Chapter 43
I can’t believe we’re under the same roof again.
We’re due for a long talk, but I can’t even bring myself to be in the same room with her.
Earlier today, the woman formerly known as my mother strolled into the kitchen with a beaming smile and cheerful “Good morning.” I wanted to vomit; instead, I escaped to the nursery to unpack and organize.
That was two hours ago, but I’m still hiding out, surrounded by pink decor and baby items. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet while my baby daddy’s out. Though it’s Sunday, he left for the shop before sunrise to put the final touches on a rush order.
I inspect the small bookshelf I just finished putting together and nod in approval.
A handyman I am not, but I did a damn good job.
Now for the books. I clamber to my feet, which isn’t an easy task with my big belly, and pad across the hall to my bedroom.
I stored the books in my closet for safekeeping.
Leah, the intellectual that she is, bought the books for my girls months ago, affirming, “It’s never too early to foster young minds.” I shake my head, recalling her serious tone. I swear that girl is an old soul.
As I pull the bag of books from the closet shelf, a shoebox tumbles out and lands at my feet. I go still, seeing a familiar blue watch lying among the scattered mementos. I can’t believe it. He still has it after all this time.
I put the books down and pick it up, reading the words written in permanent black marker on the back.
Best Friends Forever, Love Zilphia.
I remember writing those words like it was yesterday.
Rough fingers snatch the watch out of my hand. I spin around, coming face-to-face with a scowling Sandman. “What the fuck you doing?”
“N-nothing, I-I—”
His fingers lock around my wrist so tight that pain lances up my arm. “Stay out of my fucking business!”
“I didn’t touch it,” I whimper, afraid my bones might snap at any second. “It fell when I grabbed the books. I swear.”
“Get out,” he barks and shoves me away. “Now, before I hurt you.”
I should leave and thank my lucky stars I got off with just a bruised wrist. Instead, I stay rooted to the spot, watching as he gathers the scattered items and places them back in the shoebox.
My eyes widen, realization washing over me. “Oh my God.”
The hair scrunchie, socks, bracelet, lip gloss—things I thought I lost. He had them all.
“Why do you have my things?” I whisper.
Sandman throws the shoebox right past my head, and then he’s on me, crowding me against the wall with his big body. His ragged breaths fan across my temple with each rise and fall of his chest. Anger pours from him in waves, raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
He’s close to breaking. And when he breaks, no one is safe—especially me.
“Because I was obsessed with you from the moment I saw you.” He leans in, his hard body brushing against me. “Have you ever been obsessed with someone, Zilphia?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Your mind becomes fixated on that person.” He pulls the strap of my camisole down my shoulder, exposing my right breast. “You can’t think about anything else, and when you’re not with that person, it feels like your heart is going to explode,” he continues, circling the pad of his thumb over my nipple with featherlight caresses.
“You would move heaven and earth… sacrifice everything for that person, even your own life.”
“I never asked to be your obsession,” I respond breathlessly.
“Liar,” he hisses. “You called to me that night and begged to become my obsession.”
I frown up at him. “What are you talking about? I saw you go into the tree house, but I didn’t call out to you.”
“You did.” He presses a palm to his forehead. “Here, you called to me here. You told me to come to you and everything would be okay. And for a while it was. I loved you so fucking much, Zilphia. I loved you more than I loved myself. Before you, I wanted to die.”
He was beaten so badly that night, whatever he thought he heard was nothing more than a hallucination.
That’s the only logical explanation—or maybe he’s straitjacket crazy, like Meela said.
Regarding the latter, I knew his feelings for me grew beyond friendship, but nothing could’ve ever come of it.
We lived on the same planet, but we were from two different worlds.
“We created something magical inside that tree house,” I say, choosing my words wisely. “The pressure to be perfect in everything made my childhood a living hell. Without you, I wouldn’t have survived it. I loved you, but we couldn’t be together. You know we couldn’t.”
“Thought you were too good for the trailer-trash white boy?” Sandman snarls, glaring down at me. “But look at you now, belly round with my babies and pussy on call for my dick.” He slips a hand into my panties, pushing long fingers deep inside my wet heat.
“I never thought that,” I moan, latching onto the front of his shirt with both hands. “I swear I didn’t.”
“You were always going to be mine, Zilphia,” he rasps, nudging my legs further apart with a booted foot. “I was biding my time, but fate brought you to my doorstep. Did you think I had forgotten you?”
No, and I hadn’t forgotten him either. I thought about him every day.
