Kill Switch (Devil’s Night Book 3)

Five Years Ago

We left Anderson’s car where it was and climbed in mine, the guys having already moved on, as I drove her back through town and to her boss’s house.

“What are you going to do?” she asked me.

I pulled up, parking along the curb, across the street from the theater manager’s house, a craftsman-style home with a large wraparound porch and several gables. The yard was green and pristine and only a single light shone from outside the front door.

I wasn’t sure yet. But I always came up with something.

Emory Scott lived in this neighborhood. It was nice and clean but boasted none of the mansions the seaside area of town did. I actually preferred it here. Houses close together, neighbors…it would’ve been a nice place to grow up.

I put the car in Neutral and pulled up the e-brake. “What do you want me to do?”

I looked over at her, her hands clasped in her lap, looking kind of nervous, and I smiled. Her mouth twisted, and I could see the apprehension all over her face. So scared of getting into trouble.

But I was sorry. No one told her what she could and could not do.

Except maybe me.

“I don’t know,” she muttered, looking uncertain. “Let’s just leave.”

“You want to dance?” I prodded. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I get anything I want,” I stated quite plainly.

She laughed under her breath, probably thinking I was joking, and I went weak for a moment, the light in her eyes the most beautiful thing I’d seen in a long time.

But she shook her head. “No.”

Jesus. Is this how she wanted it? Me taking care of shit that hurt her or pissed her off behind her back because she was too timid? Because that’s what would happen. I didn’t let things slide.

“No one denies you,” I said.

“But not like this,” she told me. “I won’t like how it feels if I don’t earn it honestly.”

Yeah, I got it. I’d probably feel the same way about basketball.

But…

“She deserves to cry like she made you cry, at least,” I pointed out. “At the very least, a pout.”

Telling Winter to give up dancing—encouraging anyone to not do what they wanted to do—was arrogant, presumptive, and smug. I wanted to shut her up.

“I can probably have her fired,” I said.

But Winter just laughed.

I frowned. “Can I at least flood her yard and do donuts?”

“Nothing destructive,” she ordered me. “Nothing mean. It’s got to be funny. And like…easy to clean up. You know? Something elegant.”

“Something middle school,” I corrected her snidely.

She rolled her eyes and sat back in her seat again, smiling to herself.

I relaxed into the headrest, pondering what I had in my trunk. My buddies and I had all been summoned back to town from college to host Devil’s Night tomorrow night, and as soon as we got back today, we’d gone supply shopping. I had bottles of liquor in my trunk, but Winter didn’t want to start any fires. There was plaster, glue, flashlights, and the guys had some other shit, like rope, smoke bombs, and sledge hammers. Most of this stuff we probably wouldn’t use tomorrow, but we’d been so into it after having not taken part in the Thunder Bay night of mischief for a couple years, we lost our heads and got excited.

Something non-destructive, though.

We didn’t do anything non-destructive.

And then I remembered. I also had some air horns and duct tape in my trunk.

Jesus. Well, that was it then. I knew what we had to do.

I couldn’t believe I was sinking this low, for Christ’s sake.

“Buckle up,” I told her, shaking my head at myself. “I know what we’re going to do.”

She held the back of my sweatshirt, following me as I jogged down the pathway, around the corner, and past the elevators. I’d been forced to come to Bridge Bay Theater dozens of times growing up to see performances my parents sponsored or to visit my mother when she deigned to perform as if the town should be so grateful to have a genuine Bolshoi ballerina in their midst. Really, it was just an ego boost for her, since she hadn’t performed on a grand scale since she was fifteen. My father married her, brought her to America, and that was that.

I knew this place like the back of my hand, even though I hadn’t been here in years. Luckily, the basement window still didn’t lock.

“You’ve done this before?” Winter asked me.

I held the door open, pulling her into the ladies’ bathroom and turning on the lights and my flashlight off.

“My sister and I did it at our house and once again at the pizza parlor,” I told her.

We were like fourteen, but I remember it being pretty funny.

Oh, how times had changed and what made me smile.

“Here, hop up on the counter,” I told her.

She did, and I dumped my duffel bag in the sink, digging out some air horns, wooden sticks, and duct tape.

