Chapter 10 #3
“I’m just here to supervise.” His dirty feet, dusted in the grime of this house, transported him to a corner of the room. “I won’t touch. . . just watch.”
He plumped himself down on a beanbag, and the overfilled square gave out under his weight. The foam filling dripping onto the carpet through a small rip on the side would be the reason for Nessie’s tears tomorrow.
My father adjusted but didn’t move from his new perch.
He shoved two of his fingers into the hole, holding them up in the moonshine before inserting them, as if he was showing me what the fuck to do.
I didn’t give him the time of day, or in this case, night. I dropped below the thin covers, naked and still too hot to comfortably sit in my own skin.
The buzzing of my father’s phone was an irritating distraction. He was constantly getting text messages. It baffled me why anyone in the fucking world would want to talk to him after a drink, but someone did, all hours of the fucking night.
Only because he was their boss, and they were incompetent at doing their jobs.
His attention was still on the device in his hand—his fingers moving around the touchscreen—when I forgot his presence.
Jolie shifted in the sleeper, as if she was making room for me on the lower bunk. She turned over, away from me, and she yanked the blankets higher, blocking herself from the moon’s appreciation.
I sat up, the blankets falling to my lap, creating a chill down her spine.
“The girls from—”
I had no time to finish what I was going to say about the girls I’d previously seen in this house when I was lurking in places I shouldn’t be.
Girls I’d never mentioned in the diary, because knowing what my father did to them, would drive Woodrow crazier than he already was.
And I had no time to wonder if a conscience was suddenly trying to creep up from the grime inside me. . .
Because my father interrupted.
“The girls you’ve seen here, have been here for a purpose. Women who aren’t your wife are nothing more than something to shove your cock into. And it’s my job to make sure they are ready for that.” My father didn’t look up.
“Some don’t like it,” I spoke, my tone uncaring. My mind curious.
“Some don’t. But it is what it is, and that’s the unfortunateness of being born female.”
I remembered all I saw in the basement. Daddy dearest breaking the mentality of many women.
For a moment, I’d wondered if he’d done that with me, but then I remembered he fucking hated me being this way, and that was when the real memories came flooding back.
My existence, Woody’s, too, was all down to my mother.
Seeing the girls and thinking of Woodrow’s past, made me angry, and my father had only managed to calm me down by offering me a girl of my own. Someone to love while they hated me. . . but he assured me that wouldn’t matter over time.
And here she was.
I huddled down in the bed, my arm dropping around her waist, my body moving in. My semi-hard cock pressed into the curve of her round ass. The closer I got, the harder I become.
“Ness,” her words came out in a whisper. A whisper that floated through the air, ignored by each object it glided over.
My father glanced up, checking to see if Nessie was asleep. He didn’t know she’d be out for the night, lucky to wake up by noon.
“It’s not Nessie.” My whisper was harsher, cold like her body.
“Hell. . .” another whisper.
She was groggy when she turned to me. Drugged on the wine she smelled of. Red. Its scent lingered on her lips as mine met hers, not to kiss but for her to claim the message my lips delivered.
“About earlier—”
“Are you sorry?” she asked, lips still touching.
Hope lifted her pretty features, and her body held me tighter, her leg drifting over mine.
The alcohol clouding her senses didn’t allow her to realize I was naked.
“It didn’t go as planned.”
“Thank you for apologizing.”
Her hands moved over my shirtless torso, fingers spreading across my back.
Jolie was calm now, nothing like the fearful mess I’d seen earlier. She must have found my mother’s truckload of Xanax with that wine. I guess she was close by, after all. The kitchen. She was in the kitchen the whole damn time as I searched for her outside.
She’d drank the wine that my mother kept hidden, possibly the pills, too. Not fair, not sharing. . . because I needed fucking both due to the high anxiety Woodrow filled our fucking head with.
I placed a kiss just off Jolie’s lips. Keen to explore her, taste her, discover what it was about this fucking girl that kept me in the fucking dark. I suckled the fullness, taking her into my mouth.
She reared back, taking her perfect fucking lips away from me. Her eyes met mine, and her fingers brushed my chest, searching for the beat beneath her tips. Searching for a sign I had a fucking heart after what she’d seen me do today.
But I doubted she’d find one.
“I wasn’t apologizing, Jolie.”
Her tired brown eyes sprung wide, spinning like flying saucers in the darkness. Her ears prickled at the coldness in my voice.
