Chapter Eleven
TESS
That could’ve ended worse.
Novak’s response to Dale wasn’t what I thought it would be. But, if I’m honest with myself, I never know what to expect from him. He came off as possessive tonight, where, in the past, he’s thrown me to the wayside once he was finished with me.
Once again, I’m left alone trying to make heads or tails of this whole thing.
Novak doesn’t want to progress it. He’s never said it in words but he’s made it abundantly clear through his actions.
I’m a piece of meat for him to use and abuse whenever he sees fit.
We’re not lovers. We’re siblings, unrelated or not, with a twisted fascination for fucking each other.
My body still aches from Novak’s touch. The thought of the orgasm denial is worse than just not coming.
If I know I can, I wouldn’t care. But because I can’t, because I know he’s going to take me again and ensure I don’t get my release, it feels like I’m floating through some purgatory of frustration. This is only the first night.
Shit.
The pink toy lying on my bed isn’t helping. I could be enjoying the pleasures of self-touch, if I hadn’t been ordered to hold myself back.
I know I’m only thinking about this because what transpired tonight isn’t that serious. Had Dale not shown up at our house or different events led to the same punishment, I’d be going through the same deliberation.
In the end, it’s easier to let my mind wander off than to be plagued with thoughts of Novak taking from me, but never offering anything gentle in return. That would only end in heartbreak, and I’ve long ago realized there’s no point hoping when it comes to Novak Christiansen.
My phone buzzes on the dresser table. I jump off my bed and pick it up, expecting to see a photo of Mom and Will enjoying their holiday. She’s been blasting me with messages all afternoon about how nice the weather is, and how she hopes we’re keeping warm in the icy chill of this storm.
But it’s not Mom. It’s not Will. It’s the same unlisted number that texted me earlier today.
You looked amazing in your outfit tonight.
It’s a shame I didn’t get to have some fun with it.
What the hell?
Novak’s literally one room over. Why would he send me a message? Probably another one of his twisted ways to keep me in check.
Maybe I’m overthinking his lack of caring. From the day I met him, Novak has hidden inside a bubble of self-isolation. He doesn’t talk about how his day went, nor does he allow himself to show emotions other than anger.
For all I know, these messages he’s sending are a way for him to express what he can’t say in words.
But that doesn’t explain the second part of the message. I didn’t get to have some fun.
I respond:
What are you talking about?
Another comes through:
I saw you.
Followed in quick succession by short written texts.
Parading around the house and sprucing up.
Bending over and giving me a view of your ass.
Every new buzz brings a stronger wave of nervousness than the last.
Testing the toy. Picturing me in your head. Bringing yourself to orgasm.
I type my response:
Stop! This isn’t funny.
Before I can hit send, more vibrations tickle my fingertips.
The picture you sent me of your wet cunt makes me so hot my teeth hurt. I haven’t felt the same since I first saw you.
Let me see you again.
I hit send, but it doesn’t stop the onslaught of the increasingly creepy messages.
A little ginger fire-cracker. That’s what you are.
I bet you taste so good.
I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. There’s a pit in my gut and I’m starting to feel incredibly dizzy. As if this were all some bad dream, and any moment now I’m going to wake up with that unsettling feeling of how real it all was.
But there’s no such luck, and there’s no waking up. There’s only me and the constant onslaught of text messages.
As if the previous weren’t bad enough, the very next one fills me with dread.
He can’t stop this.
Screw this. I’m not going to stand idly by and accept this bullshit. I dial the number and the person who’s texting picks up immediately.
“Who the hell is this?”
I want to shout, but I can’t raise my voice. Not until I’m certain this isn’t Novak’s attempt at some sick joke.
There’s no response on the other end.
“What do you want from me?”
Again, I’m met by radio silence.
“Stop this, and stop it now. It’s not funny.”
I hear the first sound from the other end. It’s the sound of breathing against the phone’s receiver, as if this person was about to speak, but ended up changing their mind midway through.