Diving into one of the stalls, I measured the stick’s length from underneath the toilet seat to the button on the horn, seeing how it fit.

Perfect.

Good.

I came back to her at the sinks and put the bottle in her hand, fitting her fist around the can and the stick, to hold it in place.

“Hold that right there,” I instructed. “Hold it tight.”

She nodded, and I got busy making the can, wrapping tape to keep the stick in place on the button, so when someone put weight on it, like sitting on the toilet seat, for example, it would sound off, creating an ear-splitting cry loud enough to shake the foundations of this whole fucking place.

And make every single person inside choke on their coffee.

“So you have a sister,” she inquired, continuing our conversation.

“Yep. Not an only child,” I corrected her and her assumption about my lack of manners in sharing.

“How old is she?”

“A year younger than me.”

The roll of tape screeched as I wrapped it around the bottle and then set it down, grabbing another can and stick and putting them in her hand to do the same thing.

“And how old are you?” she asked, playing for information.

“Older than you.”

She laughed. “You’re not like sixty, are you?”

Sixty? Did I feel sixty when she touched me?

I stopped what I was doing and got down in her face. “Old enough to vote, not old enough to buy liquor,” I told her. “But I can still get liquor. If you want.”

She just grinned and let it go.

It was amazing she hadn’t figured it out yet, but I was careful to take off the rosary when I met her, and I always showered before I came. I thought it would be tough, not smoking to give myself away, but when I was around her, I just wanted to stay around her. My nic fit wasn’t worth leaving her until I was damn good and ready.

I’d also never worn my mask, because then she would know I was a horseman.

But if I told her I was nineteen, she’d figure out which class I graduated, and with my lurking and scaring her just like Damon did in the janitor’s closet and in the lunchroom, she’d eventually have to face the reality of who I really was, and for now… I liked that she liked me.

I wasn’t trying to get her into bed. I wasn’t trying to prove how tough I was. I wasn’t angry or weighed down or tired of my stupid, fucking life. I was the only place I wanted to be.

Everything was new to her. She was an escape. I could feel anything and feel things again for the first time in her words, her body’s reaction, and her face.

It had been hard to stay away, but I knew I had to. The closer we got, the sooner I’d hurt her or she’d find out, and then it would be over.

It only occurred to me tonight, though, when I saw her get into Anderson’s fucking car, that she was old enough for things, and it was only a matter of time. I’d wanted to wait until I showed myself again. Wait until she got older, but I just needed to get her out of that prick’s car.

I didn’t know if I was ever going to take her to bed, but I definitely knew he wasn’t going to.

I finished up, making seven cans, and I took one into a stall, affixing it to the floor with the wooden stick underneath the seat, which lifted it up just a hair. I secured everything with tape and came back out, pulling her off the counter.

Lifting her up into my arms, I guided her legs around me and held her there, looking up at her.

“You been good?” I asked her.

Mischief pulled at the corners of her lips, and I stared at them, drawn in to the supple skin and how she’d tasted earlier. She tasted like watermelon. It must’ve been a lip gloss. Her cheekbones were more pronounced than two years ago, and her blue eyes more piercing with the mascara she’d started wearing.

She circled her arms around my neck, whispering, “Yeah.”

“You gonna keep being good?”

Her chest rose and fell against mine, our lips inches from each other.

But she didn’t say anything.

“Answer me.” I jostled her. “Tell me you’ll be good.”

She swallowed, but still didn’t answer. Instead, she whispered, “What will you do to me if I’m not good?”

Oh, Jesus. She sounded almost hopeful, and my cock swelled as I stared at her dark pink mouth, her parted lips, and I wanted to take them in mine and taste those fucking crazy words on her breath.

What wouldn’t I do to her…

“What will I do?” I repeated, brushing her mouth with mine as I carried her into the stall. “I’m going to throw you down…” I lowered us, leaning forward as she held onto me, breathless. “And give you…” Lower, lower. “A big…” Lower. “Fat…” Lower… “Spanking.”

And I dropped her ass on the toilet seat, the blaring, banshee cry of the air horn ripping through the theater, splitting my ears.

