Page 27 of Blood Ties
I bite my lip, lowering the bowl. “Momma, you gotta eat.”
But she’s gone again, her eyes somewhere far away, someplace I can’t reach her.
*
AFTER THE VISIT WITHMomma, I rifle through Riley’s bag to make sure there isn’t anything she can use as a weapon. It’s all day-to-day stuff. A toothbrush, a comb, books, deodorant. There’s a container of pills I’m not sure what to make of, but it must be some kind of medicine. Plus her clothes, which are dry now. Once I’m satisfied, I grab a clean towel and an extra pillow and blanket from the closet before carrying it all down to the basement.
Riley’s eyes light up when she sees me, and my stomach flip-flops. I try to ignore it. It’s not like she’s excited to see me, the person who trapped her here. She’s probably just thrilled at the prospect of clean underwear.
“Thank you,” Riley says. She pulls the backpack onto her lap and hugs it. “Seriously. This is really kind of you.”
I look down.Kindis not a word I would use to describe myself, and it makes me feel guilty to be called it now. I’m ready to retreat, but she calls my name before I can head out.
“I’m sorry to ask more of you, but with these handcuffs, um...” She pauses, her cheeks pinking. “I don’t know how I’m going to change my clothes. Without, um, help.”
I pause for a second. “...Right.” I clear my throat. It feels dangerous to get so close to her. I’m terrified some part of me will awaken and I won’t be able to control myself around her. That I’ll become the same kind of monster that my brother is.
But it would be cruel to leave her with fresh clothes and no way to change into them. So I make my way over to Riley, step by slow step. With every inch closer, my heart pounds louder in my ears. Once we’re face to face, I’m hot all over.
“I guess I’m going to have to pull the shirt over my head and through the cuff,” she says, sounding a little breathless, but maybe that’s my imagination. “And then pass the clean shirt through the same way?”
I swallow. “Yeah. I guess.”
“Okay, well.” A moment’s hesitation, and she reaches down to grab the hem of her shirt. She peels it off of her torso, revealing an expanse of flat stomach. She pulls the shirt free of her un-cuffed arm and over her head, and then all I can see is skin, skin, skin. The swell of her breasts, the curve of her waist and hips. She’s not even wearing a bra. I avert my gaze and try to suppress the stirring in my pants. It’s fucking awful of me, but — I can’t help it.
“A hand?” she asks, and my eyes dart back to her.
“Right.” I grab the shirt and help tug it through the cuff around her wrist. There’s just enough space between her skin and the metal to feed the fabric through, bit by bit. Then I grab a clean shirt from her bag and pass it through in the same way. It’s awkward, and requires me standing very close, practically pressed up against her. I help her tug the shirt over her head and her other arm, and pull it down over her torso, my fingers grazing her skin.
“Thanks.” She bites her lip, looks up at me from under her eyelashes. “As for the rest...”
I make the mistake of glancing down at her bare feet, her legs, the lace of her panties. I imagine tugging the fabric down over her thighs and sliding a fresh pair on. Or maybe I’d leave them off. It would be so easy to grab her by the hips and pull her against me. I could kiss her against the wall. Lay her down on the mattress, spread her legs...
I rip myself away from the mental image. I’m painfully hard and sure she must be aware of it. But as she shifts, the chains on her wrist clink, and guilt forces me back a step.
“I think I should be able to manage it on my own,” she says.
I am both relieved and agonized. “I’ll...” I grab her dirty, discarded shirt. “I’ll get rid of this.”
A few minutes later I’m in my bedroom, one hand gripping her dirty shirt and the other wrapped around my cock. I stroke myself so hard and fast it almost hurts. When I come with a whisper of her name, I hate myself more than ever.
