Chapter 25 Eloise
Eloise
The morning sun streams in through the open window, tickling my eyelids and pulling me from a deep sleep.
There’s a slight ache to my muscles, though it's strongest in the place between my thighs.
I rub my legs together, discovering a slickness dripping from my core, coating the skin of my inner thighs.
Instead of opening my eyes, I take a deep breath, my senses filled with the familiar scent of leather and tobacco. It’s comforting and warm—just like the arm wrapped around my middle, like the hard planes of the chest pressed to my back.
I startle awake, adrenaline filling my veins with each rapid heartbeat.
Carefully, I slide out from under Riot’s arm, placing it gently onto the mattress where my body was once resting.
Exposed to the cool air, I shiver, goose bumps covering every inch of my bare skin, my nipples hardening to pinpricks.
Gazing over my shoulder at Riot, I ensure he’s still deep in sleep before collecting my denim shorts off the floor. I slide my hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone to check the time.
6:30 a.m.
I sigh, stuffing the device back into my pocket as dread replaces the warmth in my stomach. In just a few hours, Dave will be back from his trip, and everything will go back to how it always is.
I look at the door, debating whether I should slip out.
I don’t have my bike with me, and it would take a good hour to walk back to the mansion, but it might be worth it.
Then I won’t have to face what happens when Riot wakes up.
Will he look at me the same? Will he regret what happened?
Will he ask me to leave—kick me out—like I’ve read in all those romance novels?
I take one step toward the door when Riot’s voice rings out over my shoulder, freezing me to the spot.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Slowly, I turn around to face him, my cheeks hot. “I thought you were sleeping.”
Riot tips his head, jewelry glinting in the morning light, his eyes piercing.
Hungry. “And I thought you knew there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go before I have you again.
” At this, he smirks. “And then again. And again. And again. Do you understand? You’re not going anywhere, sweet Eloise. Not for a long, long while.”
He brings a hand up, eyes unblinking as he crooks a finger at me, willing me to obey. My knees go weak, and that fluttering sensation returns tenfold. I squeeze my thighs together, all too aware of the slickness glistening on my sex.
“Come here, Eloise.”
I obey, dropping my arms to my sides as I stride toward him, the sunlight dancing off my skin, highlighting the dips and curves of my figure.
Riot’s eyes trail down my frame hungrily, his tongue darting out, dragging over the hoops on his lower lip. “You’re fucking ravishing in this light, Eloise. So beautiful it hurts.”
I crawl into his waiting arms, straddling his hips and sighing as his hands roam over my body, caressing and worshipping every inch of me. His touch ignites a fire lying dormant in my soul, breathes life into it anew, and I fall into him.
“Please, Riot,” I beg, shamelessly grinding against the length of his cock. “I want you again.”
“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that.” He leans forward, nipping at my lower lip. “I just have to run to the store first.”
“For?”
Riot’s eyes light. “More condoms. It was a fluke I had the one we used last night on me.”
Heat creeps up my cheeks, and I lower my gaze, suddenly shy. “We could… try it without.”
Riot’s hands slide over my hips, his fingertips digging into the soft flesh.
“As much as I would love to feel you coming on my raw cock… I don’t think that’s the most responsible idea.
I’m clean, but I don’t want to risk getting you pregnant.
” He pauses, thinking for a long moment. “Actually… scratch that.”
I bite my lip, looking up at him beneath my lashes. “I’m actually on the pill. I’ve taken it since I was sixteen.” For the world's most painful cramps, I don’t add. “So we technically can if you want to—”
Riot cuts me off by crashing his mouth to mine, sliding his hand up to cup the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss, spreading warmth throughout my body.
We sleep together, and it’s different from last night.
It’s softer and sweeter, more tender but just as mind-blowing.
I end up coming five times before Riot will let me out of bed, and by that time, the sun is high in the sky.
Riot holds me in bed after, running his hands over me, placing delicate kisses along every part of my body, committing me to memory.
And I’ve never felt more whole.
Around noon, I can’t deny my situation any longer. No matter how much I’d like to spend the week here, in Riot’s arms, I have to go back home. Back to my reality.