She screamed and scrambled off the toilet, grabbing onto me and bursting into laughter.

“Oh, my God!” Her face shined, and she looked fucking delighted.

I rolled my eyes, hoping no one heard that out on the street, so they wouldn’t find out my shame.

She lowered herself to the seat again, the horn blasted its shrill cry, and she startled, breaking out in laughter again.

I shook my head, pulling her off the seat. “You’re so gay.”

“Tame compared to what you’re used to?” she teased.

“Yes.”

God, if the guys found out about this… I needed to get her home before she made me T.P. a house tonight.

Maybe someday I’d take her on a real adventure.

Working quickly, I taped up all the horns, including the one in her boss’s office, so when the dancers, employees, and she came in tomorrow, they had a nice little scare.

I packed up all our gear, grabbed Winter, and turned off the lights and my flashlight on, leaving the building.

Once outside, I dumped everything back in the trunk, and moved to open the door.

“Wait,” Winter called out.

I looked up, seeing her head turn as if hearing something.

“The fountain,” she said, moving around to my side of the car. “In the square. Can you take me to it?”

I listened, faintly hearing it, too. I’d forgotten about it. As a kid, I remembered I’d wanted to play in it, but of course, it wasn’t allowed.

Looking around, I noticed the village wasn’t that busy and the traffic was nearly dead. It had to be after midnight by now, and since everyone was saving their energy for tomorrow night, it was pretty quiet. Still, though, I had no idea where the guys were, and there was some noise coming from Sticks. I didn’t want anyone seeing me and calling my name or seeing her with me.

Fuck.

I pulled up my hood and took her hand, leading up the hill to where the small pond with a bridge sat, a large fountain in a garden, and a witch’s hat gazebo off to the right. It was a nice, elevated little oasis from the busy village center.

The water spilling into the fountain grew louder, and she let go of my hand, approaching it. She held out her palms, feeling the spray and smiling, and I wanted to take her and climb in with her right now.

Digging into the pocket of her jacket, she pulled something out, turned with her back to the fountain, closed her eyes, and then tossed the coin over her shoulder and into the water.

“Wanna do one?” she asked me, pulling another coin out of her pocket.

I walked up to her, taking in her little bow tie, her hair, almost white with strands of gold, parted and falling on one side, and her lips, the color of bubble gum. Unable to tear my eyes away, I took the coin and flung it over her shoulder and into the water, never taking my gaze off her face.

Using my shoulder to keep herself steady, she slipped off her flats and hopped up on the rim of the fountain and then let me go, having some fun doing ballet moves and balancing herself.

Her phone rang, though, and she stopped, pulling it out and turning it off without answering it.

“Parents calling?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

She must’ve had a particular ringtone to identify them.

Watching her move, twirl, bend, and dip, I followed her around the fountain as she pointed her toes and flexed the muscles in her legs.

What would happen when she grew up? Who would have her? Where would she move? How would this all change?

And all I knew in that moment was that I would fight for nothing more than to keep her like this. Innocent and happy and pure.

Dancing in fountains.

Wobbling, she suddenly reached out for me, and I stepped up to her, catching her before she fell.

She laughed, putting her hands on my shoulders.

“Training hard?” I asked, lifting up her foot to look at the bruises and redness from her toenails cutting into her skin.

“Always,” she replied.

These were a dancer’s feet.

“Does it hurt?”

She shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

Then she wrapped her arms around me and jumped into my hold, forcing me to circle her waist to catch her. She smiled at me, and I held her like that, refusing to put her down as we just stayed there.

But then, tightening her hold, she slowly brought herself in and hugged me.

My chest swelled, aching like shit, and everything washed over me at once. Her smell, her warmth, her hair and body… My lungs caved, and I didn’t know why, but it felt so fucking good. I wrapped my arms around her like a steel band, almost feeling relief at holding something—or someone—for the first time in forever.

When was the last time this happened? I never gave fucking hugs, except when Banks needed to talk me down, and that was more like hanging on to something than…

Than actual affection. Than someone actually liking me.

I wasn’t weak. I didn’t need this shit.

But God, she felt good.

“You dance?” she said in my ear.

“No.”