His fingers stroke my slick walls, his calloused palm sliding back and forth over my clit, shooting white-hot sensations straight to my core.
“I want to come,” I beg, rolling my hips, my movements frantic with need. “Please, Sandman. I want to come.”
“Your orgasms belong to me,” he whispers in my ear. “You come when I say. Understand?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“You’re dripping down my fingers,” he murmurs. “Pregnancy made your pussy wetter.”
I grasp his shoulder and bear down on his hand, matching him thrust for thrust. He hooks his fingers inside me, teasing the sensitive spot behind my pubic bone. I gasp as a ball of heat rushes through me like a freight train.
“I’m about to… I’m about to—”
Sandman snatches his fingers from my body and puts several inches between us. “What I tell you?”
“No, no, no.” I reach for him, but stay pressed to the wall, my legs weak and unsteady. “Please come back.”
“No orgasms for you, but I still gotta get mine.” His gaze rakes over my body, lingering between my thighs. “Strip, then lie on the bed.”
“Go to hell!” I shout, my voice cracking with fury.
He smirks. “I’ve already been. It was a luxury experience. Be a good girl and I’ll take you sometime.”
“Fuck you,” I spit, lifting my chin. “I’m not getting on that bed and you can’t make me.”
His gaze alights on my trembling hand, and his smirk morphs into a full-blown smile.
“Sweet, sweet Zilphia,” he croons, excitement shining in his blue orbs. “You just made my day a whole lot better.”
I suck in a sharp breath as he swoops down on me like an avenging angel, grabbing me under the arms and tossing me onto the bed.
“Are you insane?” I shriek, pushing up on my elbows to glare at him. “Do you see how big my stomach is? You can’t just be throwing me around like a sack of potatoes!”
“Am I insane?” he laughs, latching onto my ankles and pulling me to the edge of the bed. “We both know the answer to that question, don’t we?” He stares into my eyes as he rips my pajama bottoms down my legs and drops them onto the floor. “Tell me, who’s to blame for my lack of sanity?”
“Me…” I breathe, though a response isn’t needed.
He nods, turning me onto my side. “I was chasing heaven but ended up in hell.”
Having that much power over a person can be a blessing and a curse. In my case, it unleashed an all-consuming hate. I never want that much power again.
“You wrecked me, Zilphia,” he continues, positioning his knee just above my ass on the bed while keeping his other foot firmly planted on the floor. “You were supposed to be my salvation, but you turned out to be a Trojan Horse.”
I bite down on my wrist, holding my breath, as his fingers coast over the soaked cotton clinging to my labia. Moments later, I hear the hiss of his zipper, and my panties are pulled to the side. Cool air caresses my heated sex, and a sound I didn’t know I could make escapes my lips.
“Hurry,” I beg, needing him inside me.
“Say my name,” he growls through clenched teeth.
“Sandman. Sandman. Sandman,” I chant, his name an entreaty on my lips.
“No, say my other name.”
“Sam,” I whisper so softly, for a second, I question if I said it. He warned me never to call him by his given name—he was adamant that Samuel Hendricks died long ago. But maybe he was just buried under Sandman’s hate.
He seizes my hip with strong fingers and slams into my pussy in one spine-rattling thrust. Raw pleasure explodes through my body, dispelling all logical thought and reason from my mind.
“Again!” he orders, pounding into my weeping walls.
“Sammmm!” I scream so loud that my ears ring.
“Again!”
“Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam! Sam!”
I scream his name over and over again, our flesh colliding in a violent symphony, amplified by the slick desire between my thighs. The bed shakes beneath us with each frenzied thrust. I reach back, placing a hand against his hard abs.
“Nah,” he rasps, pushing me further onto the bed while remaining thick and full inside my pussy. He lies down behind me, his chest pressed firmly against my back, and then he’s moving inside me again. “Take all of me.”
“Yes,” I moan as his hungry lips settle over the spot where my shoulder and neck meet.
He sucks the sensitive area, every pull of his strong mouth a thunderbolt to my throbbing core.
His mouth and dick move in sync, and soon the velvet heat growing between my thighs ignites into a firestorm of smoldering sensations.
“How can it be this good?” he rumbles against my neck, delving his hand into my panties and expertly kneading my clit. “You make me fucking crazy.”
“You don’t think you make me crazy too?” He’s taken over my body, my mind, and my soul. There’s nothing left of me. He consumes every inch of my being but constantly wants more.