Survival (Twisted Book 1)

by Rebecca Sherwin

  “Ready?” Thomas asked, running one finger from the top of my neck to the bottom of my back.

  “Ready.”

  Eighteen

  Ready or not, here I come…

  December 10th, 2008.

  I opened the front door slowly and stepped into the dark house. The anticipation was thick in my veins, slowing my movements so I could savour each second that ticked by on the clock in the hallway. I loved it; the rush, the excitement, the time to imagine every little detail of what was about to happen. I kicked my shoes off one by one, the heels clicking on the wooden floor, and let my coat slide down my arms. I placed it over the banister where Thomas had left his jacket. I closed my eyes.

  I listened.

  Silence.

  I heard nothing but the fast pounding of my heart.

  “Thomas?” I called, but I knew he wouldn’t answer.

  I checked the lounge but he wasn’t in there; that would have been too easy. I checked his office next, but all I saw of Thomas was the slideshow screensaver on his desktop. They were pictures of the two of us in The Bahamas in the summer. He’d been in the office to throw me off. It did. I paused and looked at the pictures, remembering the Egyptian cotton sheets that caressed my body along with my lover’s hands as the gentle breeze cooled my searing skin.

  A bang on the floor above made me jump. I smiled, left the office and ascended the stairs.

  “Thomas?” I called again, to let him know I was getting warmer. It was like a radar; the closer I got, the hotter I felt, until it became unbearable. I was trembling with anticipation, burning with desire.

  I stopped.

  I hooked my thumbs into the straps of my dress and it slid down my body, pooling at my feet like the depths of an ocean. I adjusted my underwear; I knew it would drive him crazy if he was watching me.

  I opened the door to the games room and my heart leapt when I saw him. Thomas was still dressed and standing by the window, a dark shadow revealed only by the dim light above the pool table that separated us.

  “The games room?” I asked.

  I ran my hands down my waist and to the top of my stockings. He made me feel sexy, desirable, and the way his eyes greedily drank me in made me squirm on the spot.

  “Come here,” he breathed and I walked to him as quickly as my shaky legs would carry me. I stopped in front of him, close enough to inhale his virile scent and I allowed myself to be captivated by the erotic energy he exuded.

  “What now?” I rasped, need pouring from my voice.

  “Turn around.”

  I turned away from him and faced the table. I jumped when his strong hands stroked my hair and he gathered it over one shoulder. A simple touch, one so tender, yet it stirred the hedonistic animal within.

  Setting his hand on the back of my neck, he gently bent me over the table and I rested my hands on the edge for support as he exposed me to him and his hands found the round globes of my ass. He didn’t say anything but I heard his breathing, slow and controlled, as he kneaded my flesh and knelt down. He kissed me just below the waistband of my thong and I moaned as he slid the underwear down my legs.

  “I’ve barely touched you and you’re drenched for me,” he teased me with his fingertip and held the other hand on my back to keep me from pushing against him.

  I didn’t tell him I’d been hot for him all night as I tried not to purr in delight every time I caught sight of the subtle bulge in his trousers. I couldn’t speak.

  “Do you want it?” he asked. “Do you want to feel me deep inside you?”

  “Yes.”

  I threw my head back as he eased his finger in and out.

  “Tell me you want it.”

  “I want it,” I begged. “Please.”

  Thomas spun me around and pushed me into the table. The bottom of my back crashed into the smooth wood.

  His fingers tickled the outside of my calf, grabbed the back of my knee and swiftly hooked my leg over his shoulder. I gasped as he opened me up to him and growl of appreciation rumbled deep in his chest as he looked at the glistening flesh between my legs.

  “I want you to watch,” he said, looking up at me. There was something so powerful about seeing him kneel before me. “Watch me fuck you with my fingers. Watch my face as I make you come. Wait for me to bury my cock inside you and fuck you like the animal you make me.”

  My core quivered. I was sure he could make me come just from his words, his voice low and hoarse, and laced with lust. I nodded as two fingers slid into me, stretching me; preparing me for his assault.

