“Go lock the door before I do,” I eventually reply, pushing back off into the water to stare at the ceiling again. It’s safe up there. At least for the moment.
A few minutes later I hear a small splash and I roll onto my front, lips hovering just above the water. Damn it. Bikini. I could shout at my dick for a week and it wouldn’t shut up from that vision. She’s sitting on the side of the pool, long legs dangling into the water. I keep myself in the middle, away from her, not sure why. I told her to lock the door, pretty obvious what I’m thinking about.
“You okay now?” she asks.
I nod, unable to speak words other than ones laced with sin and lust. That’s not the type of conversation I was aiming for. Doesn’t seem to stop me remembering the camera in here, though. Or the audio attached to it. “See that panel on the wall behind you, in the corner?” I mutter. She looks over her shoulder, a frown on her face.
“Yeah.”
“Go press the red button three times.”
“Why?”
“Now, Fia.”
I’d like to say I don’t watch her move over to it, don’t watch the way her hips curve and sway with each step, as if her body was built for my eyes, and mine alone. It’s like slow fucking motion to me. Every step, every muscle flowing after the next. Toned. Curved. She’s still got marks on her neck and shoulder, marks I put there with my teeth. Damn, I want more of that. I want hours of it, weeks. We barely even got into the rougher stuff, the fun. There’s still so much to learn. About me. What I could do to her body. The pleasure I’d take in enjoying every inch of her.
Her finger depresses the button. Once. Twice. It’s like a goddamn countdown for the animal in me who doesn’t give one fuck for anything outside this room. I snarl at the feeling, trying to temper it back down, but my dick’s ruling my head again with her in my space. As always. Stupidly. By three I’m raging inside, desperately trying to remember the right thing to do. It’s gone, though. Lost in a fog of need and want.
She sits on the side of the pool again, legs quietly slipping into the water. Some part of me just wants to look at her there, imprint the memory before I go. So beautiful, too beautiful for her own good, and certainly for me. My scar seems to tighten up on me, making me rub at it in the hope of easing the ache. Another metaphor in my life. Scarred versus perfection. She is, too. Enough attitude that I’m interested in her fight, enough fragility that I care about her thoughts. When the fuck did that happen?
“So…” she says, watching me.
I smirk. I can’t help it. She’s never been one to wait for me to begin something. Always getting in my face, bringing the fight straight at me. I swim over to her, unable, or perhaps not caring enough to stay away any longer. For now, in here, we’re alone. I reach for her legs the second I can, lifting myself to stand so I can drag her down into the water. She grabs onto my shoulders at the force I use, legs automatically wrapping around my waist.
“I came here to talk,” she says breathlessly.
“No you didn’t. You came here to get me to fuck you again.” It’s worked. My fingers pull her closer to me, pushing her down slightly until she’s resting on my dick. “You don’t need a bikini to talk.”
Coy eyes and parted lips tell me everything I need to know. Talking isn’t worth shit, anyway. We both know this shouldn’t be happening. I certainly do. I’m lost, though. Desperate for one last time inside her.
“I thought…”
“Fuck thought.”
My mouth is on hers before she’s even tried to respond, savouring the taste I’ve starved myself of. She’s everything she was last time and more. Sweet as fuck, her body clawing at mine to get closer than we are. And this time I’m not stopping from going too far. She’ll feel all of me, remember it for the rest of her goddamned life. My hands tear at the strings on the bikini panties, gripping and ripping at them until they break. She gasps into my mouth, her head breaking away. I nip down her neck, pushing the top half of the bikini material out of the way so I can get at those nipples, and bite them until she screams. The second I latch onto one of them, she does. It’s loud enough that I smother her mouth to stop the sound, tearing at the nipple as I turn her away from me and lean her over the side.
My dick rears in my hand as I get it out and widen her legs. In, that’s all I want. As hard as I want. No foreplay. She came here to fuck; that’s what she’s getting. I reach in between her legs, the hand that was smothering her mouth brought round to hold her head in place on the tiles.
