21. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
River
I guide Rayne along the quiet streets, my arm secure around her waist. Her steps are uneven, whether from the lingering effects of adrenaline or the intensity of our encounter, I'm not sure. Probably both. I adjust my stride to match hers, keeping us moving at a casual pace that shouldn't draw attention.
The night air is cool against my skin, carrying the scents of the city—exhaust fumes, the greasy aroma of late-night takeout, a hint of rain on the horizon. Rayne's warmth seeps into my side, her body soft and pliant against mine. I can smell the faint traces of her floral shampoo mingling with sweat and sex and the coppery tang of blood. It's intoxicating.
We pass under pools of amber streetlights, emerging into shadows only to be illuminated again moments later. The rhythm of it is almost hypnotic. A few people pass us on the sidewalk, but their gazes slide right over us. Just another couple out and about. Nothing to see here.
I keep my senses alert for any sign of trouble, but the streets remain quiet. Good. Knox will handle the mess we left behind, and I'll make sure Rayne gets home safely. Then I can savor every delicious moment of what just transpired.
As we near her building, I feel Rayne tense slightly beside me. I give her waist a gentle squeeze, a silent reassurance. "Almost there," I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. She shivers, pressing closer to my side.
We enter through the door that leads directly to her photography studio. The space is dark and quiet, filled with the ghostly shapes of equipment and props. I navigate us through with ease, intimately familiar with the layout from the countless times I’ve been in here without her knowing.
At the door to her apartment, Rayne fumbles in her purse for her keys. Her hands are shaking slightly—the comedown from the adrenaline high finally hitting her, I suspect. After a moment of watching her struggle, I gently take the purse from her.
"Allow me," I say, reaching inside and retrieving her keys in one smooth motion. She blinks up at me, surprise evident in her wide blue eyes. I flash her a reassuring smile as I unlock the door and usher her inside.
The apartment is bathed in the soft glow of a lamp left on in the living room. As soon as we cross the threshold, a streak of gray fur comes bounding toward us. Rayne's cat—Luna, if I remember correctly—meows insistently, winding around our legs.
I crouch down, extending my hand toward the feline. "Hey there, pretty girl," I coo, my voice pitched low and soothing. Luna sniffs my fingers cautiously before butting her head against my palm, a deep purr rumbling from her chest.
"That's... odd," Rayne mumbles, her brow furrowing slightly as she watches Luna nuzzle against my hand. "She usually hates strangers."
I just grin, a secret dancing behind my eyes as I give Luna one final scratch behind the ears before standing. Of course the cat knows me –I've been in this apartment more times than I can count, though Rayne has no idea. Luna and I have come to an understanding over the months.
"Guess I just have a way with pussy," I quip with a wink, delighting in the way Rayne's lips twitch at my crude joke.
I scoop up the grocery bags and head for the kitchen, my steps sure and confident as I navigate her space. The layout is etched into my memory. I set the bags on the counter, making a mental note to replace the broken eggs and spilled milk tomorrow. Can't have our girl going hungry, after all.
When I turn back, Rayne is still in the entryway, her gaze unfocused as she absently strokes Luna's fur. My protective instincts surge, a primal need to care for her overriding everything else.
I cross the room in a few long strides, gently taking her elbow to guide her through the apartment. "Come on, sweetheart," I murmur, my voice low and soothing. "Let's get you cleaned up."
She doesn't resist as I lead her down the hallway to the bathroom, her steps slow and slightly unsteady. The cat follows at our heels, meowing softly as if concerned for her human. I flip on the light, wincing slightly at the harsh fluorescent glare before reaching for the shower knob. Water begins to pour from the showerhead, steam quickly filling the small space.
Turning back to Rayne, I find her staring blankly at her reflection in the mirror. There are smears of dried blood on her neck and cheek, stark against her pale skin. Her hair is a wild tangle, and her dress is rumpled and stained. She looks utterly wrecked, and a surge of possessive pride rushes through me at the sight.
"Arms up," I instruct gently, reaching for the hem of her dress. She complies without a word, allowing me to peel the garment off and toss it aside. Her bra and panties follow, leaving her gloriously naked before me. My eyes roam over her contour hungrily, drinking in every inch of exposed skin.