“You are right now,” she pointed out.

And I stopped, realizing we’d been turning in a slow circle.

“I think I like this dancing even more than ballet,” she told me.

And the corners of my lips turned up in a smile. If only Kincaid could see me now…

But then I saw people approach the other side of the pond, walking up the incline, looking at us.

“We have to get out of here,” I told her.

No one could see her with me.

We got back to the car and sped off, and I drove her home, knowing her father would be calling the police station soon if he hadn’t already. She was probably supposed to be home over two hours ago.

“They’re probably pretty mad,” she said as I slowed the engine outside the hedges of her property.

I killed the lights and crawled down the driveway—the gates open—and rounding the hideous fucking fountain to her front door.

I braked, pressing in the clutch, and put the car in first again, sitting there. She hadn’t needed help to the door that night I took her out driving, so I assumed she was okay.

But she just sat there, her face turned down a little.

“When will I see you again?” she asked in a timid voice.

I didn’t know how to answer that. I was busy tomorrow night, and I’d be going back to school a couple days after that.

I would see her again.

Or…

Maybe. I didn’t know.

Jesus, why was she asking? Were we in a relationship or something? Was this a date?

I knew this would happen. She’d have expectations.

Yes, I wanted to see her again. She was mine. In our secluded, secret little world, she was mine.

I wanted to watch her dance, and I wanted to steal her away a thousand more times to feel her excitement and fear and live through how vulnerable and sweet she was, but…

I wanted to keep her happy, pure, and innocent, too. I didn’t want to ruin her.

The more time we spent together, and the older she got, the more this would turn into something else. We’d eventually fuck, and she’d make demands I couldn’t fulfill.

When she found out who I was, she’d run.

“Is it because I’m blind?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Is that why you hide yourself from me?”

I glared over at her, resenting the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she tried so hard to hold back the little tremble of her chin. So sweet. So sad.

“She was right, wasn’t she?” she mused, her tone with a strange resoluteness to it. “I may still want what I want, but I have no control over people who don’t want me to have it.”

She was talking about that boss of hers who tried to tell her she couldn’t have everything she wanted. She wanted me, and while we could fight for what we wanted, people couldn’t always be won. Or, that was what she thought. She thought I was embarrassed by her. That I didn’t want to take her out or be with her during the light of day.

Her face cracked as she smoothed her skirt over her thighs, and she folded her lips between her teeth to keep from crying, but the tears spilled anyway.

I told you I was going to hurt you someday.

She pulled her house keys from her bag, and removed one key from the ring, dropping it in the cupholder.

“Just keep it,” she said. “I like thinking you might come back some day.”

And then she climbed out of the car and found her way into the lit-up house, closing the door behind her.

I dropped my eyes, gripping the steering wheel and staring at the key like it was a goddamn drug. I wanted it. I knew I would use it.

I wanted to use it this second.

Goddamn her.

I drove off, careful to keep my speed low and my lights off, and as I turned onto the highway, I turned up the music, kicked the car into third gear and then punched into fifth.

But then I blinked, shook my head, and immediately swerved off to the side of the road, and skidded to a fucking halt.

Damn her. Shit!

What the fuck?

What was she doing to me?

Where was my head?

I’d rolled through the past two years, watching her from a distance, knowing that she would be my heroin and knowing that my obsession was a no-win situation when I got to her again.

I wanted to be with her. I wanted to touch her. I wanted to keep playing games with her.

But I wanted to keep her fourteen forever, too. Young and beautiful and innocent and the one place in my life that wasn’t dirty.

She wasn’t fourteen anymore, though.

She was growing into something men would want.

Something I wanted.

I looked down at the key, gold and sharp, sitting there in my console, screaming at me louder than the music coming out of my speakers, and I… I just…

I didn’t want to leave yet.

I wanted to hide somewhere dark and quiet, feeling her whispers on my lips and smelling the mint in her hair.

Fuck it.

Swinging the car around, the tires screeching on the pavement, I drove back to the entrance of the driveway and parked outside it.

