20. Feral
TWENTY
FERAL
Lake
True to his workaholic nature, I find Alessio behind his desk when I get back. He’s immersed in reading something and barely lifts his head from the screen when I walk in. I rush toward the mud room.
I’m a big mess of tears and snot, which I failed to clean up before coming here. I’m so upset about my uncle. Having no way to check on him, unless I ask Alessio for a phone, might send me over the edge. I could email my uncle, but that’s not the same as hearing his voice.
Yet, I can’t ask Alessio for a phone call right now, because I can’t explain my frantic state. Lying is harder than simply omitting or twisting the truth. Telling Alessio I got mugged was partially true. I wish I could tell him what really happened and how the people are now forcing me to inform on him. I wish I could tell him everything and plead for mercy, but my uncle might already be dead, and they’ll kill my entire family. Whatever’s left of it, anyway, since my parents are already deceased.
When the water rises, Alessio, like Noah, will leave me to drown.
Once I make it to the guest house, I hop in the shower right away and start scrubbing myself, but not even holy water could wash away the thick layer of guilt and shame I feel over being so weak when faced by yet another bully.
I could stand up for myself, but I’m too afraid she’ll stab me, or hurt my uncle or my brother.
I couldn’t stand up to my ex either, not until I knew my uncle had my back. My uncle helped me never return to my ex. If it wasn’t for my Uncle Jordan, I’m not sure I’d be alive today. I think Landon would’ve hurt me that night. He caught me in the car as I tried to get out of the house before he came home drunk and made me suck his flaccid dick again.
I desperately want to check on my uncle. My aunt. Prescott.
That makes me think of Alessio and how I betrayed one of his friends. Probably his best friend, because the man was going to ask him to be his best man at his wedding. Alessio threatened to never speak to him again if he wasn’t the one he chose.
My thoughts cycle back to the wrath Alessio will unleash on me if he ever finds out I spied on him. This makes me think I’m dead either way, and now I’m spiraling without mental breaks to stop the negative images popping into my head.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I get out of the shower. Sobbing, I wrap my hair into a hair wrap and towel off before slipping into my pink jammies.
I turn on the TV and leave it on a random weather station for some noise to quiet my brain, and I flip on the bedside lamp to make sure my alarm is set for tomorrow. But after that, I have no more shits to give. It’s not even eight at night, and I haven’t eaten dinner. Fuck it.
I pull the fluffy feather comforter up and over my face and curl into a fetal position. Thankfully, I calm down enough to sleep.
* * *
Three hours later, the clock reads eleven, but the room is otherwise dark. I clearly remember being terrified of the dark and leaving the light on. My TV is also off. Someone was here. There’s only one man who would come here, because nobody else could get past Alessio.
Knowing he was here while I slept makes me uneasy. Why was he here? Not that he can’t come here whenever he wants since it’s his house, but I would hope he’d allow me some privacy as a guest. Or, better yet, an employee. Even if we do glide over that boss-employee line and toe the lover’s line often.
I turn on the lamp, half expecting Alessio to shrink into the shadows in the corner, but alas, he’s not in my bedroom. Instead, there’s a handwritten note.
Lake,
I brought you dinner, but you were asleep. I’m not sure if you’re napping or sleeping for the night. If you turn the light back on, I’ll heat up your dinner.
Sincerely,
Your Lord ;)
Quickly, I pull the lamp’s string. Too hard! The lamp topples over the nightstand and crashes to the floor.
Shit.
I roll over onto the other side and use the bathroom in the dark, trying to recall where the housekeeper keeps the broom and a vacuum. No clue. Damn. Nevertheless, I must find cleaning supplies, which means I must visit the main house; ergo, I might run into Alessio.
I’d rather not.
But I have to. I can’t let the broken glass stay on the floor, as I might forget it by morning and accidentally step on it as I roll out of bed.
I wash my face and brush my teeth before heading out. When I walk back into the bedroom, I turn on the lamp on the other side of the bed and scream.
The bedroom’s French doors that face the courtyard are wide open, and Alessio is just standing there, holding a tray.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his gaze roaming over my body. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” I clear my throat and control my breathing to prevent a heart attack. “No, I’m fine. Sorry about the lamp. I’m usually not clumsy. I’ll clean it up.”
“Fuck the lamp,” Alessio says, his tone like a whip slicing the air.
“Okay?”
He places the tray on the dresser and walks past the bed so he can see me. Immediately, his gaze finds my feet. Slowly, ever so slowly, his gaze climbs my body.
