88. Chapter 86
Emery
It’s just me in Derek’s bed as I open my eyes, and I’ve been alone long enough that his side of the bed is cold. I know he came to bed last night, not counting that little fuck session in between. I remember his body curling around mine from behind, still a little damp from his shower.
I also remember rolling over in the middle of the night and clinging to his chest like a baby monkey.
If I had been even a tiny bit more awake, I could have tried to make my escape.
Instead, I let the stupid feeling of safety wrap itself around me like a blanket and snuggled in as deeply as I could.
Last night was…I can’t even say eye-opening. I know exactly what Derek does to me and how amazing he can make my body feel. Why the fuck didn’t I use my safe word when he offered it to me? Why did I stay? Why did I let last night happen?
All serious questions.
None of which I have an answer for.
It’s not like I need to gather any more information about them on the sex front.
I know exactly what they can give me and how much I enjoy it.
What I don’t know is what it would be like to be with them in terms of a relationship.
Is the level of gifting and interest, and the need to be with me so often, something that will last? Or is all of that merely love-bombing?
Would I even want that to continue if this went from just a contract to a relationship?
And as much as I hate to admit it, I do have moments of missing them. Occasionally. Very occasionally. Like, when things are quiet in my brain, I kind of wish one of them was there with me.
But my brain is hardly ever quiet, so that rarely happens.
At all, really.
Sighing, I slam my eyes closed on that mental prattling, take several calming breaths and then reopen, focusing on the morning-light-filled room that I attempted to snoop through last night. Not that I was able to get very far, due to the short chain Derek had me on.
The cuff.
I bolt upright, reach for my wrist, and swivel to look at the headboard at the same time.
It’s gone.
Gone from my wrist, gone from the bed.
Just…gone.
There is an odd split second when sadness fills me, but then freedom rushes through my system like I’ve been imprisoned for half my life.
I flop back onto the bed and stare up at the ceiling, tensing when I expect to feel some residual pain from last night, but besides a mild discomfort, there is nothing.
Frowning, I reach between myself and the mattress and probe the skin of my butt cheeks, and it’s not until I find the bite mark that I flinch from a zing of pain.
What the fuck was that last night?
He sneaks in, fucks me like a savage, then leaves? Fucking asshole. That’s something Xavier would do, not Derek. The guy loves his pain, but he wouldn’t put a fresh mark over a very recent mark.
A quiet chime starts up, distracting me. I glance over at the bedside table where the noise is coming from and see my phone, plugged into a charger. Frowning, I roll over and reach for it, unplugging the phone before sitting up.
The pretty noise is apparently an alarm for seven a.m., titled Good morning, baby girl and there are even heart and sunshine emojis. I didn’t realize Derek knew how to use those.
I drag my thumb across the screen to disable the alarm and see that I have a series of text messages.
Oakley: GURRRLLLLL. Derek just messaged me to let me know you are sleeping at his place tonight, WTF? Do you need to be rescued?
Oakley: Your silence is worrisome. I dislike it. Answer me, please. Or I’m calling Rambo. He will be big mad that Derek kidnapped you from his fully surveilled location.
Oakley: Okay, now my stress is turning into panic. Seriously, Ems, proof of life, please.
Oakley: Also, I called Rambo, more than once, but he didn’t answer.
Oakley: Fuck me. Rambo finally sent me a message. It’s a picture of you sleeping. That’s really fucking creepy, especially if that’s Derek’s bed. Did he like, sneak in and snap a photo or something?
Oakley: Why am I even asking that? Yes, of course he did.
Oakley: Whatever. Ems, this was not cool. It’s a fucking Thursday, and I feel like I need a spa day after all that tension. Please provide proof of life once you’re awake.
I…don’t know what to say to any of that.
Like, fuck, I feel terrible, but it’s not like I was ever given the option to text her once Derek hauled me into this room.
He took my phone and my clothes, so even if I’d managed to get free of the cuff—which I tried and failed at—I would have had to exit the house in either his clothes or buck-ass naked.
Biting my lip, I type out a reply that I hope will be good enough until I can get home and explain everything to her.