I gaze up at Riot, the devastation in my eyes telling him all he needs to know. “No. I’m not ready to let you go yet.”
“You have to,” I whisper, running my hands lightly down his chest. “I need to go back. I’ve already stayed longer than I should have…”
Riot nods, but he doesn’t seem happy about it. He lets out a long sigh, brushing his thumb gently across my jaw as he stares deep into my eyes. “I don’t want to take you back there.”
“I know. I don’t want to go back there.” I press my head to his chest, pressure building behind my eyes.
“I want to stay here with you more than anything. But if I don’t go back, if Dave finds me gone…
he’ll have you arrested, Riot. What we’re doing right now…
the courts will view it as kidnapping once Dave spins his lies.
I can’t do that to you. It won’t make anything better, and then we’ll both be suffering. ”
He presses his lips to my forehead, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. “I suffer every day, knowing you’re not happy. Knowing there’s nothing I can do to help.”
“I know. I know,” I whisper, at a loss for what else to say. “But I still have to go.”
Riot nods, his eyes misting. He leans in, pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that shatters the world around me and places a song in my heart. But it doesn’t last. It can’t.
“Can I drive you home at least?” he asks, his expression crumbling. “I don’t want you to walk all that way alone.”
I think about it for a moment. It’s riskier to have Riot drive me, but I’d also appreciate a few more minutes with him. Touching him.
“Okay,” I whisper, taking his hand.
Riot drops me off around the block, and after another earth-shattering kiss, I wave goodbye, promising to contact him as soon as possible.
I can’t go long without his touch now. I fear I may be addicted.
My steps are lighter than they’ve been in years as I make my way toward the mansion. Despite the knowledge that Dave will be home soon, my mood hasn’t dampened to the depths that it usually does. Now that I have Riot, things aren’t quite so bleak.
I expertly sneak back in through the kitchen window, breathing a sigh of relief when I don’t see Forest anywhere near.
I grab a snack from the fridge and head up to my room, my phone growing hot in my pocket.
My mind works in overdrive, trying to figure out the best text to send him. Something heartfelt but not overdone.
I open my bedroom door, grinning as I imagine his response. I’m buzzing, lighter than I’ve felt in years, even excited for the future.
Until I come face-to-face with Dave’s murderous expression.
“Ah!” I jump back, startled at the sight of him. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, he crosses his arms, tapping his foot against the carpet as his eyes move over my person.
My heart drops into my stomach. No. No, no, no. It’s over. It’s all over.
“Where were you, Eloise?”
“I—Nowhere.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He raises a brow, the rest of his face eerily still. “Then what the fuck is this?”
Dave turns, grabbing a tabloid off my vanity and thrusting it in my face. “Fucking explain this!”
Breaking Celebrity News!
Riot Arden spotted with mystery woman outside of hotel!
I gaze at the photo of Riot outside his hotel room, face twisted in a murderous expression as he screams at the paparazzi.
The door behind him is partially closed, but through the opening, you can make out a flash of bright-pink hair and a blurry slice of my face.
It’s not much, but clearly enough for Dave to recognize me.
And I could lie, but based on the look in his cruel eyes, I don't think that would be wise.
I swallow hard. “He’s just a friend.”
Apparently, this is the wrong thing to say. “So you admit you snuck out to spend time with this… this cretin! Do you know what this could do to your career? Do you know what people will think when they see you with Riot fucking Arden?”
I nod, too scared to speak.
“Did you enjoy yourself, at least?”
This time, I don’t dare move.
“Hmm.” He steps toward me, grabbing my wrist in his meaty palm. “I hope it was worth it.”
He whips around, tearing all my books from their shelves in a fit of madness and rage. I can do nothing but watch as he takes my possessions—my cherished books—and ruins them, tearing covers from the spines and shredding the pages within. Pressure builds behind my eyes, but I don’t cry.
I don’t show any emotion. Not even when he throws the mangled scraps to the ground, then spits and stomps on them. I gaze down at the shredded pile of books lying in the center of my bedroom, unable to believe what I’m seeing.