People often talk about how men look at women in a way that makes women feel like they’re undressing them. This isn’t one of those looks. This is something else. Something feral.
“Lake,” Alessio says, and the tone raises goose bumps on my arms. “Why are you walking barefoot over broken glass?”
I wiggle my toes. “I didn’t walk there.” When the room doesn’t get any warmer because Alessio’s chilling me to the bone, I try to warm him up with humor. “I won’t walk over glass. I’m not stupid. Duh.” I chuckle and smile, hoping he’ll just let it go, because something about the way he’s looking at me is freaking me out.
It's almost as if he’s deadly serious, and I mean that as in both deadly and serious. Alessio isn’t to be fucked with. I bite my lip, now realizing he’s not in the mood for jokes. If I raised my middle finger to lift the mood now, he’d probably bite it off. I curl my fingers into fists.
“You find my concern over you getting hurt funny?”
I shake my head. “Not at all.” I also curl my toes because he’s staring at my feet again.
“Why did you laugh, then?”
“I don’t know. It’s not funny.” Because deadly serious Alessio scares me, and I’m trying to defuse the situation.
Alessio steps forward, bends, and throws me over his shoulder. I screech when he lands two slaps on my bottom as he walks out of my bedroom.
We pause by the door, and he grabs the tray holding covered plates of food.
“Can’t forget to feed her. Can’t forget,” he mumbles.
I think that’s me. He’s saying he can’t forget to feed me.
I hear the thud of the French doors closing before Alessio walks by the pool.
“Please put me down,” I protest.
“Quiet.”
“Alessio, I’m not a bag of potatoes. Put me down.”
“I said quiet. Last warning.” We’re in the mud room, passing the kitchen. Thankfully, it’s eleven at night, and Leo’s asleep, so I don’t have to worry about him seeing me getting spanked over his uncle’s shoulder. But that also means I must be quiet.
Alessio gets his wish.
Since he’s carrying the tray in one hand and securing me with the other, and he came to feed me in the guest house (like a good owner feeds his pet, you know), I expect him to deposit me in the kitchen. But he doesn’t. He marches through it, into the foyer, and up the stairs.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He tsks.
At the top of the stairs, he pauses briefly, as if making a split-second decision to turn left.
No way! “Alessio,” I whisper-hiss. “No.” I kick my feet.
The door opens as if he’s opening it telekinetically, and he walks into the room at the end of the hallway. Also known as his bedroom. If the dark hardwood floors weren’t enough of a clue, the masculine scent unique to Alessio would give it away. It smells like sandalwood and crushed lavender over charcoal.
When he leans to the side, I grab his belt to hold on, thinking he’ll dump me onto his bed, but it seems like he’s putting down the tray. Alessio moves into the bathroom. I can tell by the tile.
There, he stands for a while.
Back here, I’m holding on to his belt. “Hey,” I say and lift my left foot, wiggling it as if waving.
Alessio pulls down my pajama bottoms and spanks me. Hard. Several times. Then I feel his lips and tongue depressing the side of my thigh and sucking. Also hard. Is he giving me a hickey? I can’t say anything because he told me to be quiet, and he really means it. Because he’s going through something that got sparked by seeing me barefoot near glass.
I’m trying to understand him, but he’s a difficult, complex, and an extremely dominant man. I’ve never met anyone like him. Besides, his personality is so opposite to mine that I’m having a hard time understanding how he keeps up with all the moving pieces in his life. Between Val, his business, his fifteen-hour workday seven days a week, how would he even know whether or not I ate dinner?
Even I don’t care about eating dinner. Sometimes my stomach growls, and I’m like, oh hey, I should probably eat. Thank you, body, for the reminder. Meanwhile, this man brought me dinner.
Alessio bites the soft flesh of my upper thigh. Not hard, but enough that I kick up my feet.
Finally, he sets me beside the sink and traps me between his arms and his body. His clear blue eyes, like lasers, penetrate my soul.
I cup his face. “Are we good now?”
He nods.
“Okay, then.”
Alessio steps back, his eyebrows drawn, his hands on his hips. When he looks up, he scrunches up his nose. “The staff will sweep the floor thoroughly.”
“Thank you.”
He pulls his bottom lip through his teeth while lifting his upper lip.
We’re still very much in feral territory. I'd best remain seated for the duration of his feral mood, or he’ll spank me. I’ll probably like it, so yeah, I’ll sit here like a good pet and wait for it to pass.
“There’s pizza,” he says.
“I love pizza.”
When I don’t move, Alessio jerks his head. “Get in my bed, Lake.”