  He started off slow, moving in and out as I watched my arousal coat his fingers. I closed my eyes when his thumb found my clit and all movement stopped until I opened them again and found his gaze. He was watching me. I couldn’t look away as he moved faster and I saw the hunger in his eyes. His thumb coaxed my clit to swell as his fingers scissored deep inside me, stroking the sweet spot that set my heart racing, pounding against my ribs. I heard my euphoric cries as my body began to build. I clenched around him as my legs shook and I tried to stay upright. My fingers dug into the edge of the table, but I was lost in his eyes, entranced by his control as I rapidly lost mine. My orgasm crashed into me violently and my release exploded from me.

  I fell back against the table and threw my other leg over his shoulder as the spasms wracked my body.

  “Thomas,” I panted. “Stop.”

  I tried to wriggle free as the sensitivity clouded the pleasure, but he held me still. His fingers left me, but he replaced them with his mouth. I thrust my hands into his hair and tried to push him away. The intensity had tears streaming from my eyes; I couldn’t take any more. I fisted his shirt when he lifted his head and stood up and I pushed him back as I sat.

  I wanted more, but I couldn’t speak. I continued to shudder, every muscle trembling.

  Thomas stepped back and shoved his hands back in his pockets with a dark, triumphant smirk.

  I looked at him as my chest heaved and tried to talk, but all that escaped from me were whimpers of desperation as my climax continued to pulse through me.

  He knew I wanted him. I could see the triumph as his gaze dropped and his eyes turned to dark pools of onyx. He licked his lips as he looked at mine. I was a mess of liquid heat and wild desire.

  He parted his lips and I waited with baited breath for something, anything, to come from the beautiful mouth of the man who often propelled me to ecstasy.

  He stepped away.

  He changed the rules and upped the ante. Another step back and I climbed from the table and reached for him but he shook his head.

  He snagged his bottom lip between his teeth and cocked an eyebrow. His hands lowered to his trousers and he undone them fluidly, allowing his steel cock to spring free.

  “Time for the next round.”

  One hand held his rigid length and the other beckoned me to come closer. I pushed off the table and walked towards him, watching as he slowly stroked himself and coaxed the stream of clear liquid to ooze out. I licked my lips and stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the heat pouring from him. He blinked as his eyes moved to my heaving chest and back to my face. He parted his lips and his warm breath on my mouth drew out a desperate moan. I reached out and began to unbutton his shirt, my fingertips brushing the granite body beneath the cotton.

  “I want you, Thomas.” I breathed and lowered my hand to replace his.

  I curled my fingers around his thick shaft, my free hand slipping into my bra.

  “Back up and lie on the table,” he said, nudging me backwards and allowing his engorged cock to stand unaided. Stepping back, I watched Thomas undress himself and slid on the table, leaning back on my forearms and waiting. God, I needed him. My arousal was like an inferno and I was quivering with desperation. He approached me slowly.

  “Open your legs. Show me how wet you are.”

  I lifted my feet onto the edge of the table and let my legs fall open. I laid back and closed my eyes, knowing he could
see what remained of my last orgasm, and my body’s craving for another. I gasped when I felt the tip of his cock touch me, sliding over my clit and teasing the throbbing flesh. I continued to wait, my lust bordering on supernova and ready to explode.

  “Please,” I begged lifting my hips. “Take me, Thomas. Please.”

  He slid through my folds, filling me in a second. He paused. I stretched for him, I relaxed, I sighed and I gave myself to him. He moved slowly, easing in and out, teasing me with glimpses of the animal within with surprising thrusts that made my core tremble. He gripped my ankles and held my feet at the bottom of his back. I felt his muscles contracting as he drove into me, his pelvis meeting mine, his loud groans matching my ecstatic cries.

