Chapter 21
21
A fter my morning of utter torment, and maybe-punishment for reasons left unstated, I linger under the shower, allowing streams of hot water to beat over my skin as I unpack the events of the previous day.
Hawke Calliano.
My strange dream.
Grey fixing my hand.
Angel hardly looking at me during the drive to and from Noire House.
His displeasure was a palpable thing. Radiating off him for the few short minutes we were alone together, and I can only assume it had something to do with my required attendance at the mansion.
It’s confusing, the dynamic between these men. I haven’t seen them together as such since that night, and yet apparently they all live together in the house where I’m kept? The three of them seemingly have very different parts they play in all this, and I still can’t piece together a coherent picture.
Or maybe there isn’t one at all, and I’m attempting to see water lilies in a painting, when, in reality, it’s just paint tossed at a canvas.
As I stay too long beneath the shower, my mind drifts back to the night before. To him.
That self-assured dick, with his commands and clipped words and piercing blue eyes. He well and truly lives up to his name: a taloned creature, poised and ready to swoop from a great height and unleash an all-out assault.
The humiliation of being told so unceremoniously to undress wasn’t anything in comparison to his disinterest.
I hate that I wanted him to show me a glimpse of something, to give me any tiny indication that he remembers our night together the way I do. Instead, he made it so goddamn clear he had about as much interest in looking at me wearing skimpy lingerie as whatever spreadsheets he had open on his computer.
Talk about taking a roundhouse kick straight to the ego.
What messed with me more, was that I didn’t hate kneeling beside him. It’s so fucked up, but the time I spent in that position—being the good little submissive for him on my cushion—I was transported back to the way I knelt before him that night.
Was I hoping for something more to happen? I don’t even fucking know, but I certainly wasn’t expecting to spend that much time at the feet of a man while half-naked, only to be ignored.
It sent shame burning hot and relentless beneath my skin, and all I found myself thinking over and over was that I wished he would give me just a fraction of attention. It didn’t even need to be sexual. I just wanted him to notice me, to give me something in return for obeying his commands.
Isn’t that how these sorts of things are supposed to go?
By the time I got back to my room last night, I spent a short time searching on my phone for how the exchange is supposed to look between a Dom and a sub. I also had a questionnaire waiting in my inbox. The likes of which made my eyes pop out of my head initially. Answering questions as to my personal preferences and curiosities regarding everything from golden showers to cockwarming.
I’ve since learned a lot about myself as I progressed through allocating my degree of enthusiasm for a whole host of sexual indulgences on a scale ranging from, ‘no fucking way,’ to ‘yes, please, many times over.’
While I have no idea if my mysterious future is going to involve someone who adheres to proper etiquette when it comes to that kind of power exchange between a Dom and a sub, I somehow feel drawn to wanting to know what it would be like with him specifically.
Hawke stirs up something in me that I can’t quite put my finger on. Is it because he’s an asshole, labeling me as a princess with a superior snarl? Or that I can’t stop thinking about that small moment when he checked my hand? Or maybe, it’s simply my pussy loudly proclaiming that she remembers what every inch of his dick felt like, while demanding another taste.
Christ almighty. What the hell is wrong with me that I’m spending so much time thinking about the three of them? I’m supposed to be figuring out my escape, not falling into bed having erotic dreams about masked men, then waking up to one of them with his tongue shoved inside my pussy.
Turning the shower off, my hearing pricks at the sound of a new message on my phone. Bundling myself in a towel, I tip-toe my way through the door, across to the bedside table where I left it, fully aware that I’m dripping water all over the place.
It’s a text from Hawke.
At the sight of his name, my pulse kicks up. Has he got a fucking sixth sense for knowing that I’ve just been equally cursing his immaculate jaw alongside wondering what the rest of him looks like beneath those black dress shirts he always wears ?
I’m also more than a little on edge that he might be summoning my presence again so soon. I haven’t even had breakfast, and he wants me to be rolling up to a sex club? Aren’t these sorts of places better suited to hours of the day post-coffee and sustenance?
