Chapter Fourteen
Cole
As breathtaking as she is marked by my release, I can’t imagine it would be very comfortable to sleep with all that cum sticking to her smooth skin. So I walk to the kitchen to retrieve a paper towel, wet it, and return to gently clean the sticky substance from Noelle’s abdomen.
Fuck me, she’s so beautiful. And so bold. Every time she sparred with me, told me what she wanted, showed me how turned on she was, I felt the overwhelming need to sink my teeth into her and claim her as mine.
Maybe I’ll do that later.
Noelle’s eyes shine with appreciation as I clean her, they hold a softness that contradicts her fiery personality.
She’s already made it pretty clear that most of the people in her life have never gone the extra mile to make her feel special.
It’s sad that me cleaning my cum off her is what she might consider as going above and beyond for her.
Tossing the soiled towel into the waste basket beside her bed–which I make in one shot–I don’t bother with my boxers as I slide into bed beside her.
“I know when I came here tonight I said I would sleep on the couch, but what are the chances you’ll let me sleep beside you, tonight?”
A sleepy, sweet smile turns the corners of her mouth up as she answers, “Considering how the circumstances have changed, I think your chances are pretty good.”
I can’t help the answering smile I give her. I feel like a goofy kid flirting with a girl for the first time. I was just inside her, for fuck’s sake, but the vulnerability of this moment we’re sharing carries all the excitement and butterflies of a budding relationship.
And that’s when I know for sure that this doesn’t end tonight. I don’t care what the consequences are or how unconventional this is, I’m not letting Noelle go. I’ve found an accidental curly fry in a basket of regular fries and I’m not letting her go.
Noelle shifts to mirror my posture in bed: lying on one side, hand propped under her chin to support her head, her other hand laying flat against the mattress just an inch from mine. It’s like she’s daring me to cross that line and touch her again.
“My turn to ask a question,” she propels our game back into motion. Her expression turns serious as she asks, “If Steven wasn’t your first kill, who was?”
I wondered if she would be brave enough to ask, and a part of me wishes she hadn’t.
But Noelle has bared so much of her soul to me, tonight, it’s only fair I do the same.
Afterall, if what I tell her leads to a rejection, then I’ll find a way to move on.
It’s almost liberating to lay all your baggage out on the table before anything even begins.
Taking the bait, I slide my hand across the bed to close the space between us, stroking my pinky along hers before covering her hand with my own. A steady reassurance, she turns her palm to mine so our fingers can interlace. It’s like she knows I need that small comfort.
I’ve made my peace with my past, but it doesn’t make it any easier to speak about. Especially because I’ve never told another soul what I’m about to tell her.
So why tell a stranger? My inner monologue questions my actions.
I think it’s because when you find someone you can trust, you feel it intrinsically. You don’t need proof, you don’t need assurances. You just know you can trust the darkest parts of yourself with them.
Instead of looking into her angelic face, I commit the shape of her painted nails to memory as I tell her my tale of woe.
My origin story.
“My mom’s sister started sexually abusing me when I was nine.” I hear the subtle halt of Noelle’s breath at my admission. Whatever horrors she was expecting to hear, I don’t think they match the truth.
“She babysat me all the time when my mom was working. I have no clue who my dad is. Neither does my mom. She raised me by herself–well, with her sister’s help, I guess.”
I’m trying so hard not to let myself wander back into those dark memories. I’m stronger than that. I can tell Noelle this without it consuming me. I know I can.
“It started with weird things a nine year old knows don’t feel right, but it was before anyone ever had the talk with me.
So even though I knew it wasn’t right, I didn’t know what to do.
I told my mom I didn’t like spending time with her sister, but she had to work and could barely afford rent, let alone childcare.
“As I got older, there wasn’t a need for my aunt to watch me as often.
I was capable of taking care of myself. So she’d ask my mom if she could borrow me to help her with chores like mowing the lawn and stuff.
Which I did. But the abuse continued. And any time I said I didn’t want to go over, my mom just thought it was because I didn’t want to do the work.
Not because her sister was sexually assaulting me. ”
The gentle squeeze Noelle gives my hand is for reassurance, but the raised brows and worry lines on her face are pity. That’s why I never told anyone the truth. But it’s easier to whisper my secrets into the dark rather than share them in the light.
“I had excuses to get out of seeing her as I got older, school and sports, stuff like that. But she’d always find a way.
“It wasn’t until she tried to ruin the one holiday I looked forward to every year, the one day my mom and I would make the most of the cards we were dealt, that I finally snapped.
It was a crime of passion, especially because the things she was doing to me–the things she made me do–were escalating and got out of hand. ”
Don’t go there, Cole. You aren’t sixteen anymore. You’re an adult and your abuser is dead.
Noelle must sense we’re getting to the climax of the story because her breathing all but stops as she waits for me to continue. I let the scent of her sheets–fruitly and entirely Noelle–keep me grounded in the present.
