Chapter Two #2
I don’t get to finish the sentence before Zac is once again scolding me.
But what Alyssa admits leaves me with a sickeningly huge smile plastered across my face, one that I can’t seem to stop. “He didn’t have to tell me. Reilly sent me a message this morning, worried about you and the fact you got taken away in handcuffs,” she says while squinting her eyes at me.
If she’s waiting for me to confirm that Reilly was there this morning when I got arrested, she will die waiting.
I may not be much of a gentleman, but I do not kiss and tell.
So, Reilly was worried about me enough to call Alyssa.
Hope is not lost after all. Then the question is why the fuck is she not returning my messages?
I try my best to pretend to be busy on my phone.
Informing Alyssa about what got me arrested is on a need- to-know basis, and she does not in fact need to know.
Normally it wouldn’t be such a secret, but because I was arrested for beating the crap out of the guy who hit her, I can’t tell her.
I have a feeling she would get all guilty and shit.
I do not need her feeling bad. If she feels bad, Zac’s going to feel bad and when Zac feels bad, we all fucking cop the brunt of it.
Alyssa must realise I’m not going to comment on Reilly, and she starts threatening my manhood if I hurt one of her friends.
I feel like asking what she would do if one of her friends hurts me, because let’s face it, that’s the more likely scenario here.
Not that I have the feels or anything for Reilly, but I sure wouldn’t mind feeling her underneath me again, the sooner the fucking better.
When Zac starts talking about the need to hire a new PR manager for The Merge, and Alyssa recommends Reilly for the job, I can’t help but say no to the suggestion.
Being around that body all day or night will be torture if she does not let me touch her again.
Of course, Zac, the fucker, likes to bloody torture me.
He tells Alyssa to let Reilly know she has the job on a trial basis.
I have mixed feelings; on one hand, I’ll know where she is and I’ll be able to see her all the time.
On the other hand, my balls. My poor, poor balls; the friends to junior are going to be fucking blue.
Just thinking about her body is driving me crazy.
How the hell am I going to handle being around her?
I can see over Alyssa’s shoulder that she is texting with Reilly, and the fact that she’s answering her texts and not mine is pissing me off. It’s also putting a fire inside me. You can run, pumpkin, but just try to hide from me—I dare you to.
I send her another text, letting her know I know she’s currently holding her phone, and I know she can see my messages.
I also figure I should apologise for this morning’s events.
I’m sure it was not what she expected. Having the cops bang down your door at ungodly hours in the morning is not ideal.
Her reply makes me smile. She’s mad and I can picture her face now—I can picture her pale skin turning red.
It’s probably all kinds of messed up, but the image of her mad is fucking turning me on.
Deciding to let her text slide and let her think she’s won, I don’t text back.
I know she’s going to be at the club in a few hours and my day just cleared up.
I might just have to stop by and help my bro out for a bit.
As soon as I get home, I head for a shower. I need to wash away the stress of the morning—it’s not every day you get arrested, especially just days after you disposed of a fucking corpse. It’s not how I had planned my morning to go.
No, I planned on having Reilly for breakfast, then having breakfast off Reilly, then feeding Reilly breakfast. I’m sure you get my drift; it was meant to be a damn pleasurable morning.
I can recall the taste of her on my tongue—it’s fucking divine.
I’ve never wanted to eat a pussy out so much in my life.
I could spend my life with my head buried between her legs.
Junior’s on board with the plan too, currently straining at the thought.
Taking some shower gel in my hand, I slowly stroke my cock, sliding up and down, putting just the right amount of pressure on it and twisting my hand around at the knob—right where my Prince Albert sits.
It doesn’t take long for me to work up the speed.
Thoughts of Reilly’s taste, her smell, her moans, the feel of her soft pale skin under my fingers consume me.
I groan out loud. Fuck. Before I know it, I’m coming all over the damn wall of the shower while calling out her name.
Walking back into my bedroom, I instantly smell her. Fucking hell, is there anywhere I can go without her entering my fucking head? Because I’m a sucker for pain, I inhale the scent. I pick up her discarded, ripped dress off the floor. Taking a picture of the tag and dress, I send a text to Ella.
ME: Ella, sweetheart, do me a favour. Find this particular dress somewhere and buy two of them for me, in this same size, please.
BECAUSE SHE’S eighteen and has her phone glued to her hand twenty-four/seven, her reply is immediate.
ELLA: Why do you want to buy a dress, or two dresses? I don’t think that size will even fit over one of your arms, Bray.
ME: Because I ruined someone’s dress and need to replace it. So please, just do what you’re good at and shop. I need these dresses yesterday. Please?
ADDING a please on the end may just persuade her to do it; this is not a task I want to have to do myself. Where the hell do they sell these anyway?
ELLA: OKAY, do not need to know how you ruined that dress. Just so you know, that brand is expensive. This is not going to be cheap for you. And while I’m swiping your card, I will be putting a little something extra on it for myself. Call it a personal shopper’s fee.
ME: I wasn’t about to tell you how. And I don’t care what it costs, just get them. Don’t go overboard on your shopper’s fee. Love you, sissy. You’re the best!
WALKING BACK out to the living room, I notice a sparkling object on the floor.
Picking it up, my smile widens as I inspect the little purse thing that Reilly was carrying around last night.
Well, looks like someone was in so much of a rush to leave this morning that they forgot to take their purse with them.
Opening it up, I see a range of cards, including her driver’s licence, which has her address on it.
I snap a picture of it with my phone. I know that I’m bordering on stalker material here, but I don’t really give a fuck.
She’s going to want this purse back, and she’s going to have to come and get it.
When she does, I might just have to tie her to my bed and show her what she’s missing by denying junior and me.