“Uh huh. And then?”
He finishes one boot and then pulls it off my foot before starting on the next. “And then I talked to him and he suggested the night of the new moon.”
“That’s my birthday.”
“I know, kiddo,” he says patiently. “For whatever reason, I didn’t feel like telling him that. Felt too…personal. I told him I’d talk to you about it. I swear I was going to.”
“When?”
“Tonight?”
I glare at him. Likely story. I know him. He was going to spring this all on me the day of my birthday, somehow pretend this was part of the celebration.
He winces as he looks back at me, either reading my thoughts or getting them from my body language. “So,” he says slowly, undoing the last of the laces and slipping the boot off. “Do I dare ask how you knew all this? Got it from my brain?”
“I ran into Mr. Poe.”
His brows shoot up as he places my boot on the floor. “Where? Wait. Don’t tell me. Edgar Allan Fuck goes to the same shrink you do.”
I shake my head, looking down at my hands. “It was at his house.”
Silence.
I dare to look at Dex. He’s staring at me, completely dumbfounded. “I don’t understand. His house? Like his real house or…?”
“The one on Seneca Street. The haunted house.”
His frown deepens. “You went there? Why?”
I shake my head as I get off the couch and head toward the bedroom. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.” I grab the hem of my wet tunic and start peeling it off. I need a hot bath ASAP.
Naturally Dex is right behind me. “What happened? Tell me everything.”
I throw the tunic in the laundry bin in the corner so I’m just in my bra, keeping my back to him. Not that I’m especially self-conscious around him, though I am on some days, but it’s because his one-track mind as of late will quickly derail everything. My boobs are still his kryptonite to this day.
I go over to the drawer and pull out a t-shirt and pajama pants to crawl into after the bath, then head toward the bathroom. “I need a bath first to compose my thoughts. I feel gross.”
He reaches out and grabs my wrist, pulling me to him. His eyes rest on my chest for a second before he manages to pry them off. “Are you kidding me? Tell me now. Why the hell were you there, Perry?”
I can tell he’s getting more worried and agitated by the second. “I told you. I don’t know why. Suddenly I was just there. It was like I was on autopilot. I should have gone right home but for some reason I didn’t.”
“And then what happened? How did you see Atlas?”
I stare down at his grip around my wrist, how strong and assured and protected he makes me feel even from the slightest gesture.
“I thought I saw someone in the house. The next thing I knew, I was reaching for the door, trying to get inside.”
His grip tightens. I glance up at him, knowing he won’t take this very well. His jaw is clenching, nostrils flaring. “What? You were trying to go inside?” he says, his voice coming out in a ragged hush. “Why would you do that without me? Perry, you know how fucking dangerous that is.”
I give him a faint smile. “I know, okay? I know. Like I said, it was like I was on autopilot. I felt…compelled. Like I wasn’t even in charge of myself.”
He swallows audibly as he stares at me. “Did you go inside?” he whispers.
“No. Atlas stopped me. He was in the front yard. Caught me trying to get into his house, which was all sorts of embarrassing.”
“Was he angry?”
“I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell with him. Actually, he invited me inside to talk.”
Dex stiffens again. “I see.”
“I said no,” I assure him. “I left. Came right here.”
He frowns. “So who did you see in the house? You said you thought you saw someone.”
“Just a ghost.”
I don’t want to tell him it was Maximus. I have a feeling that will upset him, and he’s already agitated as it is. Besides, the more I think about it, the more I think it wasn’t him at all. Maybe a trick of the eye, or a trick of the house. Making you think there was something you wanted inside. Certainly worked with me.
“Did you hear the woman’s voice?”
“No. Nothing else.”
He closes his eyes for a moment, worry washing over his brow, then opens them, fixing his gaze on mine, his hand going around to the back of my neck, holding me there. “Please promise me you won’t do that again.”
“It wasn’t on purpose, Dex.”