“We were in the kitchen of her house when it happened. Our fake christmas tree that we’d had since I was a kid finally crapped out so my aunt offered to give us her old one.
I went over to get it and she was relentless, cruel.
I don’t think I meant to do it, but once I slit her throat with the knife she’d left out, I didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. ”
I watched her bleed out, watched her try to staunch the bleeding but she was toast. I savored the fear in her eyes as she realized there was no saving her. It was the most satisfying moment of my life.
“She wouldn’t listen to me,” I explained as if I needed to justify my actions any further. “She wouldn’t listen when I told her no. and I told her no over and over and over again.
“I got rid of the knife and stole all the cash in the house and a couple valuable items to make it look like she was robbed. Got rid of those too. The police questioned me since my finger prints were in the house. But I acted like a loving nephew who was sad to hear about his beloved aunt’s passing and they didn’t think twice before ruling it a robbery gone wrong.
“I thought maybe I was a sociopath for not feeling any remorse. But I still cry when I see videos of dogs being rehabilitated. I still laugh every time I watch a comedy special. I know for a fact I love my mom like a son should. She worked so hard to make a good life for me. But I don’t feel sorry for killing my aunt. ”
“You shouldn’t,” Noelle proclaims softly. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts I didn’t realize she moved closer. Her kind eyes and radiating warmth tell me I’m safe, I’m not sixteen any more. “She was a predator, just like Frank, just like the people you kill.”
“Just like Steven,” I remind her. “I saw the look in his eyes when you were in pain. It wouldn’t have stopped at a broken wrist. He was as disturbed as the rest of my victims.”
Sometimes I wonder if it’s right for me to play God, to act as judge, jury and executioner. Then I hear about another child being harmed, or another woman whose life was taken by a possessive psychopath, and I know that what I do might be saving someone from that fate.
“You’re right about me,” Noelle shatters the spiral I’m about to go down. “The same darkness that lives within you also lives within me. You’ve made a home in the morally gray bubble but I’m right there with you. Because I don’t consider you the villain in this story.”
Since I’m already confessing my feelings, I include, “I don’t want to be the victim either.”
“You’re not.” The conviction in her voice rings between us in the mere inches that separate our faces, our bodies.
“You’re not a survivor either. You’re a conqueror.
Something that would make most people wither away became your root cause for becoming a better person, for making the world a better place.
You conquered your demons and sent them back to hell where they belong. ”
Even though her hair is neatly tucked behind her ear, no loose strands for me to move out of her face, I run my fingers along the slope of her hair anyway. The pads of my fingers brush her smooth cheek, the point of contact sizzling with electric chemistry.
“Tell me a secret,” I brush my thumb over her pronounced cheekbone. “Big or small. You know my darkest secret. Seems only fair I get to know something personal about you. Something no one else knows.”
Chewing on her rosy bottom lip, Noelle searches for a secret in my eyes, contemplating. Then she admits, “I’ve never used sex toys with another person before.”
I notice her body language shrivel up when I raise a brow. So I rush to ease her worry. “Why not? You clearly enjoyed it.” I send her a flirtatious wink that earns me a soft giggle. Music to my ears.
“Because I’ve never been brave enough to ask before. Of the partners I’ve had, I didn’t want them to feel emasculated.”
Tightening my hold on her I reply, “I don’t know how a man could ever feel emasculated when you’re screaming his name through an orgasm.” I want to paint the world the color of blush that creeps across her nose and cheeks.
Looking past Noelle to the clock on the nightstand I note the time and sigh. “We should probably get some sleep, it’s 3 am.”
Instead of heeding common sense, Noelle closes the final few inches between us so all of her meets all of me. Her warmth seeps into my weary soul where it takes up residence as a permanent reminder of the great gift I was given tonight: meeting her.
“I don’t want this night to end.” My heart stills as she voices what I’ve been wondering.
I hoped she felt the connection between us as much as I do.
Serendipity is the only explanation for how I landed on her fire escape tonight, meeting a woman that sets my soul on fire and reflects the shadows I never thought I’d find in another person.
Yet an act of fate led us here.
“Niether do I.” I stroke my thumb along her defined cheekbone. “But it’s late.”
I want to tell her this isn’t the end, I want to ask to see her again. I want her to tell me that tonight is only the beginning.
But that’s crazy, right? I just met this girl, spent a few hours with her, and poured out my darkest secrets. That’s not the meet cute most people want.
I don’t know what the next move should be. So I just kiss her and channel all the instant affection into the act. I hope she feels how much this night has meant to me in just this kiss. A kiss that lingers and marks me.
Now that I’ve planted the idea of sleep in her head, Noelle’s subconscious agrees with me. Her jaw drops in a yawn, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Then she lays her forehead against my chest and whispers, “Stay.”
It’s not a request. It’s a command. My bossy, beautiful girl.
I wish I could.