“Carter?” she mumbles, hands gripping the edge.
I’m not listening. Can’t. I just need to fuck her out of me, and then we can both get on with our lives. My fingers run through her, two of them sinking deep before I reach for my dick and angle in. She squirms and thrashes, her neck trying to move from where I’m holding it. It excites me more than I already am, reminding me of times on the boat, her pleas for me to go harder.
“Please, Carter…”
I surge into her at the sound of my name. Everything stills for a second as I hold onto her and watch the water slosh over her back. So deep. So fucking tight. I inhale a breath of my own, listening to her moan, and lean over to get in closer. Never wanted close before her, but it's all I damn well want now. All the way in and stay there. It makes me shunt in further, kicking her stance wider and angling her so I can get in deeper. Fuck. My vision blurs at the feel of it, the pressure around me.
“You wanna talk? Try it now,” I snap, pissed at her effect on me. I pull out and drive back in again severely, causing a yelp from her. "Where's the attitude gone, Fia?"
She doesn’t say a goddamn word. She whimpers beautifully, letting out more moans and groans. And that’s just what I want from her now—those sounds and the feel of her around me. I fuck in again, barely able to stop the load that wants to shoot out of me. No barrier this time. Nothing in the way. Everything in me aches to fill her, my legs shaking and body vibrating. My hand grabs for her pussy and my fingers press harshly against her flesh that I’m already too familiar with.
The pressure of her around me, the touch of her skin—it’s all too much.
I rage into her again, hips not giving a fuck if she’s ready for this kind of battery or not and let go of her head to push her closer to the edge she’s hanging onto. I hoist her to a better angle, so I can get in so deep it hurts her. I want that again, want her to hurt and not walk straight for days after this. That’s what I am, what I have always been regardless of whatever’s come over me since meeting her.
She pants and moans, and I watch her fingers whitening on the tiles, both hands trying to claw for purchase. I’m not helping this time, not giving her something to hold onto. I’m fucking, that’s all. Being me. I grit my teeth and grunt, slamming myself into her with as much power as I can. Tighter. Closer. To the point where there’s no room between us at all. She gets squashed against the side, her head turning to try kissing me, to make this something it isn't. I push her head away, not wanting to look at her or let her inside my head. I can't, won’t.
She wanted to fuck. We're fucking.
The sound and feel of her coming around my dick spurs me on to my own end. It’s rapid and rampant, not one part of me caring about pulling out of her. I forge in, over and over again, letting everything build uncontrollably as my head tips back. I should pull out. I know that, but I’m desperate to leave some of myself inside her, desperate to mark what’s mine.
“Carter!” she yells out.
That’s it. That one scream echoes around the space and I’m coming. My fingers tighten on her hip, gripping her back to me as my mind wishes this were something it isn’t. I lean forward, lips touching her back as I hold my breath through the beginning of it and enjoy the ride. I can feel it churning through me, my hips forcing the feeling faster and deeper to its final moment. Everything moulds and blends. The scent of her, the taste. Fuck. Perfect. Fucking perfection. My teeth dig in, needing a true taste of her again before whatever chivalry
I have in me wakes the fuck up and rips my dick out of her.
Come pumps from me onto her back under the water, my hands holding her exactly where I need her so I can rub the last of it out. She wheezes and coughs out a breath, fingers loosening on the tiles as I release my teeth’s grip on her. One lick up her spine, one final taste, my forehead resting on her, and I back away into the water on unsteady legs to head for the steps and get my breath back. Done.
Over.
I tuck my dick away and stare over to her, watching and scowling as she looks at me, surprise in her eyes. Good. She could do with understanding what a heartless asshole I am. It’ll be easier for her that way, easier to get over whatever love she thinks she feels.
“This will never happen again,” I say, reaching for a towel. I dry my hair off as I walk by her to head for my clothes, then wipe it across my chest. My eyes turn away from her at the same time as I do, retracting all connection so I can say the last of it. “Get dressed, Sophia. Go back to your family. We're done. Over.”