Rayne's eyes widen as I begin to strip off my own clothes, her gaze fixed on my hands as I unbutton my shirt. "What are you doing?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I grin, pulling off my gloves and placing them on her counter before shrugging off the shirt to reveal the toned planes of my chest and abdomen. "Can't very well help you get clean if I'm still dressed, can I?"
A pretty blush spreads across her cheeks as I undo my belt and step out of my pants and boxer briefs. Her eyes roam over my body, lingering on the ridges of muscle and the tattoos adorning my skin. I let her look her fill, reveling in the way her pupils dilate and her breath quickens. When her gaze finally meets mine again, I see a mix of desire and uncertainty swirling in those sapphire depths.
"River, I..." she starts, but I silence her with a gentle finger against her lips.
"Shh," I murmur, cupping her face in my hands. "No overthinking. Just let me take care of you."
Before she can protest, I guide her into the shower. The hot water cascades over us, washing away the blood and grime. Rayne lets out a soft sigh as the warmth seeps into her muscles, some of the tension visibly leaving her body and her eyes fluttering closed. I take a moment to simply admire her—water cascading over her curves, droplets clinging to her lashes, her lips parted slightly. She's breathtaking.
With reverent hands, I begin to wash her, starting with her shoulders. I work the soap into a rich lather, my fingers kneading gently at the tense muscles beneath her skin. I take my time, savoring every inch of her. My hands glide over the soft swell of her breasts, down the plane of her stomach, along the flare of her hips. I'm thorough in my ministrations, cleaning away the remnants of our encounter in the alley.
When I reach her hair, I gently tug at the pins holding her intricate updo in place. One by one, I remove them, letting her dark tresses tumble free. The wet strands cling to her skin, framing her face in inky tendrils. I work shampoo through her hair, my fingers massaging her scalp in slow, soothing circles.
Rayne remains silent throughout, her eyes closed and her breathing steady. But I can feel the way she leans into my touch, seeking more contact. It sends a thrill through me to see her so pliant, so trusting. Even after the violence she witnessed, she allows me this intimacy.
Once I've rinsed the last of the soap from her skin and hair, I turn off the water. The sudden silence feels heavy, broken only by the soft plink of water droplets hitting the tile. I step out first, grabbing a fluffy towel from the rack.
With the same care I used to wash her, I now dry Rayne off. I start with her hair, gently squeezing out the excess moisture before moving to her body. The soft terrycloth glides over her skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. When I'm satisfied that she's thoroughly dry, I wrap the towel around her like a cocoon.
I dry myself off quickly with a second towel, more focused on Rayne than my own state. Her eyes are open now, watching me with a mixture of wariness and curiosity as I pull my briefs and pants back on. The shocked glaze from earlier has faded, replaced by a sharper awareness that makes my pulse quicken.
Guiding her to sit on the closed toilet lid, I retrieve her hairdryer from under the sink, plugging it in and flicking it on. The warm air ruffles her damp tresses as I run my fingers through them, separating the strands to ensure even drying.
As her hair begins to dry, soft waves forming around her face, I can see Rayne visibly relaxing. Her eyes drift closed again, head tilting slightly into my touch as I work. It's a strangely intimate moment, this quiet domesticity. One I look forward to repeating.
When her hair is finally dry, falling in silky waves around her shoulders, I set aside the dryer and pick up her brush. With long, smooth strokes, I begin to work out any remaining tangles. Rayne lets out another soft sigh of contentment, her body swaying slightly with each pass of the brush.
I set the brush aside and retrieve a hairband from her bathroom cabinet where I know she keeps them. Rayne's eyes have opened again, watching me intently as I move about her space with easy familiarity. I grin at her as I return, my fingers already beginning to separate her silky strands into sections.
"You're still not crying or screaming about what happened," I murmur, my voice low and intimate in the quiet bathroom. "You don't seem bothered at all really."
My fingers work deftly, weaving her dark locks into an intricate braid. The repetitive motion is soothing, almost meditative. I can feel the warmth of her scalp beneath my fingertips, the silky texture of her hair sliding between my fingers. The scent of her shampoo fills my nostrils as I breathe in deeply. I can’t get enough of her scent.
