CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHLOE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHLOE
NOW
The house fell silent hours ago, but with silence comes my too-loud thoughts.
Guards are patrolling the perimeter on random checks, giving anyone watching doubt around the schedule, but that doesn’t make me feel any safer. I don’t think anything will.
Apparently I’m destined to live the rest of my life without knowing a single moment of peace, and that’s probably what I deserve.
The need to flee gets louder with each second that passes, but my constant shadow is making it almost impossible to make a plan, let alone pack and dig out all the cash I have stashed around my room.
A movie has been playing for the last hour, but I couldn’t tell you a single thing that’s happened since the credits rolled.
I’ve been too busy working out the logistics of my escape. If nothing else, I have the benefit of time and resources, luxuries I could have only hoped for back then.
I won’t have to rely on anyone but myself.
The other reason I haven’t been able to pay attention is because Ryker hasn’t stopped touching me.
Every move I make is followed by a soft brush of his fingers or his hand on my leg. At the moment his arm is thrown over the couch behind us, his fingers teasing the pieces of hair that have fallen from my ponytail absentmindedly.
If I weren’t so intent on getting out of the city tonight, I might even allow myself to enjoy it, but right now he’s a distraction I don’t have time for.
Pressing my eyes closed, I go over the plan again.
Eventually Ryker will fall asleep, and I’ll slip into my bedroom to pack.
Once I have my stuff and the cash, I’ll sneak down to the garage.
I’ll check with the front gate on the way out to make sure no one has been staking out the house, and if I’m clear, I’ll make my way north toward Canada.
Once I’m out of New York, I’ll find a car dealership to trade in my car for something else before continuing toward Canada.
The thought of selling the Audi makes my heart hurt. Despite being a hard man, John De Marco afforded me a beautiful life that I never had the chance to thank him for.
It’s just a shame I have to leave this version of myself behind.
Canada will be my first stop, Montreal specifically, before I decide where to go next.
I have enough saved that I can get a flight to just about anywhere, and I have an unused passport from the packet I was given all those years ago with another eight months before it expires. I don’t know what made him put in more than one, but I’m grateful for it now.
He may have left with nothing more than a note, but he made sure I was taken care of, and that’s helped to ease the blow of rejection I still feel every time I think of him.
Tattooed fingers drag softly up my thigh, sending a foreign spark of desire to my core.
Maybe I should have taken to casual sex after leaving the Lombardi compound, if for no other reason than so I wouldn’t get turned on the first time a man touches me in almost a decade.
“You’re in your head, Siren,” Ryker murmurs.
Turning to face him, I’m startled to find his face just a breath from mine, which does nothing to settle the need blooming inside me.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
His deep chuckle fills the space between us, making my heart kick up a notch.
Fuck.
I need to get out of here before I do something I regret, like fuck my bodyguard.
But then again, when will my next chance be? I trust Ryker, at least on the surface, and definitely enough that I’d let him make me come a few times.
Because I know the man is good with his hands without him ever having to have touched me.
“You have nothing to apologize for, but I think I can help.” His fingers move higher, dragging a moan from my chest.
Taking the sound as an invitation, he continues the slow path, giving me more than enough time to put a stop to this.
The problem is, I have no idea what I want.
It’s been so long since I’ve made a decision purely on want that I don’t trust myself to make the right choice.
When you’ve spent years only allowing yourself the things you need, it’s hard to choose a selfish want.
I open my mouth, intent to shut this down before it can go any further.
It’s not fair on him to let him touch me like this when I’ll be gone by morning, but any argument is cut off when his fingers brush over my covered sex.
The foreign feel of someone else touching me like this short circuits my brain, and all I can manage is another strangled moan.
“Such a good girl letting me take care of you.” Ryker’s soft words brush over my cheek.
He’s so close and he smells so fucking good, like cinnamon and whiskey, an alluring cocktail I’m at risk of becoming addicted to.
Ryker shifts slightly, using his free hand to push my thighs apart and give himself more room to work.
Every move he makes is slow and deliberate, telling me without words that everything stops if I say the word.
“Will you let me take the edge off, Siren?”
My eyes fall closed, that nickname on his lips does things to me. The first time he used it, I wasn’t in the position to think anything of it. But now? Now that word alone pushes me closer to the edge.
“You need it so badly. I bet your perfect pussy is weeping for me, isn’t she, baby?”
I nod, unable to find my voice to respond as his fingers press harder against my clit.
There are two layers between him and the sensitive bundle of nerves, and yet this feels better than anything I’ve done to myself over the years.
Every move is full of confidence, his intense gaze watching my every reaction as he maps what makes me squirm.
“There’s my good girl,” he croons, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, and for the first time in almost a decade, I long for someone to kiss me.
To take my mouth and make me forget all the reasons this is a bad idea.
“Can I take these off you?” His free hand slips just beneath the band of my sweatpants.
I swallow heavily but find myself nodding before I can talk myself out of it.
There is a never-ending list of reasons this is a terrible idea, but I can’t bring myself to ask him to stop, not when he plays my body like he’s done it a million times before.
“Nothing happens that you don’t want. You say the word, and I’ll stop, okay?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He gives me a satisfied smirk and quickly tugs my sweatpants down my legs, leaving them pooled around my ankles.
His fingers find my clit immediately, and he lets out a deep rumble. “You’re so wet for me, Siren. Your mind is trying to tell you this is a bad idea, but your body is desperate for me. Desperate for someone to take care of it. Isn’t that right?”
The pressure increases, sending my hips toward his hand of their own accord and earning me a rough chuckle.
“So responsive, Chloe.” My name on his lips sounds like a prayer, the reverence in his voice pushing me closer to the edge than I should be right now.
I try to reason with myself that it’s just because the only orgasms I’ve allowed myself for so long have come at my own hand, but it’s a lie.
Ryker’s skilled fingers move over the damp fabric, teasing me with soft touches as he explores me through my plain black panties.
If I’d known this was going to happen, I at least would have worn a thong.
My hips shift again, searching for more even as my mind tells me we should stop this.
What can I say? I’m a walking, talking contradiction.
“You need more, Siren?”
I nod.
“I need your words, baby. Tell me exactly what you need, and it’s all yours.”