Finished.
* * *
It’s taken me two hours to get my stuff together. Most of that time has been spent pacing back and forth, disarray making me more confused than I already was. This has been my home for so long I don’t know what to do with myself in it now, let alone how to deal with the thought of leaving it. I stare around the space, looking at the small boxes accounting for my things. There isn’t much. Three suitcases. Four boxes. That’s my life; nothing but business suits and a few photos. One of the boxes is from when Quinn found me as a kid, the few things I brought from the old place I lived in. I haven’t looked in it for years.
I walk over to it at the side of the couch, a coffee in my grip, and turn back the corners to peer inside. The dirty old photo frame lies in there, a picture of my brother and me when I was about three, I guess. He’s not smiling like me. He’s got a look that I know well now I’ve seen it on others through the years: desperation. He’s gaunt, pale, blond hair a mess and filth on his face. No mom or dad in the shot. I snort; they wouldn’t be. They were never there, neither of them. Well, one was dead from what I can remember. The other? Fuck knows.
I move the frame and smile at the rag underneath, a small chuckle coming as I pick it out and unravel it. Two toys fall from it into my hand. Two tiny soldiers, one with its arm broken off. I don’t know where my brother found them from, but I remember him giving them to me that night when he got back late from somewhere. I finger them and hold them up to the light, thinking about all the things Quinn gave me after that time. Christmases. Birthdays. I smile, thinking of Emily every year. Pancakes for breakfast, maple syrup and bacon. She always loved birthdays, made a fuss of me.
Still does.
Shame.
I dump the toys and close the box, kicking it towards the others. I’ll get wherever I’m going and then have the car sent back when I get another one. Guess they won’t mind that. Fuck knows. It’s the only plan I have at the moment, though, and that thought alone makes me head over to the door, wheeling cases behind me.
It doesn't take long for me to load my life into the car. That's sad in itself. As is the walk I make over to the main house. My hands lodge in my pockets, eyes gazing around at the place I've called home for all these years. The lawn I helped Logan learn to walk on. The tree he fell out of when he was small. I shake my head, unused to the feelings I'm suddenly associating with him, and crunch the gravel to get to Quinn’s office. Doesn't matter how I feel, or what is going on inside me; this has to end so they're safe.
"Quinn," I call, pushing on the door.
He doesn't answer me, but he's there, his back towards me and dice rolling in his palm. "I need to talk to you."
"You need to go unpack your fucking car, Carter. That's what you need to do."
I sigh, a smile coming as soon as he turns around to look at me. Whatever I'm feeling, I know there's no way in hell he'll want this. I knew it as soon as he sat beside me in that hospital and didn't kick off, choosing to talk instead.
"You know this needs to happen. It's the safest thing to do now. For you, for her. For everyone."
"You're running. That’s not what Canes do."
My smile broadens.
"I'm not running, Quinn. I'm doing what you taught me. What you both taught me. I'm thinking logically. Calmly. Selflessly. You'll make it right when I'm gone. Smooth it over. Besides, I'm not a Cane, am I."
He grumbles and dumps his dice on the table, ass sitting in his chair to gaze at me. There's nothing to say other than goodbye. I know it. He does too, even if he doesn't want to hear it. It makes me move to the drinks trolley, pouring a couple of shots for Dutch courage to get this thing done. Don't know why, but I never thought it would be this hard. He's not my father, never professed to be until he said those words in the hospital, but these minutes prove he has been.
"You love her?" he asks, as I pass him a drink.
"Doesn't matter if I do or don't. I'm still going."
He nods and leans back, the longest sigh I've ever heard coming from his mouth. "Pick them up, Carter."
"What?"
"Dice. Drink your drink then pick them up and throw. Odds you leave. Evens you stay."
"I'm not doing that, Quinn. You can't risk your family on the roll of your dice."
"You're not leaving unless those dice say you are. I won't let you. Pick. Them. Up."
I chuckle. Alright. He can have his hope. Mine's long gone.