  I cried out and mumbled an incoherent expletive when Thomas gripped my hips, arched my back and plunged in deep. I clawed at the felt on the table, but couldn’t get a grip. I tried to reach for Thomas but he had me pinned down in position. My core was tightening, I clenched around him and searched for something to grab to control the release and contain the screams. I grabbed two snooker balls and squeezed, breathlessly crying Thomas’ name, the slick heat between my legs dripping as I edged nearer to release. The sweat collected on my skin and the pleasure clouded my vision. The sound of flesh on flesh accompanied our moans, his thumb found my clit and the power of his predatory thrusts reached mind-numbing depths. I was close, building without respite and ready to fall.

  “Let go, Skye. Come for me. Squeeze my dick and let go.”

  “Come with me,” I panted, holding on, making it last, squeezing tight to take him with me. “Come with me.”

  He nodded and clenched his jaw, slamming into me until my breasts spilled from my bra and I held them in my hands. The felt against my back began to burn, adding to the sensation that I was on fire.

  “Come, Skye!” He growled, squeezing my thighs until I felt the bruising.

  I exploded, throwing my head back, screaming until my throat was sore and the quivering reached every nerve. Thomas stilled and gripped me harder. His cock jerked and he let out a roaring cry as he filled me. I felt every pulse deep in my core until he was spent, and slowed to a stop.

  ***

  I left the bathroom sore and sated and flopped onto the bed. Thomas covered us with the duvet, tucked me into his side and I ran my fingertips through his chest hair. I pressed a quick tender kiss to his chest, my favourite part of his body because it held the gift I treasured most.

  “Sometimes,” he said with a sleepy sigh, “I wish I could watch us together. I never know what’s on your mind and I get so lost in looking at you, I don’t see how you look at me… I saw it downstairs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you in the office looking at our pictures.”

  I tried to move away, but he held me to him. I was suddenly nineteen again and waiting to be rejected for having feelings I shouldn’t have had. My mind started racing as I searched for memories of what I’d done wrong.

  “Hey,” his fingertips traced my neck, over the vein that thumped furiously. “Stop.”

  “Sorry,” I took slow breaths to try and calm down. “Sorry.”

  “You love me, don’t you?”

  “I tell you I love you every day.”

  I heard the aggression in my voice and had to remind myself not to push him away. My instinct was always to push and protect.

  “Anyone can say the three words. I love chocolate. I love pizza. I love the lumbar support on the chair in my office. It’s different when you mean it. The words become…superfluous.”

  “So what do I do instead?”

  “Let me in,” he chewed on his bottom lip. “And kiss me. Kiss me like I’m about to kiss you. I love you too.”

  Thomas tipped my chin so I looked up at him, gently brushed his lips back and forth over mine and finally, he sealed our mouths together.

  “And then,” he said, pulling back and stroking my cheek with the backs of his fingers. He eyed me cautiously. “And then move in with me.”

  I gasped.

  “What?”

  “Move in with me, Skye.”

  I panicked.

  “I can't.”

  I tried to back away, but Thomas held me still, shifting and rolling so he was between my legs and I was pinned to the mattress.

  “Baby,” he chuckled. “I’m not asking you to sell me your soul.”

  “I know but-”

  “Before you explain it,” he held his fingertips to my lips and I kissed the pads of his fingers. “I get it. I understand it’s a big step, but it isn’t irreversible.”

  “Thomas,” I forced a smile through the fear and took his hands in mine. “I’m not worried about that. There’s no expiration date on us. It’s just- I’m just…weird.”

  “I know, baby,” he patted my head and his stomach shook from holding in the laughter. “I know.”

  I smacked his hand away and rolled my eyes.

  “I’m serious. I’m difficult to live with.”

  “So am I.”

  “I’m not a good cook.”

  “I burn toast.”

  “I don’t like ironing.”

  “I never put dirty socks in the laundry basket.”

  He kissed my other cheek.

  “I don’t like dirty dishes. I have to wash up before bed because I can't get up in the morning to a dirty kitchen.”

  “I have a dishwasher. It takes seconds to load.”

  I held onto his wrists as he kissed my forehead and his mouth-watering scent filled my nostrils. I inhaled and released a sigh.

  “I like things to have their place. Clutter makes me antsy. Mess makes me grumpy.”

