Devoured: A Novel(43)

I’m safe as long as I’m in control.

Keep telling yourself that.

He doesn’t cup my face or touch my hair or anything romantic like that. He roams his hand down my body, over the curve of my hips, until he’s between my legs, his palm pressing against my panties. He draws his mouth away from mine. “Fuck me, you’re wet,” he says. “Say the words.”

“No.”

“Turn around, and play. Same as before and don’t stop,” he orders.

I expect him to take his hands away from me when I start, but he doesn’t. I’m one chord in when his fingers slide under my panties. Three measures when he pushes one finger inside me. I gasp and he growls in my ear.

“Don’t. Fucking. Stop.”

He slips another finger inside of my body, and then moves his hand, hard and fast. Back and forth until I swear I’m dying. I whimper. He breathes heavily into my hair, and I curve my bottom toward him. He’s hard. He’s so f*cking hard that I’m suddenly grinding against his hand. And the moment his calloused thumb presses on my clit, I come. I slump against the keyboard on my elbows, my ass in the air. I don’t have it in me to play anymore, but I don’t think he could give two shits. He’s staring down at me with his lips pressed into a thin line and all I can think of is how I want them and his tongue on me.

And my mouth on him.

“Lucas, I want yo—”

“Go to bed, Sienna.”

Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of my body, and I shudder again. Though my flesh feels like it’s scorching, I manage to stand upright. “No,” I say.

“Let’s try this the way you’re familiar with then: Get the f*ck out. I need to work and like I’ve told you before, you’re f*cking horrible for music.”

Something sharp and prickly twists my chest. He knows exactly what to say to piss me off. I want to tell him he’s the dumbass who came up with this arrangement in the first place, but I choke back the words. All he’ll do is turn it back on me and remind me why I agreed, throw the deed in my face. I keep my face emotionless and my hands clenched by my sides as I say, “Good night, Mr. Wolfe.”

As I leave the room, I become aware that my panties are still pushed aside. And that as long as I’m around Lucas, he’ll keep consuming me until there’s nothing left.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN





I spend the rest of the night alternating between tossing and turning and hating myself, and wishing Lucas was between the sheets with me. When the alarm on my phone goes off at 7am, I drag myself out of bed and pad into the bathroom. Stripping down, I climb into the shower, turn the water as hot as it will go, and stand under the stream with my head leaned against the tile wall. The heat is uncomfortable—in fact, it burns— but it’s helping the vomit-inducing headache beating the hell out of my skull. Today, I’ll need my brain totally clear to deal with Lucas-f*cking-Wolfe.

What the hell was I thinking when I asked him to put his hands on me last night? Frustrated, I bang my fist against the shower wall. Pain shoots through my hand. I ignore it. I’m more concerned at the way I’d melted in Lucas’s hand—literally. And I hate my body for reacting to thoughts of Lucas right now. I’m wet and horny and I feel stupid for letting him f*ck with my body and mind.

The water is running cold and the bathroom is a cloud of steam by time I finally step out of the shower. I’m wrapping a thick towel around my body when I notice my phone is blinking. There’s a text message from Lucas. From 3 o’clock this morning.

Meetings all day. Wake me. 8 sharp.

It’s 8:12 right now. Fuck my life. Groaning, I rush into my room and shrug on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt then speed walk upstairs to the room Lucas has been sleeping in. The door to his room is closed, and I can hear an old Seether and Amy Lee song playing softly on his iPod dock. It’s fitting for how torn he makes me feel. Clenching the door knob, I linger for a moment and try to gather my bearings. I’ve only got five days left, and three those will be spent out of town on the go. If I can’t hold it together for a week then I’m screwed all around.

Every blanket is at the foot of the bed, in a black pool of fabric. He’s sprawled across the mattress on his stomach. Completely naked. Holding my breath, I tiptoe to the bed. I’m standing over him like a creeper and his text explicitly said to wake him up over half an hour ago, but God, I can’t get over how amazing he looks while he’s sleeping.