30. Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Rayne
The first thing I see is a flash of deep burgundy silk. As I gingerly lift the fabric from the box, it unfurls in my hands, revealing itself to be a delicate nightgown. The material is impossibly soft, slipping through my fingers like water. Intricate lace adorns the plunging neckline and hem, a pattern of intertwining roses and thorns that seems both beautiful and menacing.
The nightgown is exquisite, exactly the kind of thing I might have chosen for myself. But perhaps in a different color and pattern. That realization sends a chill down my spine. Whoever sent this knows my tastes.
As I examine the garment, something small and white flutters to the floor. My stomach drops as I bend to retrieve it, instantly recognizing the now-familiar handwriting. The note is written on thick, creamy paper, the ink a deep blood red that stands out starkly against the pale background.
"My dearest Rayne,
This reminded me so much of you, delicate yet strong. I couldn't resist getting it for you. Perhaps you could wear it to bed tonight? I'll be dreaming of you in it, just as I hope you'll dream of me. Soon, my love. Soon we'll be together, and these gifts will pale in comparison to what I have planned for us.
Until then, sweet dreams.
Yours always"
My blood runs cold as I read the words, bile rising in my throat. The intimacy of the gift, the possessive tone of the note–it's all too much. I drop the nightgown as if it's burned me, watching it pool on the floor in a puddle of silk and lace. Like blood.
Without hesitation, I grab the nightgown and shove it back in the box, throwing the note on the side table for Knox to collect. My skin crawls at the mere thought of touching it again, of imagining the stalker's hands on it, picturing me wearing it.
I march purposefully down the stairs, my footsteps echoing loudly in the empty stairwell, through the basement and out through the door next to the entrance to my basement parking. If this person is watching my front door I don’t want them to see this. The afternoon sun is blinding as I push open the door, heading straight for the dumpster where I'd discarded the roses just days ago.
The metal lid creaks loudly as I lift it, the stench of rotting garbage assaulting my nostrils. Without ceremony, I hurl the box into the depths of the dumpster, hearing it land with a satisfying thud among the other refuse.
Anger washes over me. How dare they? How dare this person invade my life, my space, with these unwanted "gifts" and messages? "Fuck you," I spit out, my voice shaking with anger. "Fuck you and your sick games."
I slam the lid shut with enough force to make the entire dumpster rattle, as if I could somehow contain the threat, lock away the fear and disgust roiling inside me. But even as I turn to head back inside, I know it's not that simple. The stalker is still out there, watching, waiting. And no amount of discarded "gifts" will change that chilling reality.
As I calmly move back inside, I take several deep breaths, feeling the tension slowly drain from my body. The cool air of the studio washes over me, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat outside. I won't let this person have the satisfaction of rattling me. I am stronger than them.
At my desk, I sink into the familiar embrace of my chair. The leather is soft and worn in all the right places, molding to my body like a second skin. I take a moment to roll my oil roller on my wrist, taking another deep breath to inhale the calming scent.
My phone sits where I left it, screen dark and innocuous. With steady hands, I pick it up, unlocking it with a swipe of my thumb. The background image—a picture of Luna—fills the screen momentarily before I open my messaging app.
Selecting Knox’s name, my fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment as I consider my words carefully. I don't want to worry him unnecessarily, but I know he needs to be informed.
Hey Knox, I received another package today. I've left the note for you on the side table. If you want the 'gift' itself, you'll have to fish it out of the dumpster behind the studio. I couldn't stand to keep it in the building.
I hit send and wait, watching as the message status changes from "Delivered" to "Read" almost immediately. The three dots indicating Knox is typing appear, then disappear, then reappear. Finally, his response comes through:
Are you okay? We aren’t far if you need us to come by now.
The concern in his message is palpable, even through the impersonal medium of text. A warmth blooms in my chest at his concern, a flicker of something I'm not quite ready to name. I stare at Knox's message, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. A part of me longs to accept his offer, to have him and River rush to my side, to feel safe in their protective embrace. But I can't. I can't let myself become dependent on them, can't risk opening myself up only to have them inevitably grow tired of me.
I'm fine , I type back, keeping my tone light and casual. No need to worry. We can talk about it later. I've got a lot of work to catch up on right now.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then set my phone face-down on the desk. Out of sight, out of mind.
Taking a deep breath, I turn my attention to my computer screen. The familiar interface of my social media management tool greets me, a blank canvas waiting to be filled with carefully curated content. I throw myself into the task, losing myself in the minutiae of scheduling posts, crafting captions, and selecting the perfect images to showcase my work.
Time slips by unnoticed as I work, and when I run out of things to distract myself with, I sigh. It's late enough that I could easily shut down and go upstairs, spend time with Luna and ignore it for yet another day, but something has me clicking my way into the folder on my storage drive.
Images and video files fill my screen and I instantly flush. It's not as though I haven't since been fucked repeatedly by them, but there's something different about seeing it all laid out before me like this. The raw, unedited footage of our encounter feels almost voyeuristic, even though I was an active participant.
I hesitantly click through some of the images and my heart stops when I open one I distinctly remember him capturing. It's a close up of my face right at the point of climax, I remember seeing my reflection in the lens but it had nothing on what he saw through that glass. I quickly close out of the image as my core throbs with arousal.
I swallow down my nerves and click on one of the video files.
