Page 60 of Like Grim Death: Part One
Her eyes narrow. I thrust my hips, because she’s stopped. Then I try to slide another finger inside of her, but she’s too fucking full, I can’t get it in. “Yes,” she says, and it sounds like a confession. Like something she doesn’t want me to know. “Think about fucking her when you’re inside of me.” Her face flushes, her neck too, but she doesn’t look away from me. “When you’re tearing me apart,think about her.”
“Ella.” I don’t know what to say. I’m not thinking abouther.Truthfully, I don’t know what to think, but I just know I’m so. Fucking.Close.
“You wish I was her, don’t you?” she says, and I hear the hurt in her words.
I look down again, at Sid’s name.
Then I slide my finger out of Ella and clamp it over her mouth. “Such a dirty little slut,” I whisper, forcing her head back against the cabinet as I fuck her. I can feel her trying to move her fingers from inside of herself, but I grab her face, hard. “No. Don’t you fucking dare.” I thrust harder inside of her, feeling the slap of skin, her fingers above my cock as I grip her calf tighter. “You keep fingering yourself, because you need it. You need everything you can get in this tight cunt, don’t you?” The entire stove seems to shake as I fuck her harder, lust and anger and love raging inside of my head.
She tips her head back, parting her lips, and I push my finger into her mouth. “Suck on it. Taste yourself, pretty girl.”
She closes her lips around my finger, obeying, then she’s calling out my name, and I feel her tighten again at the same time I’m coming inside of her, the release barreling through me as I groan against her shoulder, dipping my head and bitinghard.
At the same time, her foot slips on the oven and I feel a wave of heat, feel her body go into panic mode at the thought of being burned.
I grab her calf, stopping her heel from touching the inside of the oven as I wrap her leg around my body, the pain from the fresher wounds on my back lending something morbidly satisfying to my orgasm.
She’s panting when I open my eyes and pick my head up, slamming closed the oven door with my knee.
Panting, and her arm hasn’t moved from behind her back.
Not even to save herself from getting burned by the goddamn oven.
I grab her hips, sliding her even fucking closer, the two of us still connected.
I reach for her wrist, pulling her fingers out of herself, and I bring them to my mouth, sucking the earthy, sweet taste of her off her skin as I hold her gaze.
When I drop it, I thread my fingers through hers, our hands resting on her thigh.
“I fucking love you,” I tell her, meaning it.“And only ever you.”
But her eyes aren’t on me. They’re over my shoulder.
Slowly, every muscle in my body tense, I turn.
Cain stands in the doorway, his shirt still off, arms crossed as he leans against the frame. His dark eyes go from Ella, to me, and a smile ghosts his lips. He drops one hand down to his cock, and I watch him stroke the outline of it.
Ella whimpers, and I squeeze her fingershard.
“Fuck, you’re lucky, boy.” Cain’s low voice is a rumble, then he turns and heads toward the hallway to the door. A second later, I hear it close softly behind him, his steps light. Then his Camaro rumbles in the driveway and I turn back to Ella.
Her cheeks are pink, and I grip her jaw, jerking her mouth to mine as my nose touches her. And all I say is, “Don’t even think about it.”
“How often do you see him?”I trace a scar along his back and he’s quiet a moment. I wonder if he’ll tell me it isn’t my business. If he’ll try to shut me out again, like he did this morning with the bruises on his face, over his abs.
He eventually told me he got into a fight at Sanctum, but he wouldn’t give any specifics.
Now, we’re together on the couch in our bedroom, the drapes pulled open and dark night staring back. He’s lying on his side with his head on a dark blue pillow in my lap, his hands pressed together as if in prayer, tucked close to his body, casting the front of him in shadow.
But I can see the broad expanse of his back, and how my pale finger is so much lighter than his golden tan and the etchings of black and gray ink from all of his tattoos.
We spent the day eating food I cooked, then made a quick run to the grocery store to pick up flour. I wanted to ask about Sid, about him calling her. The phone he lied to me about. But that would give away my own indiscretions. It’s like swallowing back bile constantly, my hypocrisy not letting me truly question him how I might if I were innocent. But none of us are that.
Finally, he says, “Not as often as I used to.” And strangely, the words have a hint of sweetness.
My throat feels tight with emotion. As I draw broad circles over and around the line of his spine, I want to tell him what’s happening to me. What happened while he was having a ritual, only two nights ago. Part of me hoped when we fucked this morning, he’d see the evidence, but I think he was too focused on what’s between my thighs to notice the bruises marring the back of them.
I know he would care though. Atlas might be teaching me to defend myself, but he’s corrupting my mind in other ways. Putting me against Mavy too.