  “I’m a tidy guy,” my turn to give him the look, holding him back as he leaned in to kiss me again. “I’ll be a tidy guy.”

  “I don’t want you to change. Ever.”

  “Then what’s the matter? You pretty much live here anyway. You stay every night. You’ve got things here already, you’ve practically taken over my bathroom.”

  He tried to be funny, but I could see the worry in his eyes and the nervousness on his furrowed brow.

  “It’s…Oliver.”

  I couldn’t control the sadness in my voice whenever I spoke about my brother. He was with me every second of every minute of every day. It was why I was the way I was.

  “Oliver?”

  Thomas sneaked in during my moment of distraction and his lips met mine. His kiss calmed me, relaxed me, allowed me a minute to let the pain fade again.

  “Yes, Oliver,” I took a deep breath and cleared my throat. “I just want everything to look how he wanted it. I know he isn’t coming back but it’s all I have to make me feel like I’ve done something for him. Cushions, dishes, bed sheets. I get anxious when things aren’t right and I can't control it.”

  “Hey,” he wiped an escaped tear away and held my gaze. “It’s okay. Geez, I love you for it. You don’t want me to change, I don’t want you to change.”

  He leaned in and peppered my face with kisses.

  “I want you to move in here with me, and bring Oliver with you.”

  I didn’t know if I sobbed or laughed; I was shocked. I was relieved. I was completely and totally in love with Thomas Radley.

  “Yes,” I whispered, finding his lips through the tears that blurred my vision. “We’ll move in with you.”

  I couldn’t tear my mouth from his. I couldn’t stop kissing him as I felt the words warm his lips as they left mine. The tears fell and Thomas held me to him as we embraced each other and the step we were about to take.

  Nineteen

  Deep meaningful conversation, not a fan. Sweet pillow talk, almost a fan. Churros…huge fan.

  November 29th, 2009.

  I loved our Sundays together. When we weren’t in our offices finalising things for Monday, we spent the day in town. It was small and quaint on the outskirts of the city. Wide open spaces, fields of wildflowers, and a trickling stream that ran through th
e middle of the town, from the old church to the old windmill, made it feel like a world away from the hustle and bustle of the city. A tranquil little spot in the centre of madness. It was our tranquil little spot. I loved being a part of it and had since it became our home a year ago.

  We often walked the aisles of the Sunday market. Thomas had a thing for the cheeses and I loved perusing the stalls for fresh eggs and bread. It had snowed in the night and we walked glove-in-glove, wrapped up so only our faces were showing. It had only snowed a couple of inches but, like the stereotypical Brits we were, we had no idea how to react to the alien white fluff besides to wrap up like we were on an arctic voyage and moan about how cold we were.

  “I've been thinking.”

  Thomas pulled me off to the stall selling sweets and looked at the treats on offer.

  “Did it hurt?”

  “Funny,” he looked at me with the puppy eyes I fell for and pouted. He was a terrible actor. “Anyway, I thought we could get a tree this year. A real one, so the house smells like Christmas.”

  I said the only thing I could think of that wasn’t a strangled cry of pain, “What does Christmas smell like?”

  “You never had a real tree?” We left candy-free. He knew he’d touched on something I didn’t talk about. I couldn’t. I didn’t even think of those days. Pre-2003. A time that felt so long ago and a world away from the life I now lived. I was back at the crossroads…only this time the decision wasn’t easy.

  I took a deep breath.

  “We had trees. They were just artificial ones with fibre optic lights.”

  “You had baubles though, right?”

  I rolled my eyes, “Yes, we had baubles. And an angel on the top. I had a normal family life until I was eighteen.”

  “It’s okay,” we stopped at another food stall. I concentrated on the sweet smell of chestnuts and caramel to distract me from the anxiety that crept in. “You don’t have to talk about it. It was just an idea.”

  I stared into oblivion as Thomas mulled over what the stall was selling. He knew I needed a minute. I wanted Christmas with Thomas, and I wanted to do it our way. The present way, not the past way.