Fear the Wicked (Illusions Series Book 2)(44)
Some didn’t make it to morning. Many times, I couldn’t be convinced to share my bed for more than a few hours. Their body heat irritated me when I wanted to sleep. God forbid they wanted to snuggle. I was never in the game for companionship, love, or happy feelings. Women were a means to an end…
At least, until Cassandra.
She had been the first that I wanted to keep by my side. The first who didn’t cry or complain when I bruised her skin. The first who wore the marks I gave her as a badge of honor, a reminder of the type of man she was with. She hadn’t been ordinary, or the type who was easily disturbed. But in my passion for her – my love – I’d ended her life far too soon, and attempted to hide myself in the Church.
It would have worked. I could have lived the rest of my life hiding behind the misguided belief that a man like me could be saved.
Then Eve happened and my life was once again turned upside down – first with her temptation, and then with her untimely destruction at my hand.
Elijah had asked what kind of monster I am. He hadn’t been wrong to ask the question, he’d just phrased it poorly. Because, in truth, it wasn’t just me who was the monster – we both had been molded and shaped by the circumstances of our youth.
I could barely hold it against him for the manner in which he’d tormented me, but even knowing what I know about his secrets, I still needed to know precisely why I was the target of his rage.
Morning light streamed through my window on the seventeenth floor of the ridiculously glitzy hotel room in which I’d been staying. My eyes cracked open and narrowed against it, my body moving to stretch out the sore muscles from the position I’d held in sleep. Behind me, a woman mumbled in her sleep, my movement enough to rouse her as well.
I’d been too tired the night before to walk her to the door, too tired to hear her arguments or complaints when I told her she’d fulfilled the purpose I had for her. But rather than rolling over and beginning her day with the demand that she get dressed and let herself out, I glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table and convinced myself that she would be a good distraction to pass the time, a toy to be played with until I had to leave and meet Father Timothy.
Erica…or Erin…I wasn’t sure of her name, wrapped her arm over my waist, her body scooting closer against my back as if to steal what heat I could generate. My teeth clenched together at the contact, but my cock was hard. I didn’t often let that part of me dictate my decisions, but in this instance, I gave in to the flow of blood that turned a sleeping appendage into turgid and throbbing flesh.
My fingers grasped over her wrist, the strength I used to squeeze the delicate bones a warning of what I wanted to do. A soft gasp filtered over her lips, but she didn’t complain, didn’t attempt to pull away and run. I felt her large breasts press against my back, felt the well trimmed hairs between her legs tickle the skin of my ass. Her legs brushed against mine as her foot slid down my calf, lower until her foot was pressed against mine.
“Good morning,” she said with a sleepy voice, a trace of flirtation edging the words. “Are you up for another round?”
Swallowing down the burst of violence that tore through me, I squeezed her wrist a touch harder, my lips twitching with humor when she gasped again. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
Soft laughter bubbled over her lips. It made me want to kick her out of the bed and shove her out the hotel room door. I refrained from reacting, and struggled not to think about what made me hate certain women so much.
It wasn’t until I returned to this town that I had the realization of why my sexual tastes were so violent – wasn’t until I’d been forced to face my past and stare into the memories of my youth. However, now that I knew, I couldn’t erase that understanding from my thoughts. Even considering it now had my cock deflating.
Erin … or Erica …whatever the hell her name was could fix that.
“You were a bit rough last night,” she cooed, “But that’s okay. I like a man who knows what he wants and is willing to take it. Any time you need a late night friend, you can certainly give me a call.”
I was drunk when I brought her back with me the night before, and because I hadn’t yet rolled over to look at her, I couldn’t tell you what she looked like. I knew my type, though, and I knew she would have long brown hair and green eyes – just like Cassandra and Eve – just like another woman who wouldn’t stick up for herself in life and spent her time cowering in a fucking corner. How sickening is it to discover that the mold for what I would eventually look for in a woman was my mother?
Not that I wanted to sleep with my mom or any sick thing like that, but I couldn’t deny I didn’t want to punish her for never coming to the defense of me or my brother. Perhaps it was the feeling of finally doing something about what was done to us, or perhaps it was something as simple as getting even for my mother’s complacency when we heard Jericho scream.
I didn’t know what she did when it was my turn down in that basement, but I assumed her blank expression and drink in her hand were just the same.
No. Fucking women who had the same features wasn’t what I was after. Nothing about my mom turned me on. But hurting them, the release that it gave me, had definitely sprung from the desire I’d had to hurt her.
Sitting up, I dropped my feet to the floor and scrubbed my face with my palms. With my bleary eyes only partially opened, I finally responded to what she’d said.