It left the second I kissed her spine for the last time and set her free. Set them all free.
I pick them up, drink my drink, and throw them across the hardwood floor towards him, my eyes turning to the door. Evens or not, I'm going, and the sound of my strides leaving before I hear them come to a stop proves it. Vico can blame me if he wants to, come after me. Maybe I'll go to him first. Hand myself over. I don't know yet. But he's not blaming them. Me leaving is the right thing to do, the only thing to do.
"See you around, Quinn," I call back, leaving the room and closing the door.
Maybe.
Twenty-Six
The humid air cloys at my skin, but I don’t move. I’m rooted to this spot, the water lapping around me as I stare at the door, waiting for Carter to turn around and come back. To take back those words he spat at me so harshly. He’s managed to take everything in my world and piece it together with a sense of meaning, before shattering it all over again in the space of a few minutes. The list of emotions he’s dragged me through since meeting him rivals a dictionary, and I hate him for it. At least I want to.
Gooseflesh creeps over my shoulders and runs down my skin, chilling me despite the temperature. He’s not coming back, is he? That’s just the naive girl hoping, and I’ve run out of hope. The tale where Prince Charming rescues the heroine seemed to be our story to begin with. He was my saviour in real life and not just a fantasy. But now my eyes are firmly open, and I know that the real world is full of monsters and villains who corrupt and lie and hide in plain sight.
My father is one of them.
Out of nowhere, I raise my arms and smash them down into the water, attacking it as if it’s caused me real harm. My fists ball and pound through the surface splashing the water, and I scream. It's a long, drawn-out wail that releases all of the pain and hurt, and it's aimed at all the people around me. It echoes in the pool room, sounding ten times louder than I ever thought possible. My cry deafens me, and I’m sure someone will come running. They must because the anguish and hurt in that sound couldn’t be ignored, surely?
After my outburst has calmed and the energy has been sapped from my arms, all I can think of is curling up in a ball. A warm, safe ball so I can sleep through this nightmare. I haul my body from the pool and gather the robe I was so eager to discard when I came in here. The fabric encases me in warmth, and I cling to the margin of comfort, pulling it even tighter to me as if the material can physically hold me together until I’ve found the strength to do it myself.
My shoulders hunch and I keep my head down as I navigate back through to the house and up to my room. Hiding from Mom is out of the question. She’ll take one look at me and want to know what happened. It will just be easier to tell her, explain the situation and then move on.
Move. On.
The thought chokes me, and I rush into our room and fling open the bathroom door, falling to my knees to retch into the toilet.
“Honey, what’s the matter?” Mom rushes to me, concern like crystal in her voice.
I keep my head over the bowl, even though I know I won’t be sick, and eventually the wave of nausea begins to subside. Taking a deep breath, I sit back on my knees and try forcing myself to face this.
Mom crowds me, grabbing my shoulders and rubbing them, bringing warmth back to my skin. She doesn’t say anything more and waits for me to explain further.
“A little light-headed. Too much swimming,” I mumble, trying not to look at her. I squeeze her hand, and head to the sink to scrub my teeth. “I’d like to take a shower. Rinse the chlorine out of my hair."
“Sure, baby” she says, eyeing me suspiciously. There's no way this conversation will be over until she’s satisfied.
I hide under the shower, scrubbing every inch of my skin and doubling up on every part that Carter touched. If he’s calling whatever was between us over then I don’t want to be the girl left pining. I won’t be that person. I’ve waited all this time and thought that because I’d waited, not jumped at the first guy who showed interest in me like other girls do, that I knew how to handle my heart, that I could trust in the feelings that are so vivid, so encompassing. It seems I’ve still managed to make a fool of myself.
As with the pool room, I take the warm robe on the back of the door and pull it around me, nestling inside before venturing out to face Mom. She’s propped up in bed reading something on her tablet. “Hey. Feel better?” She pulls the pillow-like bedspread back, welcoming me, and I seize it.
“Much.”
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 27