I hopped to the wall of curtains, stopping once to adjust the crutch, digging into my left armpit. With a heavy sigh, I gazed out the window, out to the sun about to kiss the ocean. My view consisted of a swimming pool right outside my room, and a fenced-in yard with a wooden playset consisting of two swings and a swirly slide. The house truly was the best one in the entire cul-de-sac. I was sure we owned at least four, maybe five lots. Well Paxton owned it. I didn’t know what I owned. Evidently, it wasn’t Rowan.
My shoulder hurt when I raised my arm, but it didn’t keep me from rubbing my temples with both hands. My head hurt worse than my shoulder. Mostly from not knowing why my husband was my husband, why I showed up in Rowan’s life at about six months old, or why Paxton thought anyone would lie about something like this. Who fakes head injuries? It was so frustrating. Viewing the photos of my life with the girls had done nothing but confuse me more. I knew the photos were of me? yet it didn’t feel like me. I didn’t remember it. None of it.
I heard Paxton open the door, close it, and walk toward me, but I didn’t move. My palms became sweaty and my heart thumped in my ears, but I didn’t show fear. Although I probably should have.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he questioned in a loving voice while his arms went around me and his lips kissed my neck. I shuddered from his touch and tried to step away. He squeezed me tighter and added another kiss.
“I don’t think I can have sex with you yet,” I bluntly admitted.
Paxton pressed his flat palm against my lower abdomen and thrust his hips into my backside. “Because you don’t want to, or because you’re hurt?”
“Both.”
“Lucky for you, I don’t want to fuck you,” he confessed with a wondering touch, up and down my hips, my ass, and my breasts. And all while his lips sucked and licked on my neck.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Rowan? I thought she was mine and not yours,” I replied, totally skipping over his comment, and probably one of his lines. I wasn’t about to respond to that one. I kept a stiff posture, trying to ignore his meddling fingers, eyes watching the sun. Even with him pressing his hips into mine, the ocean was breathtaking. Unprecedented. Like it was the first time I had ever seen it.
He halted his movements and laughed in my ear. “Ha! You honestly think I’m the type of man who would love another man’s kid?”
I knew calling him a pig wasn’t in my best interest. It was obvious, I wasn’t allowed to talk back, let alone call him a disgusting rat.
“Tell me how we met,” I replied instead.
The assault continued on my body along with his kisses, and hot words. “No. Shhh, don’t say another word. You’ll remember or I’ll teach you all over again.”
My reply was silenced by the tips of his fingers. There wasn’t a word I could say that this man would understand, that he would respond to in a human manner. He wasn’t human. He was a devil spawn.
“That’s my girl. Now go to the bathroom so we can get you out of these clothes.”
I felt it that time. A growing erection. Great…Paxton ground his hips into my ass and let me go. He turned and walked away from me, leaving me staring after him. I watched him walk into the bathroom, and pondered what to do. I followed when he stopped at the door and waved me in with an open hand and nod toward the room. I took an unnoticed breath of courage and hobbled into hell.
I made it to the first counter before I had to stop. Pain shooting down my hip kept me grounded for a minute. The black-and-gray swirled countertop was covered in fingernail polish. Every color. I glanced at my unpainted nails, and then at my toes. No polish. The bathroom sink worked well for support while I waited for Paxton gathered his necessary tools.
He whistled a familiar tune with a smile while retrieving an electric razor and then a straight one. Not a normal kind of razor with three blades. This one had a long blade.
“All set,” he said, voice matching the boasting written all over his face. He closed the distance between us in three steps. First, he dropped to his knees and unfastened the four Velcro strips on my leg brace. I had to admit, it felt amazing. It felt wonderful to have it off. My captivated leg welcomed the air with joy. I think I might have even sighed in relief. The yellow bruising had almost faded, and one fresh scar snaked from the inside of my knee, around my leg, and to the other side. I could still see tiny holes where the stitches had been.
Paxton’s were warm and used just the right amount of pressure on my leg, which proved to be an unexpected pleasure that didn’t last long.
“Did I always shave down there?” I questioned, unable to get the sharp blade out of my mind, or my eyesight. I swear the blade twinkled like a crystal prism.