Grabbing her house key, I plucked my phone out of the console and turned it on to text the guys I’d be in for the rest of the night, but I noticed it was dead. I pulled our group phone off the charger—the one we used to record our pranks for Devil’s Night—and tossed the guys a text with that one, telling them not to expect me the rest of the evening, and stuffed it into my pocket as I plugged in mine to charge. I locked my car, jogging into the property and keeping out of sight as I veered into the backyard, noticing the downstairs lights were off but a few upstairs remained on.

Walking into the backyard, I dug out the key she gave me and paused, remembering they didn’t have an alarm system last time I was here. Hopefully that hadn’t changed.

Sliding the key in, I twisted the lock, turned the handle, and opened the door, finding complete silence as I stepped into the dark kitchen.

But not for long.

“Winter, I leave for the airport at five a.m.!” someone shouted upstairs. “You couldn’t call?”

I looked around, scanning the kitchen and area, finding it empty. Quietly closing the door, I walked as softly as possible down the hall and into the foyer, staying close to the stairs for cover.

“I’m sorry,” I heard Winter say.

They were upset because she was late and hadn’t called.

“Have you been crying?” her mother asked, sounding exasperated.

But she didn’t have a chance to answer before her father bellowed from down the hall, “You’re lucky I didn’t phone the station! If you can’t handle some common courtesy, then you’re quitting that job, or any job for that matter.” And then he added, “It’s utterly pointless anyway.”

Motherfucker. No wonder she was desperate for a little freedom. They thought she was too stupid to handle any.

“I’ll deal with this. Go to bed,” his wife told him.

“Don’t shut me up. She’s just as much mine as yours.”

She’s not either of yours. They were nothing to her.

“And this is why Montreal is best for you,” her father went on. “The school there can give you a community where you’re safe and comfortable and help you find a college and part-time job if you want.”

Winter didn’t say anything, and I pictured her sitting on her bed, letting them talk, like she either thought it was pointless to argue or thought maybe they were right.

It was neither.

They were so boring. She was incredible.

“Alright,” her mother interjected, “as long as you’re okay. We’ll talk about this when I get home next week. I need at least a few hours of sleep tonight. I have to get to bed.”

I waited there for several minutes as footsteps pounded above, lights turned off, and doors closed, and after another minute, I swung around the bannister and slowly crept up the stairs, keeping an eye out for anyone still up.

Winter walked across the landing and headed into the bathroom, and as she started the shower and her music, I flew up the steps, dove in after her, and closed the door, grabbing her as she whipped around and sucked in a breath.

I kissed her, cutting off her cry, her protest fading away when she realized it was me.

I hauled her up, wrapped her legs around me, and I ate up her full lips, dragging out the bottom one between my teeth and tasting the tears still on her cheeks.

“What are you doing?” she asked, probably worried I’d be caught.

But I just shook my head, keeping my voice low in case her parents were still awake. “I don’t know, baby,” I told her. “Just don’t let me go, okay?”

She broke down, more tears spilling from her eyes as she kissed and held me so tight.

The lights were off, but the moon lit up the floor, and I slipped my hand under her skirt, letting her know I wanted her. My shit had nothing to do with the fact that she couldn’t see me. I wasn’t shallow, and this was so much more complicated than she would ever know. Hopefully ever know.

We deserved one night. A few minutes or a few hours, just a little longer.

I knew this was bad. I knew I was fucked.

She hated me. Her family hated me.

She was one of the few people I didn’t want to hurt.

I was nineteen, and she was too young.

But her mouth. Her damn mouth, leaving little kisses on the corner of mine, her tongue teasing me, the taste of her skin…

I wanted to swallow her up.

“Something I Can Never Have” played, the shower ran, and it was like we were in the fountain as kids again. Everything was pure and sweet, just for that short amount of time, and this was how it was supposed to happen. It was always going to happen with us.

I wanted to feel her on me. Her skin on mine. I wanted every inch of her.

Carrying her to the sink, I set her down and she pulled up my sweatshirt and T-shirt, helping me get them off. I dropped them to the floor and held her face, kissing her again and again, my tongue meeting hers and our heat and breath mixing together.

I pulled back, looking at her eyes as I slipped the bow tie off and unbuttoned her blouse. She ran her hands down my chest all the way to my stomach, fingering the grooves and dips, and I groaned at how good her fingers felt.

