Chapter 9 #2
Funny Lacey might be my favorite Lacey, but the pissed-off version of her was a very close second. I desperately needed something to do with my hands, so I moved to the kitchenette and wiped down the counter. I couldn’t wash away my life, but I could wash away the crumbs from lunch.
“Thanks for standing by me. I’m sorry if that puts you in an awkward position.”
The counters were already clean, so I moved on to making sure the empty sink was thoroughly scrubbed and shiny.
“Fuck them. If they want to believe his lies, I don’t give a shit what they have to say. And I’m more than happy to tell them exactly what I think about them falling for his bullshit.”
“Lacey, he’s still a VP at the company you’re employed at. You need to protect yourself. I’m not worth losing your job over.”
“Oh, you don’t know then…” She gave me a Cheshire cat grin before adding, “They took HR away from his mom. He can’t do shit.”
“Yeah? I didn’t know that. I wonder why?”
“I’d imagine it has something to do with the fact that she’s absolute shit at her job,” Lacey said with a laugh. “Okay, now that we’ve got all of that out of the way, tell me about this cozy little nest you’ve got going out here.”
“We already covered that,” I countered.
“I can’t prove it, but I think you might be holding out on me.” She waited for me to start protesting, then added, “You can get on with your life and be happy.”
“Are you trying to hint at something?”
“A hint? This feels more like I’m just telling you.”
“You being here does kind of remind me,” I said slowly, “that the world hasn’t stopped existing. I kind of forgot that it hadn’t.”
I paused long enough to sit with her at the table and help organize the files she was still pulling out.
Almstead Island had a way of making me forget the other side of the rock.
I still had a life that was in shambles.
I had a car sitting in my mom’s driveway.
I had a pseudo job that I wasn’t sure how long it would last. And on top of all that, I still didn’t have a permanent place to live.
“If it were me, I’d avoid the real world a little bit longer,” Lacey said. “This place looks good on you.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah, I do. And if it were me, I’d look for ways to make your stay out here permanent.”
“Bye. Drive safe. Be careful.”
I waved Lacey out of the driveway and returned to the cottage.
While she was here, I managed to keep my anger under control, but now that there was no one else around, I felt it doing more than simmering below the surface.
How could they believe that about me? They knew me. They had known me for years.
The more I thought about my coworkers’ betrayal, the madder I got. I’d already cleaned the counters and the sink, so I headed to the bathroom to do a complete scrub. By the time I was done, everything was gleaming, but my anger was still there.
I needed something more. If I didn’t get this out of me, I felt like I was going to disintegrate into one million pieces. I had to pound something.
The cottage didn’t have it, but the main house did. I headed for the main house, slamming the cottage door behind me. Each step was a stomp on my way up the path. When I got to the main house, I pounded on the door until Emil came to answer.
He opened the door, but before he had a chance to speak, I ground out, “Can I use the kitchen?” When Emil only looked at me without saying anything, I added, “Please.”
I was sure I had made a mistake because he still didn’t let me in. He just studied me like I was a specimen, and just as I was about to turn around, he moved out of the way, opened the door wider, and said, “Help yourself.”
I brushed past him into the kitchen like a man on a mission.
I headed to the sink to wash my hands, then set about gathering everything I needed: milk, butter, flour, sugar, salt, and yeast. I laid them all out on the counter in a militant, army-straight row, mixed them, and then worked them together with absolute precision to form my dough.
I waited impatiently for everything to rise, pacing the kitchen while I replayed the conversation I’d had with Lacey over and over in my head. When it was finally time to turn out the dough, I powdered the soapstone counter with flour and turned it out onto it. Flip. Punch. Repeat.
Each whack, each slap, each movement forced me to think about how pissed off I was that people I’d known for years would think I’d betray them, that I would use them, that I would make them the scapegoats for my bad behavior. And that I was a thief.
I was not a goddamn thief. How fucking dare they think that, and how fucking dare they listen to John, who had been nothing but a complete dick for as long as he’d worked there, treating him like some sort of soothsayer.
At some point, Emil had come to stand in the doorway. He didn’t come into the room, just watched from a distance, like he wasn’t sure if it was safe to move any closer.
“Can I help you?” I snapped.
“No. Just watching.”
“Watching me lose my shit because people who should absolutely know better decided to take the word of a fucking liar who lies over the word of someone they’ve known for years. For years. No proof, just his word.”
