof that I survived hell but they’re not pretty and taking nude photos is not a place I ever thought I’d get to.
But Oz, he likes to watch and when he looks at me… when he looks at me I feel like the most beautiful woman alive.
I sit down on the bathmat and lean back against the edge of the tub. I run my hand along my left thigh, gathering the oil and then spreading it over my right thigh till the insides of my legs are glistening. I let my legs fall apart into a butterfly pose and open Oz’s phone. Once I was officially made part of the team I was added as facial ID to all of the guys’ phones in case of emergency, so it bypasses the passcode. I click on the camera and put it in selfie mode.
It takes a while to find an angle I’m happy with but eventually I get it. I hold the phone closer and look at the photo I’ve taken. My legs are spread wide, the insides of my thighs glowing, and a wet spot darkens my white panties. Yeah, that’s the one.
I place Oz’s phone on the surface by the sink and use a warm washcloth to clean myself up. I don’t know whether this is what River had in mind when he told me to rest today but it’s done wonders at taking my mind off my nightmares.
I don’t just mean the foreplay either. Spending time here with Oz, in his family home, has given me a glimpse into what life should be like. It’s wholesome and safe and part of me wishes we could just stay here. Forget about serial killers and dead women.
I grew up in that world. It’s dark and painful and it takes half my energy every day to stop it from dragging me back there. Shouldn’t I get to experience the alternative, just for a little while? Don’t I have the right to choose not to remember? To not open myself up to the trauma I’ve hidden even from myself?
River told me to take today to think it over. He went to the station with Eli, leaving Oz and Jude here with me. Neither of them have brought up the topic but I know they’re on River’s side. They think my mother might be the key to catching my father. So they need me to remember. I’m the only link they have.
Except… Oz’s phone sits beside the sink. I hesitate for a moment before I pick it up and open the contacts page.
I was a mess after what happened in Quantico, but River and Oz took care of everything. They got my sister into the best secure psych hospital in the state, and I know Oz has been monitoring her case. He's offered me the chance to speak with her before, but I’ve never taken it. I’m not ready yet.
I draw in a sharp breath when I find who I’m looking for, then I make the call.
“This is Dr. Ambrose,” her voice rings clear down the line.
“Hi. I’m Special Agent Freya Danvers with the FBI. I need to talk to you about one of your patients. Angelica Maxwell.” It never feels right saying her name. It’s both mine and hers. Our father gave us the same name, identical twins raised as one person. But I’m not Angelica anymore. I haven’t been for a long time.
“Agent Danvers, of course. Your colleague told me I might hear from you. Would you like to arrange a visit?”
“Uh, no. I mean I can’t right now but… she’s there? She’s alright?”
“I saw her myself this morning. She’s still not talking but it will take time.”
“Right. Of course.” A breath trembles out of me at her confirmation that my sister is where she’s supposed to be.
She shouldn’t have been able to message me but if she’s locked up, then there’s a limit to how much damage she can do. Still, I open my mouth to ask Dr. Ambrose to search her room. To tell her she’s somehow gotten hold of a phone. But then I think about what Angelica’s message said and the words don’t come out. She asked me if I remembered our mother.
Maybe I don’t need to unlock any memories. Maybe I can just ask my sister.
“Agent Danvers?”
I snap back to the phone call. “Sorry. I have to go. Thank you for your time.” I hang up with a shaky hand. I leave the bathroom and cross the hall to Oz’s room where I left my phone to charge.
I glance over my shoulder, making sure I’m still alone. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should have told River about the messages straight away. If my sister can get a phone inside a secure psych unit, then who knows what else she can do. Or who got the phone to her.
But if she knows something about our mother, this is the best chance I have of getting her to share that information. If they take away the phone, she’ll shut down.
I open up the message thread with the unknown number. So far, I’ve left them unanswered.
Unknown: Do you remember our mother?
Unknown: You must remember her hair at least. Long, blonde. Dad loved her hair.
Before I can change my mind, I type out a response.
Freya: I remember her. Do you?