“Promise me,” he says again, voice hard. “I mean it. You shouldn’t…you can’t do these things without me, okay? We either do this together or we don’t do it at all.”
It’s a hard thing to promise when it felt like I had no control over it, but even so, I need to put his mind at ease. “I promise.”
His gaze sharpens on mine, heat igniting, before his eyes drop to my lips. “I don’t know what I’d do if something were to happen to you.”
Okay, now he’s making me nervous.
“Nothing is going to happen to me,” I assure him.
But why does it feel like I’m lying?
A strange look of fear comes over his features for a moment. His hand at the back of my neck holds me tighter, his palm warm against my cold, damp skin. He leans in and puts his lips on mine, kissing me hard, my mouth opening to his, letting him in.
I feel the kiss all the way to my bones, making my toes curl against the floor, his tongue straight-up fucking mine. Nothing soft or slow or sweet, just a wild plunge that strokes a fire inside me, the kind of fire that will engulf the both of us if we let it.
I put my hands on his firm chest and push back enough to catch my breath.
“I need to take a bath,” I manage to say.
The lids of his eyes are heavy, his gaze carnal. “Have to get naked first.”
He captures my mouth again, his kiss more urgent than before, causing my legs to squeeze together, flames licking me from the inside. One hand goes behind my back, deftly unhooking my bra, my nipples already hard. I drop the clothes I was carrying, and my bra falls with it to my feet.
He’s not going to let me take my bath, is he?
I’m thinking no, especially as he brings his mouth across to my jaw, nipping hungrily at my skin as his lips and teeth work their way to my neck.
While still gripping me tight, his other hand skims over my stomach, popping the button on my jeans before sliding his palm down into my underwear.
I let out an audible gasp, my nails digging into his shoulder, as he slips a long finger over my clit.
“Fuck,” he groans, taking my earlobe between his teeth. “You’re so fucking wet for me, baby.” The heat of his breath makes me shiver as his fingers start working at me, rubbing me until I’m weak in the knees. I can barely stand up as it is.
“This isn’t fair,” I whisper. He can’t just start fingering me when I’m obviously trying to go and do something.
“I think this is very fair,” he says hoarsely before sucking at my skin.
God, I can’t handle this man, not when he knows exactly what to do to make me lose my fucking mind.
To prove my point, he thrusts a finger up inside me, reaching deep, enough to make my head go back, my mouth falling open in a low, animalistic groan.
Shit.
“Oh fuck,” I cry out, my voice high and breathy, my balance starting to waver.
He’s strong and relentless, holding me in place as he brings his finger up and over my clit again before plunging back in, three of them now.
I’m going to come right here if he keeps it up.
He knows this too. Of course he does.
“Are you going to come like a good girl?” he asks.
Dear lord, I’m flushed from head to toe, my skin burning from his dirty talk.
His head darts down to my breasts, his lips wrapping around my nipple and suck
ing hard until I whimper with frantic need.
I can’t even speak, can’t even answer. I can only make greedy little noises, expanding around him as his fingers drive in deeper, his tongue flicking my nipple until every single nerve inside of me tightens into a ball and I’m seconds from going over the edge.
He lifts his head, kissing me again, his mouth wet and tasting like my skin, his lips ravenous, the kiss building and building as he fucks me with his unyielding fingers.
His thumb glides over my clit.
He pulls his mouth away, his forehead resting against mine, searching my eyes with his primal, wild stare. A smirk appears at the corner of his lips, the smirk that tells me what he’s about to do.
The pressure from his thumb increases, just enough to trigger me.
“Oh, hell!” I yelp, my nails digging into his back while I go off like a motherfucking bomb. The air is ripped from my lungs and I can’t even stand up anymore. I’m a quaking mess of cells, my limbs turned to jelly. Somehow he manages to keep me upright, his hand still working at me, extending my orgasm again and again and again until the room begins to spin.
“God, I fucking love to watch you come,” he murmurs, and I try to focus on his face, the look of pure lust that’s borderline destructive.