This was the only way she could see me, and even though it made my blood race in the most unbearable way, I tried to be patient and let her explore.

Fingers splayed over my collarbone, across my shoulders, down my arms, tracing the lines and muscles on my chest and stomach, and then she slipped her fingers under the waist of my jeans, filling my groin with heat.

“Winter…” I barely whispered.

I wished she knew my name. I wanted to hear her say it.

Why did she feel so different than anyone else?

She slipped out of her shirt, but when she reached around to unclasp her bra, I stopped her, pulling the straps off her shoulders instead and kissing a path up her collarbone to her neck.

Wrapping my arm around her, I brought her body against mine, my groin rubbing between her legs, aching painfully as I kissed her forehead.

“I want you to be my first,” she whispered.

I closed my eyes.

“I want it to be you,” she continued, “even if you’re going to disappear on me again, I want it to be you.”

I dug my fingers into her young thighs, wanting to fuck her on this sink right now and kiss her until I couldn’t move anymore.

I wanted her first time.

“I…” Fuck, I needed to leave. “I…”

“You. I want you.” She peppered my neck with kisses. “I love how the world looks when I’m with you. I want it to be you.”

She sucked on my neck, gently sinking her teeth in, and my body exploded with a charge of electric current, my dick begging to get out of these jeans, and I slipped my hand into her hair, holding her mouth to my body. “Fuck.”

“Do you have your phone?” she asked against my skin.

“Yeah, why?”

“Take a picture of me doing this,” she whispered. “If you disappear, I want you to remember me.”

Baby, I’ve never disappeared. I’ve always been here. This past summer when you were lying on the beach, I was there. When you went into the shop with your mom for a coffee, I was right there.

She never knew how close I always was.

I dug out my phone and turned it on, remembering I had the group phone. It didn’t matter. I’d transfer it later.

“A video, okay?” I breathed out. “I want to have everything.”

The way she moved, the sounds she made… I wanted to remember this when I couldn’t have her anymore.

Starting a recording, I focused on us and closed my eyes, saving the sounds and images of her pretty face kissing me forever.

“Keep going,” I begged.

She licked and nibbled my neck, and I tipped my head back, gripping the back of hers. She took my mouth, sinking her tongue inside mine, and I went fucking weak. The phone spilled out of my hand, and I took her in my arms, holding her tight.

“Goddammit, Winter,” I said low. “You’re killing me.”

She trailed her mouth down my chest and back up again, and my muscles charged with desire so strong I couldn’t wait anymore. I pinned her hands behind her back and took over, kissing and biting her with her at my mercy.

She gasped. “I love…” But she stopped herself, realizing what she was about to say.

I hovered over her lips, anger and happiness mixing in with my desire.

Love me? You love me? We’ve met three times, and she didn’t even know my name.

But she was quick to recover. “I hate you,” she said instead. “I hate you so much.”

I gripped her hands, feeling the passion rise, a little smile pulling at my lips. “Yeah, I hate you, too,” I told her, hefting her up into my arms and carrying her to the shower. “I just want a hot piece of ass.”

“Yeah?” she egged me on.

I dropped her to her feet, not taking my eyes off her face and I yanked her bra down to her stomach, pulling that and her skirt down her legs and off her body.

She brought up her arms, immediately covering her chest as she stood there in her white panties.

I stripped off the rest of my clothes and slid my hands into the back of her underwear, gripping her ass and pulling her into me.

“Take your arms away,” I muttered over her lips.

She hesitated, our chests rising and falling in shallow breaths, completely in sync.

“I want to see,” I told her.

Slowly, she let her arms fall away, and I felt her nipple and flesh brush my chest, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her beautiful face.

I didn’t want her first time. I wanted every time.

But I didn’t want to love her, either. I didn’t want it to feel like this. It couldn’t feel like this.

When she found out I lied, she’d hate me.

This had no future.

It was just sex.

Peeling her panties down her legs, I kissed her stomach, feeling her tremble under my mouth, and then I backed her into the shower, closing the frosted door before I pinned her against the black marble wall.

