Oaths and Omissions (Monsters & Muses #3)(36)
To get away from the trauma.
I thought I’d moved on.
The attack at Daddy’s party weeks ago should’ve been my first indication, though, that I haven’t. Not fully, anyway.
I didn’t even flinch when I killed Preston’s friend.
Someone who’s doing well would have likely had a different, more appropriate reaction.
Sighing, I let Palmer ramble about past events for a while, using his voice as a balm to my nerves. Eventually, I tell him I need to get a shower, and he grumbles but lets me go anyway, making me promise to text him when we’ve left in the morning.
My lungs compress as I get to the top of the stairs, a sob catching in my chest. It bubbles, refusing to come out, and I cover my mouth with my hand until I make it to the bedroom at the end of the hall.
The door swings open, and I freeze in place.
A pile of shopping bags sits on the floor in front of the bed, their handles twisted together. Stepping closer, I scowl, recognizing the thrift shop’s logo on the reusable packaging.
Pulling the first one apart, I see the pink crystal swan from earlier, and my heart thumps loud against my ribs.
Reaching into another bag, I pull out the fuzzy socks I had in hand at the checkout counter. A cashmere sweater, a porcelain tea set with lilies painted around the rim of the cups.
Everything I had at the store but chose not to buy.
My throat constricts, and I put the items back, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
One thing’s for certain: if no one else, Jonas is watching.
Paying attention.
For some reason, I find that as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
17
The water morphs into a reddish brown as it pools at my feet, disappearing into the shower drain. Turning around to brace my hands on the wall, I let the harsh spray work over my tired muscles, massaging out the kinks that come with a labor career.
I reach over my shoulder, pressing down on a particularly stubborn knot caused by Sergeant Gonzalez’s nightstick, another name I’ve crossed off the list after questioning turned to retaliation.
Can’t blame the bloke for trying.
Unfortunately, I’ve had much longer to sit with my demons, and their festering can’t be cured except by bloodshed.
Every time I come back worse for wear, I can tell the little puppet sleeping in my bed wants to ask about it. Her sweet eyes light up, like she’s fascinated by the things that should horrify her, and her mouth poises around unspoken questions.
Perhaps it’s just boredom fueling her interest. Aside from lounging on the beach and the endless hours she spends painting or drawing, Lenny doesn’t seem to have anything else to do.
It’s almost as if she revolved around her family’s company and the PR relations she was forced to maintain, and now that she’s somewhat free of those shackles, she doesn’t know how to spend her time.
With each passing day, she seems to grow more despondent. I thought dating a socialite meant being dragged from event to event, and yet our shopping trip was the first time we’ve been out as a couple in the weeks since she moved in.
On the one hand, her despair fills me with a sick sort of gratification.
Revenge by proxy.
Alistair’s words echo in my mind, his insistence on keeping up appearances reminding me that while I don’t necessarily want to care about Lenny’s happiness, at least while we’re pretending to date, I’m supposed to.
I’m trying to convince myself that that’s why I went back to the thrift store and asked the cashier to find everything Lenny left behind. I knew she’d been lying when she said she was just looking, though I didn’t fully understand why.
The cost barely amounted to pocket change, so I can’t imagine that played a factor.
It doesn’t matter, I suppose, although I would have liked to see the look on her face when she realized I’d gone back. The idea of a smile gracing her delicate face because of something so bloody simple makes my cock hard as a fucking rock.
Reaching down, I palm my shaft, closing my eyes to relive the kiss we shared the other day. I’ve thought about it so often at this point that I can practically feel her soft body against mine, desperate to open up and let me inside.
My jaw slackens at the thought, my fist jerking in harsher movements as I envision her spread eagle beneath me, lush tits and plump little cunt on display. Wet and wanton. I’d grab the back of her neck and haul her up, just enough so she could watch me sink in.
She tastes like absolution, but I’ll bet she fucks like damnation.
Arousal draws my balls up, winding a heated spiral up from the base of my spine, and release surges through me. For a moment, I consider the fact that I told myself I wasn’t going to entertain these thoughts anymore, but all that does is make me come quicker.
The acknowledgment of the forbidden has me spilling all over my fist, a pained grunt tearing from low in my throat. Sticky semen drips down my fingers, and I brace a forearm on the shower tile, trying to convince myself that she’s out of my system now.
I can stop letting her occupy my every bloody thought.
When I step out of the bathroom a few moments later with a towel wrapped around my waist, though, it’s clear that’s not going to happen.
Lenny stands in the hall, her golden-brown hair pulled back into a single braid that falls off one bare shoulder. Bare, because she insists on wearing those fucking tiny pajama tops with the equally tiny shorts, and every time I see them I’m tempted to tear them down the middle, just to show her how easy it would be.