Hawke:
Call your friend.
My eyes scan over the text several times. What does he mean? Is Rita in some kind of trouble? Or is this a test of my self-control? Perhaps I need to read those words in a mocking tone with his usual sneer ready and waiting, and add on the words I dare you, and see what punishment ensues to the end of that instruction.
Another vibration alerts me to a new message, but this time, there’s no text. It’s a link to tap on, bringing up a window on my screen displaying black and white security footage.
Front and center of the camera frame is my best friend, seated at a café table on a footpath. I don’t recognize the place, but my closest friend in the world is easy to spot with her curls piled high and big hoop earrings.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, wrapped in my towel, and my eyes brim with tears. At first, I think it’s just a still frame I’ve been sent, some weird kind of proof of life, but then she reaches for a wine glass and takes a sip.
Quickly swiping away the dampness from my cheeks, I keep the floating footage open so I can see her and dial her number on speaker. I watch, one hand over my mouth as she reaches for her bag on the chair next to hers, and takes a long look at the screen.
Oh god, please don’t let my bestie ghost my call right now .
The line connects with a scuffle.
“Poe?”
“Oh, thank fuck.” I exhale shakily. Silent tears run tracks down my cheeks at the sound of her voice.
“Are you ok, babe? I didn’t expect to hear from you while I’m over here. Honestly, you’ve caught me on my only hour off today.” On the black and white feed, I watch her shift in her seat with the phone pressed to her ear.
That makes me falter.
“Where are you?” I grip the phone tight, trying to discern any little clue from the tiny image in front of me.
“So, you’ve kinda discovered my dirty little secret. I’ve crept off to a little spot just around the corner from campus. It’s just close enough that I can get a minute to myself, but far enough I don’t have to be surrounded by people for like five minutes.”
“Oh.” My mind races. Rita sounds calm and relaxed and not at all like a friend who has been searching every morgue in Port for my corpse.
“I feel like a right dick I can’t be in touch more, but you know how that timezone conversion is a cocksucker, and then every second I’m on campus, our phones are taken away, so none of the designs can get poached or leaked or stolen by another fashion house.”
I blink several times. The way she breezes through everything is as if we’ve already been chatting about this. For a moment, my brain spins in circles, wondering if I have, in fact, developed some sort of amnesia after being drugged.
Did I know anything about this… before?
“Paris is—” her voice goes dreamy. “Oh babe, it’s just everything. I can’t even begin to explain it all, but I feel like I’m going to wake up one morning, and it’s all been a fucking dream. Everything happened so suddenly.” I watch the camera footage as she swirls her glass, then sloshes back the rest of her wine.
Paris? Fashion houses? I mean, Rita studied design and had already interned with a couple of labels. She was actively applying for industry positions. The way she’s talking, it’s as if she’s landed some incredible, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
One that I know nothing about, but she’s carrying on as if I do.
It also confirms that my friend is currently halfway around the world, living her best life exactly as I hoped, and is almost entirely uncontactable.
So, instead of all the ways I’ve imagined my first conversation with my best friend might go, I swallow down my emotional outpouring and self-pity and choose to be the friend Rita needs right now.
“Ok well, I just wanted to steal a second to hear your voice, that’s all.” With both hands holding the phone, I find myself smiling at the tiny monochrome image of my girl living her dreams. “That’s all my needy ass requires. You go and slay like you always do.”
Rita pulls the phone in front of her face, quickly checking the screen. I watch as she pops to her feet and grabs her purse, before tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear.
On my end of the line, I hear the corresponding rustle and traffic breezing past.
“Shit, just realized I’m gonna be late. Can’t promise I’ll be able to talk again any time soon, but I love you, and I miss you like fucking crazy.”
“Me too.”
“Bitch, you better believe this shit is the most competitive game out there, but so worth it. This is gonna be such a good year; I just know it’ll pay off. Even if I hardly do anything but play with pretty fabric all day and catch a few minutes of sleep whenever I can.”
“Love you, stay safe, ok?”