Emil never moved from the doorway. He never told me it would be fine or that they’d come around. He just let me pound the bread dough until my muscles ached and the adrenaline burned out of my body.
“You done?” Emil asked. There was no emotion, no heat in his voice. It was an inquiry.
I’d ended my tantrum, gripping the edge of the counter. I nodded, but it wasn’t entirely the truth. The adrenaline remnants still coursed through me. I closed my eyes and hung my head low. I knew what I needed.
With an internal sigh that I managed to swallow before it escaped, I pushed off the counter and went to stand in front of Emil. He stayed silent, but his eyes clocked every move I made.
“No, I’m not done. I need… I need to settle.”
“You need to use me for it?”
“Yeah.”
Emil gave me a contemplative look, and given how long it took for an answer to come, I was convinced he was going to say no. Except he didn’t. Instead, he gave me a curt nod, turned on his heel, and said over his shoulder, “Follow me.”
As instructed, I followed Emil into his study.
He stopped in front of the leather wingback chair near the window.
Before he sat, I positioned myself in front of him.
He remained silent and offered no resistance when I reached up and began unbuttoning his shirt.
When the center line was undone, I moved to one sleeve and then the other.
Emil maintained his silence, and the stillness lessened the pressure that was ever present in my chest.
“Please sit down.” Emil did as I requested, but before he did, he grabbed the pillow from the chair and tossed it on the floor in front of him. “Thank you.” He nodded but kept quiet.
I knelt between his legs. The leftover anger fueled me, and embarrassment never crossed my mind. The anger I felt, the betrayal, had to be exorcised from me, or I wouldn’t survive it.
“May I?” I asked before touching him.
His one, single nod was the permission I needed. I deftly undid his belt buckle. It took a little effort, but I was able to pull it free. That was followed by the unbuttoning of his slacks.
Emil kept his silence. If he was affected by what I was doing, there wasn’t an outward demonstration of it.
I returned my concentration to the body in front of me.
Carefully, I pushed aside the halves of his shirt, then returned to the zipper in front of me.
With his compliance, I felt more of my anger drain away.
He wasn’t hard, but not soft either. For me, it didn’t matter.
I was there to perform a service and get rid of the unbearable tension still clawing at my throat.
Gingerly, I pulled Emil’s pants and briefs down slightly so I could properly free him.
Thankfully, Emil kept his silence and his hands to himself.
One rested on the arm of the chair while the other propped his chin up.
A quick glance told me he was withdrawn, but not bored.
I pushed aside the fabric and exposed his shaft.
“May I?” I asked before going any further.
“Yes.”
His simple answer eased the bands inside me even more.
I leaned forward and slipped his cockhead into my mouth.
I poured every scrap of concentration I had into the motion.
My tongue swirled, then dipped into the small slit across the top.
Emil never touched me, never thrust forward, and never spurred me on.
I gave, and he received.
I performed, and he accepted.
I felt the tension release from my body when his cock hardened inside my mouth.
I knew he wasn’t unaffected, but he projected complete indifference to the task at hand.
I appreciated the restraint. I drew him farther into my mouth, tugging firmly on the cock that cut off my oxygen and left me woozy.
It was a welcome change from feeling unsteady because I was so angry I couldn’t see straight.
Emil’s heavy hand came to rest on my head. His fingers loosened the top knot of my hair and it fell around my shoulders. His fingers combed through it, but he still allowed me to set the pace and made no move to hurry me or take control of the moment. Relief coursed through me.
His cock was fully erect and leaking precum down my throat. I redoubled my efforts to bring him release. I hollowed my cheeks and traced the path of nerves along the underside of his shaft. Involuntarily, my fingers flexed against his thighs, which I realized were firm with tension.
“I’m coming,” Emil growled, but I didn’t pull away. I needed to follow through.
The warning came moments before salty cum spilled into the back of my throat. I reflexively swallowed it down. When he softened, I carefully pulled his cock from my mouth.
With the adrenaline gone, I wasn’t sure how to remove myself from the floor without drawing attention. I began to push myself up when Emil’s fingers tightened in my hair.
“Stay.”
He guided my head to his thigh and rested it there.
He didn’t speak again, but ran his fingers through my hair.
When it was fully combed out, he began to scratch my scalp in a slow, rhythmic motion.
Endorphins flooded my system. My breathing evened, and for the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt satisfied. Complete.