Chapter Twelve #2
That look in his eyes when I woke up…
The way he held me down, like I’d run if he let go.
Jesus Christ. Why does that man live in my head rent-free?
I picked him because he has that bad boy that fucks like a God, and because I thought he’d be easy to forget once the thrill passed. I thought he was a one-time thing.
He’s not. His hands, his voice and that low growl when he pushed inside me—
“Shit.” I snap my eyes open. “No. Stop.”
The ding from the oven saves me.
I finish washing my hair, dry off, throw on a pair of soft sweats and a top. My skin’s still warm from the shower as I pull the lasagna out.
It smells better than it probably tastes, but I don’t care. I sit on the couch, plate on my lap, phone in hand, and start making a list of everything I’ll need.
The kitchen has everything. Plates, glasses, even pans. It’s the little things I’m missing. Cleaning supplies, towels, a lamp for the bedroom and tea. I’ll get what I can tomorrow.
After I finish eating, I clean up quickly and check the door again. Locked. Alarm on.
The apartment is quiet, still. I grab the codes the realtor left and head to the bedroom.
The walls look darker at night, the green deeper under the low light.
I shut the curtains, then pause. Should I open them again?
Would it be worse to let someone see in…
or to not see them if they’re out there?
I leave them half open.
The bed is big, the sheets are cold when I slide under them, even though my body’s still warm from the shower.
It takes a while to settle. Every small creak in the pipes, every hum of the fridge, every wind-blown branch tapping the window makes my pulse jump.
What if he’s out there?
My heart pounds harder with the thought, and I pull the blanket up to my chin.
The alarm is on. I’m safe here, I saw the cameras. I’m safe.
I repeat that to myself, over and over, until sleep finally comes.
I wake up at two in the afternoon with the ring at the door.
Still half asleep, I throw on the hoodie Viviana got me and rush over, pressing the camera button.
A delivery man stands there with two boxes, so I buzz him in when he shows the label with my name.
Did Kian send my stuff through a courier or something?
“Miss Autumn?” he asks, clipboard out. “Sign here, please.”
I scribble my name and take the boxes inside.
“Who sent it?” I ask as I close the door.
“Mister Flynn Brady,” he says, already heading down the stairs.
I lock the door and just stand there.
Flynn?
I stare at the boxes like they might explode. Why would he—
I open the first one and stop breathing.
It’s a camera. Not just a camera, but the camera, the one I used to stalk online. A Canon R5, full-frame, mirrorless, professional-grade.
My heart’s already pounding when I slice open the second box to see a MacBook Pro.
He’s insane. I can’t accept this. I need it, but—
No.
I grab my phone. I still have him blocked, but all my contacts carried over when Viviana set up the new one. I type out the message anyway.
I can’t take this.
Three minutes pass and his reply appears.
Flynn: Yes you can. And you will.
My fingers clench. That arrogant shithead. He really thinks he can just tell me what to do.
No, I can’t. I’m sending it back.
Flynn: Then I’ll show up at your place and make sure it stays, and trust me, you don’t want that, trouble.
Oh no.
The heat that floods me isn’t from anger, it’s something else entirely.
That voice in my head, low and rough, the way he growled trouble when—
Shit.
I press my thighs together, trying to kill the thought.
Yeah right, mate. Like you’d actually show up. You don’t even know where I live. I’ll return it to the store later today.
Flynn: Did you just call me mate?
My stomach drops. I laugh, but it’s nervous.
Yes. Why?
Flynn: I’ll be there in fifteen.
My heart stops.
No.
No no no.
He can’t.
I stare at the screen. The room. The door.
“Shit! Oh my God.”
I scramble, tripping over the damn rug as I race to the mirror. I look like I’ve been dragged through a tornado.
He wouldn’t really come, right?
Would he?
He doesn’t know where I—what if Viviana or Kian told him?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I brush my teeth, run a comb through my hair, and add the tiniest bit of blush.
Bra on, brown sweater, black leggings, everything from Viviana’s bag.
The door rings and I jump.
No way that’s him already. It’s only been—
I check my phone. Fifteen minutes.
Shit.
“Yes?” I press the intercom. The camera shows him standing there, hands in his pockets. He looks up.
“Open, Autumn.” His voice is a low growl. My legs clench before I can stop it.
I buzz him in and open the door.
He walks in from the hallway, black tailored suit clinging to his frame. Tattoos creep from under his collar. His green eyes lock on mine and I swear my heart skips a beat.
“Mate, huh?” His voice is quiet, amused, with a hint of something darker behind it.
I laugh, way too nervous. He walks past me like he owns the place.
“You need to take the camera and computer with you. It’s too much.”
I close the door and lock it.
“Let’s make a deal.” He turns to face me, still calm, still with his hands in his pockets. “You’ll pay me. Not with money.”
“Excuse me?” I cross my arms. Without noticing, I start tapping my foot on the floor.
“Easy, trouble.” His smirk is slow, cocky, deliberate.
