18. More
~ brIDGET ~
My heart was still thundering in my ears when I got home, my body still humming from that incredible orgasm. But I also felt hollow inside and itchy on the outside.
I wanted more.
I wanted more Cain.
It was like being in love. I was giddy. And nervous. And excited.
And terrified and insecure.
And thrilled.
I found myself driving miles without registering any of the passing time or space, because my mind kept returning to those moments in the forest with him. In no time at all it seemed I was back at my house—and there was another Amazon package on the front step.
My pulse, which had only just dipped back into normal ranges, raced away again and as I pulled into the driveway and waited for my garage door, I looked in every direction, and in all the mirrors, trying to see where Cain might be hiding.
I didn’t make a dummy phone call this time, just dove out of the car and out of the garage and up to the front door to grab the package and turn on my heel, half-expecting to see Cain explode from behind the bushes, or leap out from hedge. But there was nothing. Just a normal, mostly-sunny afternoon, with the rush of cars rolling past on the street, the occasional door slamming or dog barking in the distance.
My body refused to believe that he wasn’t there, watching me. But after a little while standing on my own front step, staring like a moron, I started down the path to the garage again, still looking over my shoulders and eyeing bushes, just in case he could somehow fold himself into one of those little shadows in daylight. But… nothing.
As I stepped into the garage, I turned and started walking backwards towards the internal access door to watch for him to dart in as the roller-door slowly lowered.
But a minute later, I was standing inside my dim garage as the final inches of the garage door clanked into place, and then the mechanism stopped humming and… soon the interior light clicked off too.
Nothing.
Was he in the house somehow?
That itch started again between my shoulder blades as I marched into the house gripping that Amazon box and searched every room and closet, even checking behind the obscured glass in the shower, just case he’d found a way to blend in with my tile.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Finally, when I was forced to accept that either he hadn’t followed me home, or if he was watching, he wasn’t hunting anymore, I took the box into the kitchen to get a penknife to slice through the thick tape and cracked open the cardboard box, holding my breath, to find a bubble-wrapped block.
I reached tentatively into the box like something might close on my fingers, but tearing the plastic off revealed that it was just my phone, bubble-wrapped and charged and clean—so clean, it looked brand new and untouched, though I knew that wasn’t the case.
I dug through the box looking for a note, or anything, but underneath that ball of bubblewrap was a round tin holding… a dozen cinnamon rolls?
I gaped at the puffy, delicious-smelling pastries, confused and delighted.
What the actual fuck?Cinnamon rolls?
How the hell had he known?
I pulled one of the rolls out, mentally noting the perfect stretch of the soft bread, and the sweet, rich sugar-smell wafting up from them.
One bite told me they weren’t just any cinnamon rolls, either. These had either been homemade or baked by a chef. They were just too bouncy and fresh, the frosting too perfectly cream-cheesed and the buttery cinnamon sugar too intense to be from a supermarket bakery.
Licking the fingers of my free hand after pulling a roll free from its brothers, I turned my phone on and took a bite of the delicious pastry as I walked towards my office, my eyes still darting left and right, ears still perked for any unexpected sign of a hot, talented, strongman who’d hidden himself inside my house.
But deep down, I knew the truth. He wasn’t here.
My heart was returning to its normal, slow thud. And the adrenaline rush was dissolving faster than the sugar on my tongue.
Determined to hold onto that precious exhilaration as long as I could, I trotted into the office and put my slowly-booting phone next to the keyboard as I got my computer going and tapped my way, one-handed, through the VPN and masking until finally I was in the forum… and there was no message waiting for me. And no little green circle underneath his profile picture to say he was online waiting for me.
Damn.
I typed out a quick message.
---
DeadGirlWalking: Cinnamon rolls? Who told you my secrets?
---
I didn’t mention the phone that had clearly been wiped for prints and any other evidence he might have left behind. Not because I was going to get it tested, but because I knew it would bug him, wondering why I didn’t mention it.
But then I was just sitting there, staring at his profile, willing him to come online, chewing a sweet treat that made me feel warm. Which was good, because there was nothing else to do but wait. And since he’d warned me that I couldn’t tempt him to chase me again, that meant I was utterly at the mercy of his whims.