Without a sound, I crouch down, picking up the pieces with trembling fingers. All the pages are torn and mixed, and I have no idea how to make it better. How to fix it.
“Why?” I whisper, gazing up at him with wide, honest eyes. “Why are you so cruel to me?”
Dave scoffs, his hand snapping out, closing around my wrist with surprising strength. “Because I’m able.”
With a sneer, he hauls me off the floor and drags my numb body toward the doorway, barely noticing my resistance. He pulls me out of my room, down the stairs, and toward a locked door that leads to the lower level of the house.
Toward the basement piano.
I whip my head around wildly, calling out for Forest—for anyone—but no one is here but Dave and me.
“Forest isn’t here, you stupid bitch,” he snaps, bringing the back of his hand hard against my cheek, making me see stars. “I gave him the day off so he wouldn’t have to listen to you scream and cry.”
My stomach bottoms out. “Fuck you. You’re an evil piece of filth. A rotten monster.”
He just laughs, the sound high and cruel. “Yes, I am.”
He unlocks the door, dragging me into a darkened stairwell, down to the pit of hell. With each step, each rapid heartbeat, my fear grows. It takes over me, clouding my mind and dulling my senses to anything other than panic. And I crack.
“Wait!” I dig my heels into the floor, voice rising in desperation. “Wait! Please, I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t—”
“Are you making excuses, Eloise? You know how I hate excuses…”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry...”
“You’re sorry?” Dave shakes his head slowly. “No. You’re not sorry, but you will be.”
Dave drags me the rest of the way down the stairs, shoving me onto the worn, chipped bench sitting in front of an upright piano. I sit there for several moments, frozen, knowing what’s to come and unprepared for it all the same.
Dave reaches out, grabbing a rust-colored stick lying at the top of the piano. “Play.”
I bring my shaking hands to the keys, my mind spiraling, desperately trying to recall the notes to any of the pieces I’ve learned over the years. In my panic, they all merge, the melodies uncoordinated and wrong—and I know I will make a mistake.
I begin playing, my fingers stiff, my stomach roiling.
Every time I misplay a note, Dave whacks my hands with that cane—over and over again, until my fingers are reduced to bloody pulp and my throat is raw from screaming out in agony.
The ivory is stained a dark brown color from all the dried blood, but Dave still strikes me one more time.
All I can muster is a pained whimper.
“Clean this mess up before you go to bed. I want the keys sparkling by the time I wake up,” he snaps. Dave places the stick back onto the top of the piano, turns on his heel, and heads toward the stairs. He stops at the bottom, turning his head over his shoulder to give me a cold glare.
“Oh, and Eloise? If you ever see Riot Arden again, I will make you both pay. Just remember that.”
I listen to his footsteps retreating up the stairs, the pressure behind my eyes heightening. But no matter how much I want to, how much my body screams for it, I do not cry.
I can’t.
With nothing else to do, I grab a toothbrush, a bucket, and a sponge from the kitchen, then head back to the basement to clean the keys, like I used to when I was younger and this was a regular occurrence.
The monotonous task lulls me into a sense of calm, and I allow muscle memory to take over, letting my mind wander to happier times.
As I clean, I’m vaguely aware of loud hammering coming from upstairs as Dave nails all the windows in the house shut. It makes me feel hopeless. Useless and frail.
I want to be different—to stand up to him. To run away.
But I can’t. I’m stuck here. Stuck in this place, with this horrible, evil man.
There’s nothing to do, no way to stop his abuse.
If I ran away, Dave would call the police, telling them I had a psychotic break and convince them I’m a danger to myself.
They would track me down and throw me in a psych ward—something I know from experience—and that is so much worse than this.
There’s nothing I can do but bear it.
I fall asleep at the foot of the piano, too tired to make the trek up to my room. And in my sleep, I dream of Riot, and his fingers moving skillfully over his guitar. I dream of his smile, so free and full of life, and his eyes—gazing down at me like I’m the only woman in the world.
The fantasy helps me make it to the morning.