Then he pulls his hand away, and as he holds me in place by my neck, runs his tongue along his fingers, savoring the taste of me while never breaking eye contact.
I don’t have time to react before he suddenly guides me by my neck over to the bed and shoves me down on it, face first. I’m so disoriented from my orgasm that I’m completely helpless and at his mercy. Not that I’m complaining.
His fingers grip the waist of my jeans and underwear, and he starts to yank them down over my body, the fabric still wet as he pulls them off me. He works fast, urgent in his need for me, and I prop myself up on my elbows, glancing at him over my shoulder.
He’s pulling his t-shirt off over his head, tossing it behind him. I take a moment to drink him in, to be slapped in the face with how lucky I am. He’s in such fucking good shape, nothing but lean, hard muscle and smooth tanned skin. The words And With Madness Come the Light are taut across his chest, a constant tie to who he was and who he is.
His eyes catch mine and they shimmer with intensity, his full lips quirking up with a hint of devious smile. He swiftly unzips his jeans, stepping out of them and his boxer briefs. He’s hard as anything, and for whatever reason, his cock is extra intimidating today.
He reaches forward and grabs my hips, yanking me back to the edge of the bed. Hard fingers press into the tender flesh of my ass as he spreads my cheeks wide, his head dipping down.
My god.
A low, throaty groan escapes my lips as he starts licking me over every sensitive part. I swear I’m still throbbing when his tongue pushes inside me, making my eyes roll back in my head.
“You want more, baby?” he whispers harshly, pausing before he runs his tongue allllll the way up between my ass cheeks.
Fucking hell.
“God, yes,” I eke out, my heart hammering in my temples, my lungs constricting as my breath shortens, never having had a chance to recover.
Dex is nothing if not relentless.
In every sense of the word.
He makes quick work of me, licking me out like he’s at a fucking buffet, his appetite insatiable. His tongue is beyond skilled, wide, wet, and hard, and he plays with me as he devours me, making sure I enjoy every fucking second while letting me know how much he’s enjoying it.
It’s not long until I’m coming again, my body practically rising off the mattress. I’m still shaking, pulsing, when he thrusts his cock inside me, driving in deep.
“Fuck!” I scream, my fingers gripping the bed covers, curling around them like a vise as the air is pushed from my lungs. Even though I’m wet as sin and technically still coming, he feels larger than ever, like he’s sinking into every forgotten place inside me.
“Jesus, baby,” he says through a moan as he slowly pulls out and then pushes in again, the grip on my hips deepening. “You’re so fucking tight right now, so fucking tight. I think I’m going to lose my goddamn mind inside you.”
I can only make an incoherent noise. He thrusts back in and then I’m gasping, expanding around him while gripping him at the same time. I try to spread my legs wider to let him in, but he places his palms at my thighs, pushing them together, making me squeeze him tighter.
“Fuck yes,” he murmurs, his voice shaking from the strain. Even his fingers at my hips are starting to tremble as he pushes in and out, pumping as deep into me as he can go.
It feels like he’s reaching me in ways he never has before, like he’s fusing himself to me, branding me, making his mark from the inside out. I can’t say I mind. I can’t say much except that I love this man with my whole body and soul and every single inch of my heart.
He keeps pushing into me, his pace getting faster and faster, the bed starting to jerk from the movement. With a deep, quick thrust he moans loudly, the sound filling the room, and then pauses to lean forward, his hand slipping over my throat. He grips me there for a moment, pulling me back off the bed until I can barely breathe.
His other hand parts my hair from behind, wrapping the long thick strands across my throat then yanking them back, both choking me and pulling my hair at the same time, holding it like reins.
I quickly bring my elbows up to alleviate the pressure on my throat so I don’t pass out from lack of oxygen. As far as the kinky shit goes, I do like being choked during sex from time to time, but he’s always been a little apprehensive about doing it. Today though, well, today he’s in it one hundred percent.