And that thought made me itch.
I needed to do something. My head was scrambled, but as I mentally searched for a task, a mission, something, my eyes fell on my phone sitting innocently on my desk and I smiled.
Oh no you don’t, Cain. No you don’t.
Then I tapped through to Nate’s profile.
---
***SYSTEM NOTE: CHAT ENCRYPTED END-TO-END. ENSURE ALL ACCOUNTS ARE LOGGED OFF BEFORE DISCONNECTING.***
DeadGirlWalking: NATE! I need help.
PurplePeoplEater: What’s going on?
DeadGirlWalking: How would I tell if someone’s added some kind of tracker on my phone, or is getting my messages, or something.
PurplePeoplEater: What did you do?
DeadGirlWalking: I tell you someone did something to me and you decide it’s my fault?
PurplePeoplEater: Babe, it *always* starts with you.
DeadGirlWalking: Fair enough. But it’s too long a story, so right now, I just need you to tell me how to check my phone and get rid of any viruses or tracking apps, or anything I might not know are there.
[PurplePeoplEater is typing…]
~ CAIN ~
My phone was ringing as I burst in the door at home, but I ignored it, throwing the door closed behind me and rushing through the house that was half-dark because I hadn’t opened the blinds this morning before I left.
My body was urgent. Demanding. Insistent.
After watching to make sure she got back safely and found the package, I’d spent the entire drive home buzzing. I’d thought it would pass, but every time I’d start to calm down, I’d get an image in my head of her spread-eagled on the ground, or hear the memory of that cackling laugh when she knew I was coming after her.
I’d remember her scent and my cock would twitch.
I stalked through the house, half-blind with lust, and straight into the bathroom, stripping off and leaving my clothes on the floor because I was already running late and I had a meeting and I had to get cleaned up, but dear God, I needed her.
Stepping into the hot spray—that should have been cold, I should have been turning my mind away from her—I groaned and took myself in hand.
A few seconds. I would give myself a few fucking seconds to just be with her, and then I’d go back to normal life.
Normal responsibilities.
Normal. The act… the pretend I was forced to play every day that I didn’t have to play with her and oh fuck.
Planting one hand on the shower tile, the water streaming off my back, I let my mind turn back to the sight of her, utterly surrendered, spread-eagled, and holding back her own sounds of lust as I touched her.
She was devastating.
And I began to pump into my own hand like I was thirteen again.
Seconds—seconds of her full lips, parted, her panting breaths, her body slick for me, her back arched—seconds of remembering the feeling of her holding herself back because I’d told her to, and I was bellowing, gasping, shooting all over the wall, my body trembling…
And then I sagged, resting my burning forehead on the cool tile and gritting my teeth as my body slowly, slowly came back under control. As my mind slowly cleared, and in the wake of all that delicious need, the shame and fear of what I was doing washed back over me, coated my skin so I felt thirteen again, but this time curled up in a corner trying to stop hearing my father’s drunken rant.
No one is ever going to want you, you freak.
I don’t want you. You’re a fucking disgrace.
Shaking for entirely different reasons this time, I shook my head and pushed away from the wall.
No.
No.
No. I wasn’t giving him that power anymore. Never again.
Swallowing curses, desperate and frantic and lost, I made myself go through the motions. Pick up the soap, rub it all over my wet body, rinse, repeat, then turn off the shower and get out.
I grit my teeth and dried off, focusing on the work meeting I was late for, and refusing to think further than that, because the truth was, I knew I was fucked. My entire life was unequivocally fucked.
I’d given her far too much control, let her way too far in. And now I had broken every rule I’d ever set for myself precisely to avoid this exact scenario.
The chances of me getting to the end of this without losing were so small, I didn’t even consider it.
Whether Bridget lived or died, my life as I knew it was over. It was only a matter of time.
But then the sound of her laughter echoed in my head and I sighed because… even if she was the drug that I was going to overdose on, even if she was the noose that was going to tighten around my neck, the other truth was… I was going to die smiling.