Page 20 of Riot's Thorn
Underneath the mounted TV is a cabinet with a dozen or more flower arrangements on it. I pull the card off one, reading about how the sender is thinking about them during this hard time and how they’ll always remember what a light Parker was in this world. Key word:was. It pleases me people are thinking the worst. I like being the only one in the world who knows she’s alive and well.
I tuck the card in my pocket and move toward the stairwell. Each step I take is careful and deliberate. My means of escape is the furthest away while I’m upstairs, so once I hit the landing, I quicken my pace. I grin when I see handwritten name tags above each door with stickers I can only assume align with their individual interests. God, these girls are making it so easy for me.
Parker’s sign is blue, and her stickers are of books, black glasses that look a lot like the ones she wears, a corndog, an aquarium, a camera, and a large fountain soda cup with Dr. Pepper on it. I commit those things to memory and open her door.
I don’t know what I expected—maybe something typical of a college girl, like UNR-themed crap everywhere, pictures of her and her friends, that kind of thing, but that’s not what I find.
Her bedding is gray with jewel-toned accent pillows and a gray faux fur blanket draped over the end. The headboard is dark wood with black velvet inlays, and her nightstands are black with gold accents. The wall behind her bed is painted a deep teal color, covered with antique framed mirrors and paintings.
I think I see a pair of tits in one of the paintings, so I move closer. Holy shit. My girl has Victorian people fucking all overher wall. There are women with women, men with men, men with women, and even some group sex scenes.
She has porn on her walls.Damn. I never would’ve guessed. I mean, it’s classy porn, but it’s still porn.
The rest of the room isn’t nearly as interesting, just an antique gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling, an oversized pink velvet chair, and a small black desk with a laptop sitting on it. Sitting down in her office chair, I lean back with my hands on the back of my head and my legs kicked out, absorbing her energy.
Everything in here screams money. Not that I’m surprised; her dad was rich as fuck. I guess I just thought she was more average. But this room is cool as shit, and it pisses me off even more. Ican’tlike this girl. It’ll take us both down a dark road she doesn’t deserve.
“Well, fuck,” I say aloud and look for something I can take back with me. She won’t forgive me for what I did, but I can at least bring her a small comfort from home.
Clothes are a good place to start. Surely she doesn’t want to wear my oversized shit all the time. Her closet smells of her perfume and cedar. Even her fucking closet is nicer than my house. There are shelves, built-in drawers, and even a small island in the middle with organization for her jewelry. I’m sure most of the pieces in there would fetch a pretty penny, but I don’t even look. My bank account is plenty big.
Since we’re not fancy at the club, I skip over the dresses and focus on her casual clothes. Her T-shirts are organized by color, and I wish I knew her favorite. Maybe the sign above her door is blue for a reason. It’s as good a guess as I’m going to get, so I pull a couple of blue shirts off their hangers. I know fuck-all about fashion, but I think you can wear almost anything with jeans, so I grab a pair with wide legs because they’re probably more comfortable.
While I’m thinking about comfort, I pull some leggings off a shelf. Tinleigh and Myla are always wearing these things, and they’re around the same age, so maybe they’re in style. I pause in front of a set of drawers, fairly certain this is where her underwear would be. Would it be weird for me to bring those back to her?
I don’t know the answer, but either way, I’m definitely looking.
My confusion over my attraction to Parker only grows when I peer down at the contents of the drawer, and it feels like heaven’s light is shining up at me. It doesn’t look like she has a preference for fabric or style, since she seems to own every type under the sun. My cock takes notice when I pull out a white pair, silky in front but lacy in back. Goddamn, I’d do anything to see what she looks like in these.
I put them back. I can’t have her in my house, knowing she may have these on underneath her clothes. She has a whole section of basic black cotton briefs, and even though she probably still looks hot in them, they’re theleastsexy, so I grab a handful. I also opt for sports bras instead of the lacy ones. I don’t want to see her pert nipples poking through her shirts. It’ll give me ideas, and I don’t have good self-control. Most would say I’m selfish.
Needing a way to carry this stuff back to the house, I find an empty backpack on the top shelf and load it up, spotting a pair of black sneakers on the ground and adding them to my loot. My mind stays on the panties, though, and so does my hard-on, which is surprising. I don’t remember the last time I had a spontaneous erection.
The way I need to fuck requires control, and in order for someone to hand over control, there has to be trust. I can’t earn anyone’s trust because I don’t connect with people very easily.Plus, I’m known as the odd, psychopathic killer with rats for pets, which narrows the field significantly.
Obviously, I’m not a monk. There’s a club I visit now and then where the women understand the score and enjoy the same proclivities, but they tend to make it so easy, I get bored. I need a challenge. Otherwise, I might as well just get myself off whenever I need a release.
But Parker is inspiring. She fights back but also knows when to give in. Would she be like that in bed too?
Knowing she’s innocent makes it even better. I can picture her uneasy, almost fearful expression as I tie her up and show her just how good sex can be. If that makes me an asshole, so be it, but as I play the scene out in my mind, I go from aroused to painfully hard. I can’t ride home like this, so I pull my cock out of my pants. By the time I find the perfect pair of silky, animal print panties, my fat crown is already leaking pre-cum.
I can tell just by looking at Parker that she’s a good person. She probably attends church each Sunday and gives beggars on the street her last dollar. I, on the other hand, am fifty shades of fucked up. I’ve killed more people than I’ve helped in this world, and when I take my last breath, I know the Reaper has a spot for me right by his side.
As if to prove just how demented I am, it’s the fantasy of exposing her to my darkness that has me stroking faster. She’d look so pretty on her knees while I ram my cock so far down her throat, she gags and tears run down her cheeks. Fuck, yeah. I’d pull out right before I came so I could paint her face with my cum.
My balls draw up at the mental image of my semen dripping down her chin and landing on her bare tits. Bracing a hand on her jewelry island, I blow my load into her panties. It’s the most intense, satisfying orgasm I’ve ever had.
After tucking the used panties back in her drawer, I throw her backpack over my shoulder and scan the rows of rings protected under glass and displayed between velvet. Parker deserves something nice, so when I see what looks like a wedding ring, I open the case and pluck it out. I hold it up to the light, not surprised to find it’s real.
This’ll be perfect.
CHAPTER SEVEN
PARKER
Iwake with a start. The dingy room is bathed in late afternoon sunlight, and I’m now covered with a blanket that wasn’t there when I cried myself to sleep. Maybe it was an adrenaline dump, or maybe my mind just needed to escape reality, but it wasn’t long after Riot left that I passed out.
“Hey,” Riot says, and I lift my head, finding him on the chair next to me. He doesn’t deserve my reply, so I remain silent.