“Always do. You too, P.”
As we hang up, the footage cuts out straight away. Leaving me staring at a blank screen, with an aching hole in my heart. I miss our life together something chronic, but also, am beyond happy for her.
However, it leaves me wondering if that might be the last time I ever speak to my best friend.
I’m the picture of morose for the rest of the day. Wandering around like some sort of ghostly apparition, dangling somewhere between reality and insanity.
Occasionally, I make my way into the kitchen, finding things in the fridge I assume are containers of food left for me to heat up as I choose.
Yet, I’m my own misery for company today.
I don’t text Hawke back. He can see that I read his stupid message anyway, which now I feel was less taunting and more of a pitiful bone thrown my way. All it really confirms is just how alone I am in all of this. That one phone call provided the hammer to drive home the nail to spell out my total isolation.
You see? No one gives a fuck about you, Posey Reed. Not even your best friend.
For a long time, I sat and weighed the idea of texting Grey. His number is there, saved in my phone, and I very, very nearly cave and consider asking where he is. Though, as I start typing the words, I hit delete. There are levels of desperation I’m not ready to accept just yet, and giving these men cause to think I might be clinging to them in some way is a fresh hell of embarrassment I don’t need, thank you very much.
I take myself outside for a walk. I sit in the long grass and let the late afternoon sun hit my skin. I brush my fingers up against roughened tree bark on the edge of the forest and listen to the crunch of fall leaves beneath my sneakers.
It’s all entirely meaningless, of course. Then, as day slips into night, I find myself climbing into bed without checking the time. All I know is that I’m bone weary and want to close my eyes. I want to forget about my friend being half a world away, and ignore the reality that I’m no closer to figuring out how to escape this place.
Sleep tugs me with her, fast and hard, the moment I allow my eyes to fall shut. My body tumbles into weightlessness, limbs drooping into that heavy state immediately.
At least while I’m dreaming, I’m free of this cage. Even if I still end up returning voluntarily to the men who hold the keys.
My body jolts. Heart racing.
How long was I asleep?
Groggy and disoriented, I take a moment to regather my senses. They’re just beyond the reach of my fingertips when a noise cuts through the darkness.
At first, I can’t place it, then it comes again. Keening and filled with a spine-tingling agony.
Oh god. Angel.
I’m on my feet and out in the hallway before I know it. His sounds are desperate, panting like a dog, followed by thrashing. That disturbance all comes from the room directly across from mine, and as I pause on the threshold to listen, the house echoes, dark and hollow and empty. No one else is around.
Grey doesn’t appear like last time, and the noise is heartbreaking to listen to. My giant is locked inside some kind of hellish nightmare, and I don’t stop to think, don’t falter a moment longer. Pushing open the door, I step across the line I’m not meant to cross, and enter his room.
There’s enough light spilling from the hall to guide me straight to his bed .
Swallowing hard, I try to quickly remember what Grey did that night. He didn’t seem concerned about waking him, which is my first worry as I draw closer to his imposing frame and find him lying on his back. Are you supposed to wake a person having night terrors?
Whatever. I’m taking my cues from Grey, and so I steel myself, sitting on the edge of the bed just like I observed when I spied on them.
Angel’s bare chest heaves, coated in sweat, and he’s tangled up with sheets down around his thighs. He’s only wearing a pair of dark briefs, and yet he’s frantic, sweating like he’s run a marathon in his sleep.
“Hey, hey, Angel. It’s ok.” My voice cracks a little as I speak. My hands feel shaky.
His eyes twitch behind closed eyelids. I see his mouth hang open, bearded jaw working, followed by a dip of his throat. Another of those haunting sounds fill the room, and I can’t stand seeing him like this.
“Shhh. Angel, it’s ok. I’m right here.” I say it louder this time, keeping my voice gentle, as I lean closer and hesitantly reach out to place a hand on his chest.
When I make contact with that expanse of overheated skin and scattering of dark hair, I immediately feel his heart pounding.