So am I, even when his pace gets faster, the rhythm faster, more relentless, more punishing. I feel like I’m being fucked from behind into oblivion, constantly dancing on the edge of losing consciousness, between that and feeling absolutely everything.
“Jesus, fuck!” Dex cries out, his deep, throaty groan bouncing off the walls. He stiffens for a moment, then slides his hand underneath my stomach, stroking my clit at the last possible moment before he loses all control.
My eyes pinch closed and I come in an instant, my body blasted into the galaxy while he pours himself inside me, his fingers bruising the skin on my waist, his hips thrusting once, twice, before he drives in as deep as he can go. We’re so tightly connected at this moment that I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I barely feel the drops of sweat that sprinkle onto my back, barely hear the shake of his exhale.
All I feel is him inside me.
In the end, he’s all I ever feel.
I’m not sure how long I lie there on my stomach. Dex lets go of my hair, and I’m able to take in deep breaths to calm my heart and put order back into my body. I’m spent in more ways than one.
He leans forward, pressing long kisses all along my spine.
“Better to get dirty before your bath, don’t you think?”
He gives my ass a hard thwack with his palm that stings to high heaven, and then pulls out, leaving me both bereft and breathless.
And completely obsessed with whatever version of ourselves we’ve recently become.
Three
The next day I meet Rebecca for lunch at Barolo, one of our favorite places to get food and catch up, an Italian restaurant that serves the best truffle pasta in the world. It’s an easy walk from the apartment, just enough time to soak in the rare day of sunshine before another week of rain ahead.
When I step inside, the crisp, all-white ambiance of the place has a calming effect and before I can ask the hostess if Rebecca is here, I see her and Lucinda at a booth in the corner.
Lucinda is Rebecca’s nearly three-year-old daughter, and as one would expect with such a cool (in more ways than one) and collected mother, she’s a little angel. Hanging out with her is bound to kick my baby fever up another notch.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long,” I say to Rebecca, hanging my crossbody purse on the h
ook and sliding into the seat across from them.
“Not at all,” she says, handing Lucinda her iPad and headphones.
“Hi, Perry,” Lucinda says to me in her sweet sing-song voice. I swear she picks up her mother’s English accent from time to time.
“Hello, Lucinda,” I say with a big smile, taking a moment to gawk at her. She’s such a darling, pretty girl. Because Rebecca is whiter than milk and Lucinda’s father, Dean, is black, she’s got this gorgeous tawny skin tone and curly dark brown hair with these amazing natural highlights. Every time I see her she seems to grow before my eyes, though her round cheeks remain completely squishable.
Like her mother, she’s impeccably dressed, wearing a fuzzy pink sweater, her hair pulled back in a matching scrunchie. She gives me a polite smile, as if excusing herself, before she slips on her rose gold headphones and picks up the iPad.
I look at Rebecca, who, much like me, would never be caught dead in pink, even though I love her daughter’s whole aesthetic. Right now she’s wearing a fitted grey sweater with lace details at the shoulders, a black velvet choker around her neck, a grey beret sitting jauntily atop her sleek bob. As usual I feel like a total schlub around her, even though I’m wearing black skinny jeans and a long teal sweater underneath my leather jacket, which I shrug off onto the seat beside me.
“You’re looking lovely,” Rebecca says to me as she slides over a menu.
“Oh. Thanks,” I tell her, hastily pushing my hair behind my ears, looking over the menu even though I already know what I’m going to get.
“No, really,” she says, and I look up to see her studying my face. “New makeup or skincare routine?”
I shrug. “No.”
“You’re all dewy and fresh-faced. Like, I would bloody kill for that highlighter.”
I pull my sleeves down over my hands, fidgeting at the compliments. “No highlighter. I don’t know what it is. I haven’t been doing anything differently.”
She pauses and then looks over at Lucinda who is humming to herself, playing a game. She leans in, folding her red-shellacked nails in front of her, and gives me a fixed look. “How are you and Dex doing?”
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