Me: Hey, oh my god, I’m so sorry. Things got a little out of hand, but yes, I was okay with being here. I’ll explain everything to you tonight. We can have girl time and I’ll answer all the questions over ice cream, I promise. Xx.
Surprisingly, my message turns to read immediately.
Oakley: It better be cookies and cream. I’m dangerously close to retracting my bosom buddies offer.
My mouth drops open, and I choke on a laugh, a bubble of panic swelling in my chest. She wouldn’t really do that, right? But to be on the safe side, I make a mental note to grab at least two tubs on my way home today.
Me: Deal.
I swap out of this message thread and open the other unread message, which just so happens to be from Derek.
Derek: Good morning, Emery. As promised, your cuff has been removed.
Your clothes have been washed and are waiting for you on top of my dresser.
You are welcome to use my shower, there is a fresh towel waiting for you.
Breakfast will be ready at 7:15 a.m., which should give us plenty of time to get you back to your dorm and then off to your first class.
Please come out as soon as you are ready, we need to have our talk.
My stomach flips as I read the last sentence.
Talk? I don’t want to talk. I want to get the hell out of here and go back to my dorm, where I can convince myself that I haven’t lost control of this entire fucking situation. I need a minute to fucking breathe. And think. And not be pressured into making a decision I’m not ready for.
Fuck, coming here was a massive mistake.
And it’s only now, in the clear light of day, that I can truly see that Xavier sending me the picture was bait that I swallowed hook, line, and sinker. I know I should be mad about it, and I think I might be, in a far-off sort of way, but I’m not all that surprised, so the edge isn’t sharp.
Heaving a sigh, I shove the blankets off. Step one is having that shower and getting dressed. Then I can figure out how to get out of here without having The Talk with Derek.
I’m in and out of the shower as fast as I can manage, doing my best not to look around or take notice of anything. The only soap he has available is the one that smells like him, and if I’m a little liberal with it, how’s he ever going to know?
The towel is fluffy as fuck and feels absolutely amazing against my skin. Once I’m dry, I throw the towel over the glass wall of the shower, then step in front of the mirror, turning to try and get a glimpse of my ass.
There are three distinct red lines running the whole way across, and when I run my fingers over them, I can feel raised skin. That weird cloudy mix of emotions swirls within me again—happiness, pride, irritation, rage, sadness.
Not to mention the fucking hickey with the bite mark, right in the center of my left ass cheek.
Fucking hell, I can see each individual tooth mark.
Rolling my eyes, I go back into the bedroom and quickly start pulling on my clean clothes, which also now smell like Derek. I wonder how long it will last? A whole day? Two? Maybe if I don’t wash the sweatshirt, it might last longer?
I gather my things, taking extra care with Teddy and the art supplies, before picking up my phone and heading to the door, ignoring the way butterflies are waking up in my stomach.
Maybe Derek will be distracted while he is cooking, and I can slip right by the kitchen? That could work, right? Or I could just leave. Like, literally keep walking, even when he yells at me to stop. He can’t keep me here forever.
With both options being as solid as a sponge, I open the bedroom door and step out into the hallway.
The butterflies get a little more aggressive as I pull the door closed behind me.
Déjà vu hits me so hard, it feels like I might have dipped in and out of reality for a second.
The TV is playing, just like the last time I woke up here, but then I start picking up on the differences.
Water is running, and there is cutlery being moved and the low murmur of at least one additional voice.
Is someone else here?
Holy shit. I thought when he said he would protect me from having this conversation with them, he meant for the entire time I was here. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I squirm internally. There is no way I’m going to be able to sneak out if there is more than one set of eyeballs out there.
This is going to be massively embarrassing, I can already feel it.
I just need to get it over and done with, and then I can move on with my life.
Forcing one foot in front of the other, I make my way down the hallway and pause at its entrance, my heart dropping into my stomach and then zooming back up to where it belongs.
It’s just Derek and Xavier.
And they are both shirtless.
This is why I need to leave ASAP. I can’t be in the same room, having a super serious conversation with the two of them, while they are using their bodies as weapons.
I cannot be dickmatized today.
Xavier has his back to me, his crying lady back tattoo on display, but as he turns away from the kitchen with two plates piled high with food in his hands, he jerks to a stop, our eyes connecting.