“Angel. It’s ok. You’re ok.” I press my fingers harder, and just when I don’t know if he’s going to register my voice, two things happen almost simultaneously.
One brutal hand whips mine away from his chest, followed by the room turning upside down. I’m flat on my back, and Angel is on all fours over me, with eyes completely wild—unseeing almost. His lips curl back, making him look like a man who could tear my throat out with his teeth if he gave into that urge.
This is almost the same position we were in this morning, with his bulk pinning me to the mattress, except this time, he looks capable of snapping every one of my bones.
My wrists are clasped so tight, and his bulk is overwhelming, and I can’t breathe with all his weight slowly crushing my lungs.
“Angel.” It comes out like a hitched breath, the effort to speak is immense. “It’s me. It’s only me.”
He blinks a few times, and after a second, his face contorts. It’s like he’s released from a fog poisoning his mind. Pain slides across his features, chased by guilt, and he can’t move fast enough to get off me.
“Wait… are you ok? I’m sorry, I had to come in here, you sounded like you needed help.” I struggle to get upright and join him where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, not wanting to admit how much I saw between him and Grey. A moment between the two of them that wasn’t for my prying eyes.
He has both hands wrapped around the back of his neck, and as I slowly inch across the mattress, he shakes his head at me.
Stay away.
“No, I’m not gonna do that.”
Turning to face me, his eyes plead louder the closer I get. God, all I have on is a t-shirt and underwear, and yet I don’t give a single fuck or consider a moment of hesitation in being here like this with him. All I want is to help, and this is the only way I know how.
“We can sit here just like this all night, if that’s what you need?”
He releases one big palm from the death grip on the back of his neck and pushes a firm, but gentle hand against my shoulder. With a jerk of his chin, he tells me again.
Go away.
“No. ”
He closes his eyes, and his nostrils flare with a deep inhale followed by a long exhale.
“I’m not too proud to help you, even if you’re too proud to accept my help.”
When he opens those soulful brown eyes again, they’re filled with defeat. He isn’t going to fight me, but instead looks as though it’s eating him up inside to agree to this.
Whatever. I don’t care if he’s got shit from his past, so do I, and if it can help ease that by having someone there to help him sleep, then that’s all that matters.
“Do you need something… water?”
The answer comes slowly, with another shake of his head. No.
“You gonna sit there all night, or are you gonna get back in here?” I make my way to the side opposite his and slide under the sheets.
Goddamn, they smell of him, and that sends a coil winding through me that I’m going to struggle to ignore. I can already tell.
Angel sits with his head bowed for a few more minutes. Caught in that place of indecision that seems to be a frequent thing where he’s concerned.
“Would it make it better if you pull up a chair so you can sit and stare at me all night long? You know, for old times’ sake.” I tuck the blankets under my chin and roll on my side to face his back. Holy fuck, he’s cut from granite, a giant slab of a man, and the sight of him just in boxer briefs leaves my mouth bone dry.
Except, I’m determined to help, and that means telling the over-sexed horny part of my brain to go take a lap and cool off.
He peers at me over one shoulder with a disapproving look.
I try my best to meet his lack of appreciation for my sense of humor by cradling my head in one hand and biting the inside of my cheek.
“No? Then get in the bed. Please. ” I flip his portion of the covers back, and his eyes flicker between the empty pillow and my own. “It’ll help me sleep better, too, you know,” I add, a little reluctantly, because I hate admitting it out loud… even though it’s definitely the truth.
His brows crease. The question evident on his face as he gestures to his head and then mine with a swirl of his forefinger.
Are you having nightmares?
“Not when you’re around,” I whisper the confession, and that seems to finally soften his resolve.
Angel’s heavy bulk makes the mattress dip, and then he’s pulling me against his frame. I let him draw me close, reel me in, and hold me tight, encircled by strong arms. My nose brushes his chest, and it takes everything in me not to nuzzle the man. Although, I certainly draw down several deep lungfuls of the masculine scent of him while my eyes and limbs grow heavy.
If that’s all this is, I’ll give him what he needs, and steal a fraction of his closeness in return.