Riley exhales, her breath clouding visibly in the chilly air.
“One time, I even thwarted an attempted crazed fan from breaking into your tour bus, just because I happened to know where it was sitting during your Super Bowl halftime show, and some of the girls in the fan club let me know what was being planned.”
Jesus. The girl is a former superfan, and I didn’t even know.
My stomach churns. “I feel violated.”
A grin spreads over her face, a look of rare pride overtaking her features. “Did all of that from the comfort of my home, too. Pays to have a big brother with a wealth of technology at his fingertips.”
“Oh, are we gonna talk about him now?”
Something dark passes over her. It wipes the grin clean off.
“No.” She flips her hair off her shoulder. “I’m just saying, your stalking skills are very amateurish. I always know when you’re around.”
“And yet…” Trailing off, I move in, not stopping until I’m standing right in front of her. Close enough to see the dark blues in her eyes, like frozen tundras waiting to be scoped out. Full of depth and secrets. “You always seem nervous. Like you’re not expecting me.”
She swallows audibly. “I don’t know what you want with me. One second, you’re telling me how much you want me to suffer, and the next, you’re…”
“Making you come?”
Her cheeks darken. “Yeah, that.”
“That.” Another step, so our shoes are touching. “Does sex make you uncomfortable, Riley?”
“You make me uncomfortable.”
“Now that can’t be true. You wouldn’t have come on my fingers… or my tongue… if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Maybe I’m one of those people who likes pain.”
I hum, my free hand coming up to wrap around her throat. Squeezing slightly, just enough to rob her of easy access to air, I arch a brow. “Would you like to find out?”
Her throat ripples beneath my hold, and I imagine it doing the same when she’s swallowing my cum, gagging on me.
“I’m a virgin.” She says the words so softly, so suddenly, that I’m convinced she hadn’t planned on the admission.
It pulses in the air between us, collecting like snowflakes on the ground. Confusion knits my insides, and I let my hand fall to my side, searching her face for signs of a lie.
“But your medical records—”
“I’ve never slept with anyone,” she insists, dropping her chin slightly.
My gaze flickers to the scars on her face, and I think about the one on her hip. I’ve never felt more confused in my entire life.
Pulling away, she runs a hand through her hair, then hugs her biceps. “I should go in and wait for a ride.”
“I’ll take you.”
Glancing at my extended hand, she cringes. “That feels like a terrible idea.”
I shrug, wiggling my fingers. “Won’t know until you try.”
It takes several more minutes, and my toes start to go numb by the time she finally nods. She doesn’t take my hand, but she follows beside me, and for right now, I’m okay with settling for that.
32
What is a socially acceptable amount of time to let someone bully you?
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I delete the text in the search bar. I don’t put it past Aiden to have installed a nanny cam on my laptop when I wasn’t looking, so I don’t want to incriminate myself more than necessary.
In truth, he’s been fairly quiet in the couple of weeks since Thanksgiving; when Fiona came to visit over the weekend, I hadn’t seen him at all, though I know he’s always lurking.
Being on this end of an obsession is… weird, to say the least. I spent most of my life living vicariously through celebrities, studying their lives in the hope that maybe some of that glitz and glamour would rub off on me.
Now, my days are occupied by graphic design, bubble baths, and the animosity of the man my teenage self was infatuated with.
She didn’t know better, though, so I’m trying to cut her some slack.
Aiden James hides his crazy very, very well.
I can’t help feeling a little bad that I seem to have sent him over the edge, though you would think that three years is more than enough time to move on from something like that.
Just like you have, right, Riley?
Slipping from the bed, I pull on a white terrycloth robe and head downstairs. The cabin is freezing, and when I pass by the thermostat on the wall, I notice the indoor temperature has taken a dip along with the drop outside.
I can almost see my breath as I reach out, cranking it back up.
Glancing at myself in the mirror hanging by the stairs, I scrub my nails over my jaw; red, scaly patches of skin have sprouted there, and no matter how much lotion I apply, they’re not going away.
Part of me wonders if I should call Kal and have him write me a prescription, but the other part of me wants to see an actual doctor. One I can talk to about my history.
Aiden’s comment about internal scarring has stuck with me, and I can’t stop wondering what that means.
If my mother’s boyfriend took more than just my life the night he attacked me.
Maybe getting answers will unlock some of the memories, although at this point, I feel stupid for wanting to know.
I should be content in my ignorance, but something about it all still bothers me. Somehow, the not knowing is worse.
Walking into the kitchen, the scent of coffee and butter invades my senses, and I freeze in place as my eyes sweep the scene.
Caleb stands over a skillet at my stove, poking at something inside with a spatula. The island is littered with ingredients I’ve never bought—whole milk instead of the oat I drink, a package of uncooked bacon, corn meal, and a block of gooey white cheese.
As if sensing my presence, Caleb turns his head and gives me a lopsided grin. “Well, good morning, sunshine. Glad to see you’re not sleeping the day away.”
Frowning, I adjust my robe, pulling it closer to my neck. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh…” He doesn’t look up from his task. “Cooking breakfast?”
“Well, I can see that. What I mean is, why?”