“Did you find my momma’s special juice?” Definitely. My shard ran down her ugly pajamas—my mother’s hand-me-downs.
I stopped at her shorts. With her legs still hiked on mine, my little weapon rubbed over the notch near her hole. I moved back and forth, trying to figure out what it was about this part of the body that made girls moan differently. Judging from the look in Jolie’s glossed eyes, it was fear.
“Hell, I think you should go to bed.” Her hazed words slurred into my ears, dread heavy in her trembling voice. The sound was just as fucking irritating as my father’s phone, still fucking buzzing like a bee, high on acid, in the corner of the room.
Jolie couldn’t hear it. She couldn’t hear anything but the darkness in my tone as I planted my words into her ears. And that darkness prevented her from looking over and noticing the glow of the small device, too.
“I’m happy here. You shouldn’t have ran, doll.”
Her hands tried to push me away, and I let her believe that she had the tiniest bit of control as I drifted away. My laugh chilled the air as she struggled to sit, clutching the blankets and her head, as her first ever drink-induced migraine awoke before her senses.
“I think you should go to bed,” she repeated. “I don’t want to have to tell your father about this when he gets home.”
Did she really think she could threaten me? She couldn’t.
And was she really that out of it that she didn’t hear my father getting home and fighting with me for the last hour?
Fuck, I wanted to thank God that she’d made this so easy for me. . . and then she gave me a reason that this would be harder than I thought.
She dragged herself backwards, but I caught her, done with giving her any sense of authority. I pulled her by the leg—long and muscular and sexy as fuck—to gift the same generosity of a threat.
“Don’t run off, little doll. It’s because you did that earlier that I’m so angry. I wouldn’t want to hurt you any more than I have to.”
My words stilled her. Her eyes focused on me, on my nakedness, before they dropped to her own leg—scratched and bleeding, red trailing over the sheets.
Her eyes blinked twice, taking in the image of her bleeding skin and the shard I was dragging against it. Flashbacks of what I’d done to my mother flooded her, and that flood came spraying from her wide eyes.
“Stop,” silent words hit me in the face, but I didn’t feel them. I felt nothing but angry determination to prove to her she belonged to me.
I smeared away the blood on her skin, revealing a single letter—H—my claim on her forever.
“Oh, fuck.” She took in what I’d done, barely making out the initial.
I pulled her closer, and she panicked. “Stop.” Again, there was no sound, but the shape her mouth pulled had me knowing what she wanted. She wanted this over.
“Stop,” I repeated, with actual sounding words as I leered in closer, pushing her down into the mattress.
“Stop fucking telling me what to do. Stop fucking pretending that you have any say in what is going to happen to you. You don’t.
” I laughed. “Stop feeling, Jolie. It will hurt a lot fucking less. Trust me.”
Her face—features frozen in a place of innocence as she stared up at me, petrified—could have made the most remorseless person feel guilt. But I wasn’t remorseless; I was void of the capability of feeling anything right now.
Thanks for that, Father!
I stared down to her chest. Three buttons were left undone on the satin pajama top she was wearing. Its pretentious floral design didn’t accentuate her small cleavage, but she still felt overly exposed under my watchful stare.
My teeth sank into my bottom lip, slicing down until I drew blood. My tongue spread out, lapping the taste of my new injury. Enjoying it.
“Don’t,” Jolie’s whisper was quiet, false courage clouding her tone as her head turned from me. She took a breath before she could look at me again. “Go to bed.”
My eyes didn’t give her acknowledgement, still focused on her heaving chest—now, heaving more than before. Her fear couldn’t be denied.
My tongue finally left my lip, forgetting the injury that never caused me pain, and my eyes met hers.
“I kinda like that you’re afraid of me.” I dismissed her words, like she’d dismissed my presence.
She blinked twice, shock fighting for priority over fear. Not wanting to capture this version of me in any of her memories, she quickly jerked her head to the side, looking away from me.
She shifted away in the bed, and I let her go, barely creating a space between us.
My naked cock was still too close to the heat between her legs for her liking.
“You don’t get to run away from me again.” My hand clutched her shorts, dragging her back into position.
I pulled her closer, our skin touching as I pressed my nakedness onto her body.
I couldn’t help rocking into her. The satin felt good on my crotch, and for a minute, I didn’t even care that it was once my mother’s.