Steam filled the air in a cloud, the hot spray sending chills all over my body as I leaned down and dove into her mouth.

“Your parents are bad,” I said, repeating my words from the first time I scared her. “Your sister lacks any depth to be interesting. I told you I was going to hurt you. Didn’t I?”

She nodded. “You promised.”

My cock twitched, immediately nudging her between her legs.

“I did,” I said. “I told you someday I’d hurt you.”

She whimpered, rolling her beautiful body into mine, wanting my dick inside her.

I gripped her jaw, planting kisses on her mouth. “I’m gonna fuck your daddy’s little girl,” I taunted, trying to work myself up.

“Yeah,” she panted.

“You want me?” I asked, lifting her up and spreading her legs for me. “Because I want to fuck you, little sweet.”

She tried to ride me a little, rubbing herself on me.

“So pretty,” I taunted. “Daddy’s Little Girl, right?”

She nodded, tipping her head back for me.

“Good girl.” I dipped down, sucking on a breast. “Doing what good girls are supposed to do for men. He’s gonna have a fuckin’ fit when he sees what I did to you. What I did to his little baby.”

She threaded her hands into my hair, but I nudged her off. “Take your hands off me,” I gritted out, diving deep into my head where it was just action and no fucking thoughts. “If I want to be touched, I’ll tell you where. Understand?”

She opened her eyes, looking a little confused, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t in love with her. This wasn’t love.

“Daddy’s Little Girl,” I said again, an ache wracking through my chest. “Daddy’s little slut that fucks guys she doesn’t even know when her parents are in bed, huh?”

Pain crossed her face and she stilled, her body going rigid.

“You wanna fuck?” I nipped at her breast, sucking it hard and trying not to feel the nausea roll through me. “Spread your legs and give me a piece of that cunt.”

She sucked in a breath, fighting a sudden sob as her eyes welled with tears. “Pl—please,” she stuttered, upset. “Please don’t talk like that anymore.”

And I stopped, my forehead in her chest, the sound of her hurt voice making the bile swell in my throat.

I couldn’t do this.

She deserved better.

Even if it was just this one time, I could do it right.

It could mean more. Just with her.

“Can you be gentle?” she asked, tears in her throat.

I shook my head, still not looking at her. “I don’t do gentle,” I said. “But God, baby, you are tearing me apart right now.”

She threaded her fingers through my hair.

“The less special I make this, the less you’ll be hurt,” I offered.

I knew she didn’t know what I was talking about. But the only thing she said was, “You promised to hurt me. Don’t stop now.”

“I’m afraid to…” I couldn’t catch my breath all of a sudden. “I’m afraid I’ll make you—”

“I’m not dirty,” she rushed, remembering what I said earlier in the car and knowing what I was trying to say. “You’re not making me dirty. There is no you. There’s no me. This is us. Just us.”

And that was all I needed to hear to carry her over to the marble bench and lay her down. Coming down on top her, I kissed her hard, and she parted her legs, bending her knees up and out, letting me settle in.

I groaned, the warmth of her seeping into my groin as I pulsed and ached with need to be inside of her tight body.

I hovered over her, staring down at her face and running my hand over her body. Her slender neck and smooth chest. Her round, pointed breasts and taut stomach. Her thighs and around to her ass.

I positioned myself, seeing her body pump with heavy breaths, and I pushed inside her, every muscle in her body going still as she cried out.

I came down, putting my hand over her mouth as I sank the rest of the way inside her, burying myself deep.

Her whimpers vibrated against my hand as she panted, and I didn’t move, waiting for the pain to subside.

A mixture of pleasure and anger coursed through, knowing it was done, and I’d ruined her now, but everything feeling so goddamn good that I knew I’d do this all over again if I had a chance to go back.

Her body squeezed me tightly in heat, and my cock throbbed with the need to start pumping.

I removed my hand. “Does it still hurt?”

She paused but then started to relax, her thighs falling wide again and her nails retracting from my shoulders. “No.” She swallowed. “Not really anymore.”

I slid my hand under her ass, grabbing hold, and with my gaze on her face, I pulled out of her and thrust right back in.