Rayne's eyes meet mine in the mirror, a complex swirl of emotions dancing in their depths. There's curiosity there, and a hint of wariness, but also something darker. A spark of recognition, perhaps, of the beast that lurks beneath both our skins.
Though I doubt it. I’m not sure she understands or acknowledges that part of herself yet.
"Should I be?" she repeats softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Bothered, I mean."
I chuckle, tugging gently at the braid to tighten it. "Most people would be," I point out. "I did just kill a man in front of you. Rather messily, I might add."
A small shiver runs through her, but it's not fear I see in her eyes. No, there's a heat there, a hunger that mirrors my own. My grin widens, becoming almost feral as I watch her reaction.
"But you're not most people, are you, Rayne?" I continue, my voice dropping to a husky murmur. "You didn't cry out for help. Didn't try to run. Instead, you let me bend you over and fuck you senseless while the blood was still warm on the ground."
Her breath hitches, a pretty flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck. I can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath the towel, her pulse fluttering visibly at the base of her throat. She's aroused, turned on by the memory and my words.
"I..." she starts, then falters, seemingly at a loss for words.
I finish the braid, securing it with the hairband before letting my hands come to rest on her shoulders. Our eyes lock in the mirror, my gaze holding her captive as I lean down to press a kiss to her temple.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me, little Rayne," I murmur, my thumbs tracing gentle circles on her skin. "I see you. The real you, not the mask you wear for the rest of the world."
I gently pull Rayne up and tug the towel away from her body, hanging it over the towel rack. My eyes roam over her exposed skin hungrily, drinking in every detail. The urge to touch her, to claim her again, is almost overwhelming. But I restrain myself, knowing she needs rest.
Taking her hand, I lead her out of the bathroom and down the short hallway to her bedroom. I turn on the bedside lamp and it casts a warm, intimate light across the space. I've spent countless hours in this room both with Knox and by myself, watching her sleep, memorizing every detail of her existence. But she doesn't know that. She has no clue how deeply our obsession with her runs.
The little grey cat is waiting on her bed for her, watching her human as she watches me.
I pull back the sheet, gesturing for Rayne to slide in. She hesitates for just a moment before complying, her movements slow and languid as she settles onto the mattress. Her eyes widen slightly as I pull the sheet back up, covering her naked form. She keeps watching me intently as I stretch out beside her on top of the sheet, propping myself up on one elbow.
"What are you doing?" she asks, her voice soft and slightly uncertain.
I smile, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. "Staying until you fall asleep," I murmur.
Gently, I pull her against me, tucking her head under my chin. My fingers trail up and down her spine through the thin barrier of the sheet, tracing patterns only I can see. I can feel the heat of her skin, the softness of her body, even through the fabric. It takes every ounce of self-control not to rip away that flimsy barrier and lose myself in her again.
The cat stretches out on the other side of the bed, amber eyes tracking my movements as though guarding Rayne. Perhaps she still doesn’t trust me completely with her human. I haven’t succumbed to using bribery like Knox.
Rayne's body gradually relaxes against mine, her breathing evening out as exhaustion begins to take hold. I continue my gentle caresses, soothing her towards slumber. Rayne's breathing slows and deepens, her body completely relaxing against mine as she drifts into sleep. I remain perfectly still, savoring the weight of her in my arms, the soft puffs of her breath against my chest.
As I continue holding her, my mind wanders to all the nights Knox and I have spent watching her from the shadows. The countless hours we've devoted to learning every detail of her life, her habits, her desires. It's an obsession that's consumed us both.
We followed her, learned her routines, her favorite places. We watched her work, marveling at the passion and artistry she poured into every photograph. We saw the way she interacted with her clients, always professional yet warm, making them feel at ease even in their most vulnerable moments.
We memorized the cadence of her voice, the rhythm of her steps, the scent of her perfume. She's consumed our every waking thought. We've planned meticulously, biding our time until the perfect moment to make our move. And now that we have her, now that she's in our grasp, the obsession has only intensified.
Our obsession runs bone-deep, an all-consuming need. We'll create a fortress around her, eliminating any threat before it can even touch her. She'll be safe, cherished, worshipped.
But more than that, we'll nurture the darkness I’ve seen lurking beneath the surface.
Because she is ours.
And we are hers.