I kill the call.
I storm out of my room and head for Novak’s door. I pound against the wood with a steady fist.
“What now?” Novak says disgruntled from inside. By the hushed tones, it’s more to himself than it’s directed at me.
I don’t stop banging on his door until he opens it.
“Christ, Tess, you’re going to splinter the wood. What are you doing?”
“What is this?” I hold my phone to his face, with the text messages on display. A few more come through in the time it takes to get his attention.
He scans them, and even as I’m holding the phone up to him, I can feel the vibrations.
Oh, God, it can’t be Novak if they’re still pouring through.
“I’m going to fuck your face in,” Novak says. Knowing him, it’s hard to tell if that’s a statement directed at me or if he’s reading one of the texts. He reads a few more with the same increasingly unhinged remarks.
“What exactly are you showing me?” he finally asks in a question that is definitely directed at me. He’s none the wiser, as I expected he’d be once the texts kept pouring in. But if it’s not Novak, who is it?
Panic starts to set in. It’s easy to let the mind wander to silly places when you’re alone in a room. I could be angry when I thought Novak was messing with me, now that it is clear it’s not him, I feel there’s a real threat.
“This isn’t you?”
“Why would it be me?” He raises a brow. “I wouldn’t waste time sending messages if I wanted a piece of you. I’d come and take it.”
“But… we spoke this morning?” I stare down at my body, still clad in the maid’s outfit. I haven’t changed, since I thought this is what Novak wanted me to wear. I would’ve kept it on all night as a reminder of the fun we had.
“You told me to get this? And the…”
The toy. Novak’s questions didn’t seem serious when we were getting busy, because I thought he was playing along with the drama. But he was being real. He had no idea I had gone out and bought any of this.
“Tess, what’s going on?” Novak asks and I fall silent.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s that stupid fuck, Dale Birchwell, isn’t it?” he roars. In an instant, he’s gone from being calm and curious about the situation, to burning with white-hot rage.
“It can’t be him,” I say. I believe it too. “He wouldn’t do anything like this.” Would he?
My thing with Dale has been going on for a few months, now.
It’s never gotten serious, at least to me, but can I honestly say the same for him?
He’s the one who’s putting effort in and trying to make this thing work.
What if the simpleton I’ve been stringing along for the emotional connection has a darker side that’s only now starting to surface?
No, that’s silly. Dale is… he’s a can of condensed milk. Sweet to the core.
“I’m going to pay him a visi—“
“You’re going to do no such thing,” I cut Novak off. This isn’t a game of fun and fucking, this is serious.
“Tess, if anything this creep says is true, you’re in danger. Let me handle it.”
“I don’t see how you can.” The words leaving my mouth feel foreign to me. They’re coming out in my voice, but it doesn’t feel as if I’m saying them. I can deal with being angry, but I don’t know how to feel right now.
Novak crosses his arms. His eyes drift to the ceiling as he contemplates what to say next. Of course, he doesn’t have any reassuring words to add. Why would he? That’s not his style.
After some deliberation, he finally settles on an answer. “Let me look into it.”
“By doing what?”
“Starting with the only person it could be. If it’s not Dale Birchwell, we can re-evaluate.”
He’s trying, and I’m grateful for it, but they’re not the words I want to hear.
I want him to take me in his arms and tell me that everything’s going to be okay.
I want him to storm off and beat down the doors of the man he suspects because of a code of honor.
This is why I started seeing Dale in the first place.
He might be a puppy dog in human form, but at least he shows real feelings.
Not every situation needs to be approached with a fully analytical mind.
“It’s fine.” I back away from Novak. He isn’t going to give me the comfort I need right now. “I’ll call the cops in the morning and see what they have to say.”
I step away and Novak doesn’t protest. Sometimes I wonder if he actually cares about me at all beyond my being his plaything. He won’t change. Even in my time of need. I’ve learned a lot more about him tonight than I ever have from just fucking him.
The realization stings.