She made the sweetest little sound, her face twisted up in pain and pleasure as she adjusted to me, and when she started to arch her back and roll her hips to meet me, I knew I didn’t have to hold back anymore.

I pumped my cock, seeing her breasts shake with the movement and her throat bare and open for my mouth as she threw her head back.

Her moans grew louder, and I put my mouth over hers, flicking her with my tongue and nibbling her lips. “Shhhh,” I teased. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

She smiled, biting her lip. “It feels so good.”

Yeah, but this wasn’t going to last long. It was taking everything I had to hold back. My dick was charged and ready, and I wanted to go harder.

“Touch yourself,” I told her.

I needed her to help me get her off before I came.

She did what she was told and reached down, rubbing herself as I thrust inside her faster and deeper.

She arched up and kissed me, raising her knees higher, knowing what I needed to sink farther into her. She was so wet, and I sucked the water off her breasts, neck, and jaw as her hand worked herself between us.

She got faster and faster, started moaning, and then sank her claws into my shoulder again as she stopped touching herself and let me ride her to orgasm.

I put my hand over her mouth as she came, her muscles contracting around my cock, squeezing me like a vise grip, and the sweetest little whimpers coming out of her mouth.

“Did you like that?” I asked, leaving kisses on her lips.

She nodded, and I pumped harder, going at her with free rein now and not holding back.

My dick swelled, and my insides drove with a need so fucking good, and I couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I’m going to pull out, okay?” I told her.

She was quiet for a second. “Like on me?”

“Yeah, baby.”

It probably took her a minute to figure out what I meant, but then she nodded. We weren’t using any protection, after all. I doubted she was on the pill.

I thrust a few more times, unable to hold it anymore, and pulled out, stroking myself until I came and spilled onto her stomach. The orgasm wracked through me, and my head floated away from me as I closed my eyes and savored the feel of her and what she did to me.

The wave spread through my entire body, and I stayed there, pretty fucking sure nothing compared to her.

She was incredible.

Why did that feel so different?

I opened my eyes, seeing a little smile pull at her mouth as she reached out a finger, trying to feel what I left on her stomach.

But I stopped her, pulling her hand away. “No, don’t touch it,” I said. “I’ll… Just wait.” I climbed off her. “Don’t move.”

I left the shower, finding a washcloth and came back in, wetting it under the spray. Ringing out the water, I cleaned up the mess on her stomach, shaking my head at myself.

What the fuck? I came on her?

Jesus.

Once she was clean again, I rinsed the cloth, soaking it with warm water, and then folded it before laying it down against her skin between her legs.

I had no clue how she felt, but I’d gone at her pretty hard, and it was her first time.

“That feels good,” she said.

“Just hold it there.”

She laid there, doing as I said, and I stood under the spray rinsing myself off and wetting my hair.

I tried not to look at her, but I couldn’t stop myself. She was wet and naked and beautiful, and the only pure thing I’d ever had.

And, of course, I messed her all up.

“Why are you smiling?” I asked, noticing the curl to her lips.

“Shouldn’t I be smiling?”

Yeah, okay.

“This feels like the time I sat in a fountain once,” she told me. “The water spilled around us, shielding us. Hiding us. It was like a world within a world. One of my worst memories but also one of my best.”

I smoothed my wet hair over my head over and over again, that day like yesterday in my memory. If only she knew the boy she was with in the fountain was the boy who just fucked her.

Did she still hate him?

“Us?” I prodded.

I wanted to hear her talk about me. See what was still in her head. If time had healed anything.

But she just stayed quiet, not elaborating any further.

“So was that red?” she asked, changing the subject.

Red?

Oh, right. The night of the motorcycle ride. She wanted to know what red felt like.

I scoffed. “Maybe like orange.”

“Orange?” She looked appalled. “Can it at least be purple?”

I laughed under my breath, walking over to her and taking the wash cloth off of her. “Purple then.”

I helped her to her feet, so we could get her clean, and she found her way under the water wetting her hair.

“When can I see red?” she asked.

And I planted my hand on the wall, holding her face with the other one, as I stared down at her and saw all the shit that was going to eventually hit the fucking fan.

When you find out who just fucked you, you’re gonna see plenty of red then.