“Easy? Is that why you gave me that stuff? So you could—”
He moves. Fast.
I step back until my spine hits the wall and his arms come up, one on either side of my head, boxing me in.
“Can you let me finish?” he says, voice low and calm like I’m the one being unreasonable. His scent hits me, clean, expensive. “You pay me by telling the truth. About that night.”
My breath catches. “I told you the truth.” I lie.
“No. You didn’t.” His voice roughens, his pupils dilate, his left hand drags slowly down my arm, the trail of goosebumps he leaves behind making me shiver.
“Do you have any idea what happens to people who lie to my face?”
I shake my head, lips parting as his hand grips my waist tight.
“Let’s just say they don’t do it twice.”
His other hand lifts, thumb dragging across my cheek to my mouth.
“The truth, Autumn.”
He presses on my lower lip, gently, almost teasing. His head tilts closer and I can feel his tongue skim along the edge of my lips and I let out a soft, helpless sound.
I moan, trying to hide it, but that doesn’t work.
He grins like a man who just won.
“Flynn,” I whisper.
“You were a virgin, weren’t you?” He doesn’t need the answer; his hand is still on my face, the other gripping my hip. His presence presses down on me like a weight.
“Y-yes.”
His lips crash into mine.
The kiss is rough, devouring. His thumb pulls my chin, opening my mouth. His tongue slides in and I melt into him without thinking. My hands reach for his neck—
He catches them and holds them, then he pins them both above my head with one strong hand.
My breath hitches.
“Why me?” he asks. He sounds like he’s barely breathing hard, while I sound like I’ve just run a mile. “Why like that?”
I let out a breath, and tell him a half truth. “I was sick of it. Sick of being a virgin, of people telling me how it should be, how I should feel. I wanted it to be mine.”
Looking into his eyes, I’m drawn to the sharp line of his jaw, the way the vein in his neck pulses when he swallows. “Someone like you fucks and forgets.”
His mouth twitches. Then he grips my wrists tighter, and I wince.
“Someone like me?” he repeats, voice dropping further. “Oh, trouble… you have no fucking idea who I am.”
His free hand drags slowly down, finds the waistband of my leggings, just below my belly button, and my heart stutters.
“You’re the type who’d leave before the sun is up. No call, no text.” My voice cracks as his fingers slip under the hem, grazing the top of my panties. “Flynn—”
His gaze lifts sharply. “Eyes on me.” I obey without thinking, and his grin deepens.
“Good girl.”
His fingers move down, grazing my skin over the fabric. “And you blocked me, never replied to my voicemail.” He continues, voice dark.
“I—” My head snaps back when his finger presses on my clit.
“You what?” He kicks my legs apart with his boot and then presses harder. My entire body shutters. “Keep going.”
“I thought you—” Shit. “You didn’t care.”
He starts to circle my clit, slowly, pressing at the same time. My hands are still pinned hard above my head, but I barely feel the pain; all I feel is his finger and his breath on my neck as he leans in.
“You thought wrong, trouble.” His voice is deep, his teeth graze the soft skin of my neck, and I shiver. “You bled on my cock. You let me be the first man inside that tight little cunt, and now I fucking own you.”
He moves his finger fast and pulls the fabric away, shoving one finger inside me, and I let out a whimper.
“Jesus Christ!” It comes out breathless, my eyes shutting down.
“I said, ‘Eyes on me.’” He whispers near my ear before moving further, and I open my eyes, meeting his.
“You—” He starts to pump his finger while his thumb circles my clit non-stop. “You don’t own me.”
He chuckles darkly. “I do, and you will obey me.” He stops, and I let out a deep breath, trying to pull my hands down, but he doesn’t move an inch. “Open your legs wider.” And I do it. Just like that. What the hell? It’s like he has some kind of control spell on me.
“See? I told you I own you.” He inserts another finger and moves them in and out, and I moan out his name, my legs shaking. He curls his fingers, and I wince at the stretch.
“I will need to prepare this little cunt and ass to take me.” He grunts, and the sound of his voice drives me closer to the edge. “That’s it, ride my hand, like the little slut you are.”
I should feel offended, but I don’t; it’s the opposite.
I ride his hand; he curls his fingers again as he leans in and bites my neck.
The sensation is too much; the orgasm hits me like a brick wall.
My entire body convulses, but he keeps me pinned to the wall, holding me by my wrists when my legs give out.
“Such a good girl.”
He lets go of my hands and steps back. I lean against the wall, palms flat on the cold concrete, trying to keep myself from collapsing.
His fingers rise to his mouth. He licks them clean—slow—and my cheeks burn so hot I feel dizzy. My heart pounds, frantic and helpless.
“Keep the camera and the computer, Autumn. You need them to work.”
His voice is deep, amused, like this was all some casual arrangement instead of a wrecking ball to my sanity. He gives me one last look, up and down, then walks to the door, unlocks it, and leaves.
What the hell just happened?