Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(55)

“You’re safe.”

Finally … he wraps his arms around me.

Slowly.

Tentatively.

It doesn’t matter. I’m in his embrace. And maybe it’s torturing him to let this happen, but I don’t care. I just need him. It’s desperate. It’s selfish.

It’s an illusion.

Griffin has to know this too. He has to know deep down that he can’t protect me from a killer.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE





Beneath the sheets, Griffin gives me his embrace. I want to pretend that we can get lost in the physical, numbing the emotional. It won’t solve anything.

He knows it.

I know it.

But as I wake in the early hours of the morning, I need more. I need him to ease the pain and hide the memories under a veil of physical pleasure.

Anything.

Minutes. Seconds.

I’ll take absolutely anything right now. Anything to make the visions in my head disappear long enough to catch my breath.

My hand covers his hand resting on my abdomen, just below the bunched-up hem of my tee. He doesn’t flinch, just even breaths ghosting the back of my head. My hand guides his down beneath the front of my panties.

His body twitches, stilling again behind me. I hear him swallow hard as my lips part to let out tiny breaths, trying to keep up with the flutter of my pulse.

My middle finger presses down on his middle finger, like playing a piano key. The calloused pad of it brushes my clit. Closing my eyes, I inch apart my legs, welcoming his touch deeper between them.

He stiffens. I try not to let his apprehension seep into my conscience, my heart. With everything I have, every last thought, every last prayer, I silently beg him to roll me toward him. Cover my body with his. Bury himself inside of me. And just … be.

He doesn’t.

But he moves his hand without me guiding him anymore. Fingers spread like he’s claiming something that should already be his; he slides two fingers inside of me.

The slow build of my panting breaths is the only sound in the room. With the heel of his hand he rubs my clit.

It’s slow, but hard and so desperately demanding. He’s giving me pleasure. I’m giving him pain. I feel it with every stab of his fingers. The pleasure builds, blinding the visions in my head.

His erection presses against my back. I need him to make me whole. Tears burn my eyes. I try to turn, desperate for his mouth on mine, but he jerks my back firm to his chest as his hand rubs hard circles over my clit, fingers as deep as they can reach. I’m a prisoner to his touch, fighting to arch my back. My hands reach behind me to grab his head. He buries his face into my neck.

As I come, his teeth sink into my shoulder until I cry.

Until I fall apart.

Until I die in this moment.

“Fuck you, Daisy,” he whispers with a hauntingly raw voice.

Still reeling from the blinding sensation, I can’t register what he’s doing until I’m alone in bed. The toilet flushes. The water turns on. The bathroom door opens.

I wait.

Nothing.

In a blink, the pain returns. The visions come back to life.

And I’m alone.

Because he’s right.

Fuck you, Daisy.

*

I wake just as lonely as I fell asleep. There’s no hazelnut coffee aroma. No Griffin.

On the sofa there’s a pillow atop a neatly folded blanket. I don’t stare at it or the pictures of us on the fireplace mantel or his running shoes by the door.

In fact, I can’t get out of the house fast enough.

“Hello?” I call, removing my coat and boots inside Nate’s entry.

“Shh …” Nate’s hushing sounds from his office.

I peek inside the door. “Lazy morning for little Miss Morgan?”

“Yes.” Nate keeps his focus on his computer screen, fingers pecking at the keyboard with the grace of a bull racing down the streets of Pamplona. “A nice gift this morning since I had a few things to finish up.”

“I won’t distract you, then. I’ll just grab some coffee and keep an ear out for her.”

He shakes his head. “You’re fine.” Slapping down the lid to his computer, he grins and unfolds his tall body from the desk chair. “I’m done.” After slipping it into his messenger bag, he struts toward me. “Good morning. How are you?”

I can’t deny him a small smile, even if it doesn’t fit my mood today. “I’m good.”

With his thumb and middle finger, he pinches my cheeks together like a duck’s. “You need to work on selling it better. What’s up?” He continues toward the kitchen.

Everything is up. Or upside down. Or just plain old fucked-up.

“I’m considering giving you my two weeks’ notice.”

He stops, back to me. I wrinkle my nose, waiting for a response.

And I wait some more …

“Okay.” He resumes his steps without giving me a backwards glance. “But I’m going to need something more concrete than you’re considering it. I can’t maybe look for a new nanny.”

“That’s it? Okay? Not, why? Not, please reconsider? You paid me five thousand dollars to be here when school started. But now it’s no big deal?”

“Don’t do this.” He turns. It’s the same pathetic pained look Griffin gave me. I’m the injured animal on the side of the road while everyone passes by waiting for someone or something to come along and put me out of my misery.