Frayed (Torn #2)(43)

And just like that! Emma dismissed the guys and went to tie her bikini back on. “You’re crazy, you know that? I was actually enjoying myself.”

Bass pulled her up and kissed her nose. “You have no idea how crazy I am about you.” He kissed her a few times before speaking again. “You knew one guy touching your thighs was enough to drive me insane, but add another who was massaging your back and the side of your boobs, well that was just asking for trouble.” Bass looked at us, shaking his head. “Pretty women with angelic smiles, those are the kind men need to watch out for.”

Lindsey snorted at that. “Angelic is never associated with me. I don’t know if I should be offended by that, or am I losing my touch?” She teased, smiling at Bass.

Emma let out a loud yawn. Bass held her hip then directed his eyes on me. “Want me to get Taylor?”

Um, why? I waved my finger at him and Emma. “Taylor and I aren’t like you guys. We’re just enjoying each other in a physical sense. f*uk buddies, plain and simple.”

Both the girls laughed at my crudeness, but Bass seemed confused. “Gotcha. See you ladies later.” Emma made another yawn. Without warning, Bass effortlessly plucked her off her feet with her head on his shoulder. “You’re tired, babe.”

Lindsey and I watched the blonde couple depart from our sight. “Yeah, he’s not going anywhere.” Lindsey and I agreed.

After another half an hour, we decided to leave and nap in our quarters. I borrowed Lindsey’s iPad to check on my funds and a few other things. Still with my bikini on, I sat on my bed and did what I had to do. After checking my bank account and sending an email to my father, I logged onto Facebook. I wanted to check Lindsey’s page and see what she’d been posting on there. As I suspected, her page was full of her in a bikini, her dancing with us, and the places she’d been to. What did surprise me, though, was that there were no pictures of Bass, Taylor and Dimitris—and that woman took tons of pictures. After going through my newsfeed, I paused and made a loud gasp. Becka, my cousin, had posted her ultrasound pictures. Meet our baby boy, Anthony! It said. I stared at those black and white pictures with anguish and a longing so powerful, powerful; I started to rock with sobs. Everything I had successfully pushed to the back of my mind was back in full, brutal force. Memories of my time with Harry, the pregnancy and the inevitable termination then, sadly, back to my last conversation with Harry. My stomach felt like something was clawing at it, sucking the breath out of me, drawing me back into the arms of its darkness; welcoming me back with sick and twisted determination. “No more,” I cried out in vain.

It was gutting me alive, choking me until I was too weak to fight it. I curled up —eyes wide open with endless tears—staring blankly at the mirrored wall; truly seeing my shattered self for the first time. Look at you, get up and fight yourself out of this rut, Trista, my reflection urged me. How did one get out of their own their own shadowed shackles? “Harry… what have you done to me?” I said to myself.

After another ten minutes, I found the strength to go to the bathroom and splash my face with cold water. My eyes burned behind their sockets and, when I scanned my reflection, my eyes were bloodshot. Something happened when I surveyed my pathetic image. There was a hard spark in my eyes reminding me to move my butt in gear. It was as if I was jolted back to life and out of my depressing funk. I started pulling myself back together; some eye drops helped my eyes appear less noticeably red and I started to concentrate on my breathing. I willed myself to breathe deeply, one, two, three; repeating this a few times before I marched out of my room and down to Taylor’s door. I took a moment to make sure I was, in fact, composed now and then knocked a few times before I let myself inside.

Taylor was on his bed with his back to the headboard. His chest was bare and he only wore his black boxer-briefs with his laptop on his thighs, and he was typing away. A few moments passed before he managed to look up with a frosted gaze. “Yes?” he cuttingly asked before he went back to whatever it was he was working on.

I hadn’t anticipated this polar ice demeanor. “Are you busy?” It was a lame question because it was obvious to me that he was, but I wasn’t ready to leave. I needed to distract myself with him.

“If you came here to find some release, then say so,” the arctic man said without looking up at me.

Damn, why was he acting like a complete dick? “Yeah, I came for that.” I should have been a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I wasn’t. Shame wasn’t a part of me anymore.

Without looking up, Taylor closed his laptop and placed it atop the mahogany side table. He scooted in the middle of the king-sized bed, pulled his briefs off and chucked them to the side. He then placed his hands over his head, in his majestic naked glory, before he seared me with his gaze. “Have a go at it, Trista.” A part of me wanted to slap him, but a part of me was beyond excited at his rotten demeanor. I strode to the bed and joined him. “Push those bikini triangles to the side of your breasts. I want to see them while you suck me off.” He commanded nonchalantly.



Biting my lip, I slid the bikini triangles to the side of my boobs, pushing them up—making them look like f*uk-me tits—and exposed them to him. When I positioned myself to take him on the side of his hips, he stopped me. “Go in between my legs. I get a better view that way.”

f*uker! Make this difficult for me why don’t you, I thought to myself. His cock was already hard. It certainly didn’t need me to suck it to get him started, but he was being a total, controlling dickwad. Ticked off, I complied with his request and got in between his strong legs. From this vantage point, his penis looked bigger. Even though I was pissed at his demanding attitude, it hadn’t escaped me to appreciate how gorgeous he was. His magnificent body, golden, chiseled and ripped filled my wanton eyes. Yes, though I hated his guts at the moment, my hunger for him overrode common sense. “Don’t use any hands,” his majesty threw out another obnoxious demand.