The video starts from the beginning, it’s high quality because I pride myself on my equipment. So I can clearly see the two of them standing in the center of my studio, their eyes hot and hungry as they watch me move around and finish turning all the cameras on. I never noticed it at the time, but I see it now. When I turn back to them in the video, they have focused on each other again.
I give them the go ahead and I watch as Knox reaches for River. I watch and my body feels just as hot at the replay as it did when I watched it in person. The way they move together, how perfectly they fit against each other, each touch, kiss and look clearly showing the level of intimacy and connection between the pair.
I watch, transfixed, as Knox and River move to the bed. Their bodies undulate together, all tattooed hard planes and taut muscle. Knox's hand tangles in River's hair, yanking his head back to expose the long column of his throat. River lets out a guttural moan as Knox's teeth scrape over his pulse point.
My heart races, pounding against my ribcage as if trying to escape. I strain to hear their muffled words and breathy gasps. Without thinking, I reach for the volume, turning it up until their sounds of pleasure fill the room.
"Fuck," River groans, his voice rough with desire. I didn’t hear it the first time, either too distracted or it was just too low, but I hear it through the speakers. "Need her between us."
Knox growls in response, grinding his hips up against River. The friction draws a whimper from River that sends heat pooling low in my belly. I shift in my seat, thighs pressing together as arousal builds.
On screen, I see the moment I lost control of the session. River's eyes locking onto me, a wicked gleam in their depths. I hear us talking, not realizing exactly where he was leading me. In a fluid motion, he plucks the camera from my hands. I remember the jolt of surprise, the thrill of excitement as the tables turned.
Knox wastes no time, his large hands gripping my waist. I watch as I throw my professionalism out the window, but this time I watch the looks pass between them leading up to it, I can see how I had no hope of escaping what they obviously had planned. I listen as the moans and sounds from the speakers grow louder, I watch as Knox devours me. I feel my cheeks flush hot as I watch River set the camera down, angling it to capture the bed. He stalks towards us, predatory grace in every movement.
Unbidden, my own hand drifts lower, skimming over my stomach. I know I should stop, should close the video and shut down the computer.
Instead I skip ahead, unable to bear the building tension. The video jumps to the three of us on the bed, a tangle of limbs and heated skin. Louder moans and desperate whimpers echo through my speakers.
Suddenly my phone rings and I scramble to stop the video, my heart pounding as I fumble with the mouse. The sudden silence is deafening as the moans and gasps cut off abruptly, broken only by the cheerful ringtone. I look down at the screen to see who is calling, my breath catching in my throat as I read the words flashing across the display: 'Your Cute Psycho'.
For a moment, I stare at it, my mind racing. When did River add his contact name in my phone? How did he even get access to it?
With a deep breath, I steel myself and swipe to answer the call. "Hello?" My voice comes out breathier than I intended, a hint of the arousal I'd been feeling moments ago still evident in my tone.
The silence stretches for a long moment. I can almost picture River on the other end of the line, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. My heart pounds in my chest, so loudly I wonder if he can hear it through the phone.
Finally, a low, wicked chuckle breaks the quiet. "Oh sweetheart," River purrs, his voice honey-smooth and dripping with amusement, "what are you up to?"
I have to clear my throat, trying desperately to erase the huskiness from my voice. "I'm working," I insist, wincing at how unconvincing I sound even to my own ears.
River hums, the sound rich with disbelief. I can practically see him shaking his head, those Caribbean blue eyes sparkling with mirth.
I sigh, leaning forward to rest my elbows on the desk. My free hand moves to swipe over my heated face, hoping to cool my flushed cheeks. But fate, it seems, has other plans.
As I shift, my elbow catches the mouse. Before I can react, the video springs back to life on my screen. The room is suddenly filled with the unmistakable sounds of passion–breathy moans, the slap of skin on skin, and then as though to prove it could get worse Knox’s voice growls loudly through the speakers, "Fuck, you feel so goddamn tight wrapped around our cocks."
For a heartbeat, I'm frozen in horror. Then I lunge for the mouse, frantically clicking to stop the playback. But in my haste, I only succeed in turning the volume up higher.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I mutter, my cheeks burning as I finally manage to silence the video.
The silence that follows is deafening. I hold my breath, praying that somehow, miraculously, River didn't hear any of that.
But of course, I'm not that lucky.
"Well, well, well," River's voice comes through the phone, low and dangerous. I can hear the smirk in his tone, the predatory edge that makes my stomach flip. "It seems our little Rayne has been enjoying a private show."
I open my mouth to deny it, to make up some excuse, but nothing comes out. My mind is blank, consumed by mortification and a traitorous surge of arousal.
"I..." I start, then trail off, unsure what I can possibly say to salvage this situation.
River's chuckle is dark and wicked, sending shivers down my spine. The sound reverberates through the phone, rich and velvety, wrapping around me like a physical caress. I can almost see the dangerous glint in his eyes, the way his lips would curl into that devastating smirk that never fails to make my heart race.
"Oh sweetheart," he purrs, his voice dripping with sinful promise. "You have no idea how much trouble you're in now."
Before I can formulate a response, there's a rustling on the other end of the line. I hear muffled voices, as if River is talking to someone else. My stomach flips as I realize who it must be.
Suddenly, Knox's voice fills my ear, low and commanding. The change is jarring, like being doused in ice water only to be immediately thrust into a raging inferno. Where River's tone was playful and teasing, Knox's brooks no argument. It's the voice of a man used to being obeyed without question.
"Switch to video. Now."