Page 7 of Fractured

He constantly has a smirk I’d like to blow off his face, and by blow, I mean suck his dick until the only expression he has is one I’ve put there. I continue to picture what he might look like underneath that perfectly pressed suit. As I imagine his sculpted muscles, I run my hands up my body and pull the cups of my bra down. With my breasts exposed, I tweak my nipples before continuing south. I don’t have as much time as I want to fully satisfy myself, so I need to get the edge off quickly before Vander shows up.

My hands travel over my taut stomach and my smooth mound. I lasered off all my unwanted hair years ago. Such a time saver. With one hand, I spread my lips, and with my other, I slide a finger right into my pussy. It’s so wet, there’s no resistance. Dragging the wetness to my clit, I rub in small circles, working myself up. Every so often, my fingers run down the length of my slit, collecting more of the slickness dripping from me. Once I’m on the edge of coming, I slide two fingers into my pussy. It’s a poor replacement for a hard, throbbing cock. I picture Grayson above me, thrusting his hips against mine at a punishing pace.

Lifting my knees to the sides, I shove my fingers in and out deeper, faster, making sure to drag them across my G-spot with each thrust. My other hand travels up my body until it’s holding my throat, squeezing as I picture Grayson’s hand there instead.

With ragged breathing, pebbled nipples, and a tingling clit, I approach my release. It builds with each pounding thrust of my hand, fingers pressing just right against my bundle of nerves on the inside as my palm slams into the ones on the outside.

Suddenly, the image of Grayson is replaced by the final seconds of Scott’s life. Of the life leaving his eyes. And it’s the final push I need to careen into a toe-curling orgasm that sweeps through my body, causing me to cry out. My spine arches as the throbbing pleasure travels from my center into my every cell. I’ve never come with this kind of force behind it, much less picturing the man I just murdered. It’s official; I’m a special kind of fucked up.

The pulsing throbs of my orgasm clamp down on my fingers, making it impossible to slide them in and out. My walls clench, trying to milk the non-existent cock filling me up, crushing the digits trapped inside me. When the overwhelming orgasm comes to an end, I gently slip my fingers from my warmth. But they don’t go far. They slip up and down along my slit, circling my clit when they get to the top, only to slide back down.

Vander hasn’t texted his arrival yet, and I have nothing else to do while I wait. Why not keep playing with myself? Scooping up some of my cum, I rub it on my pert nipples. Squeezing my breasts, I rub my thighs together, trying to calm the throbbing. I knew one round wouldn’t be enough to slack my lust. I rub at my nipples, pinch them, pull on them until they’re overly sensitive.

Continuing my playing, I run my hand down my body, teasing the skin where my legs meet my core. It’s never as good as when someone else does it, but I still enjoy it. I turn my attention back to my slit. Rubbing my fingers along my lips, I work myself up again, refusing to give in to actually touching my clit or entrance until my legs are shaking and I can’t hold back any longer.

The ding of my phone sounds through the cloud of lust surrounding me. It’s good timing. The temptation to play with my clit wins, so I start rubbing my fingers side to side, slipping across the exposed nub. Within seconds, my muscles are clenching with my release. It's not as good as the first one, but still enjoyable.

I’m flooded with so much energy, there’s almost a pep to my step when I spring from the bed and jump over Scott’s body. I don’t bother to cover up before finding the front door and swinging it open. Vander’s eyes widen a fraction, not expecting to find me fully exposed to him. I didn’t even slip my tits back into my bra.

I’ve never wanted to expose myself to Vander, never looked at him as a possible sexual conquest. No, this decision to expose my body to him is a calculated one. I did it to try and distract him from the battered bruise on my face that I’m sure has grown darker from when I last glanced in the mirror.

He towers over me, even though I’m standing a step above him in the doorway. I quirk an eyebrow, waiting to see what he’ll say as I slide the two fingers into my mouth that I used to fuck myself. The sweetness of my juice explodes on my tongue as I lick them clean. Vander remains stoic as always and doesn’t allow his gaze to wander along my body, instead, he’s staring into the distance, somewhere over my shoulder. He holds out my makeup case and the garment bag protecting my dress. As I pull them from his grasp, he finally glances at me.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he blurts out. It might be the most words I’ve heard from him at one time. He shoves the door at my side, trying to gain enough space between me and the entrance to the house. His arm swipes me aside, trying to put himself between me and whoever’s inside.

“Vander, stop,” I command, grabbing his arm to keep him from going after Scott and finding his body.

“No, Remington. It’s my job to fuck up anyone who thinks they can hurt you. Now, where is he?” Vander growls out, pushing my hand from his arm.

I run in front of him as he walks toward the bedroom. He’s moving so fast, he doesn’t have time to stop before crashing into me. His warm hands instantly go to my waist, steadying me on my feet before I fall over from the force of his body hitting me. His hands stay where they are, and the warmth of them against my cool skin sends a spark of desire into me. My only excuse is the fact that my masturbation wasn’t a replacement for the real deal. And he has the only cock around.

My hand finds its way to his chest and I gaze up at him, trying to ignore how defined his peck is. “Do you really think I’d let a man get away with hitting me? Don’t worry about it, Vander. I’ll be out as soon as I’m ready,” I tell him, my tone leaving no room for argument.

He studies me for a moment with narrowed eyes before turning to leave. I hesitate for a moment, confused. Did I actually feel an affectionate squeeze before he released his hold, or did I just imagine it? I had to have imagined it since there was no warmth in Vander’s gaze. The door shuts behind him with more force than necessary.

Turning on my heel, I head back toward the bedroom to quickly get ready. I find myself in Scott’s bathroom once more and get dressed methodically. The black dress has long sleeves and a high neckline. It’s one of the most modest dresses in my closet, but still holds a sexy edge at the same time. It’s form-fitting and the hem rests next to my knees.

I keep things simple when putting on my makeup, knowing too much will seem out of place for today’s events. There’s nothing I can do about the redness around my blue eyes, but that will actually help me, so I add some subtle highlights with liner and mascara. Overall, it’s my foundation that took me the most amount of time. It’s a bitch to get the blending just right to cover the bruise and scrape. Thinking of a cover story for why my face looks like I’m in an abusive relationship is the last thing I want to do right now.

Finally, my face is perfect. All it needs now is some lipstick. I dig through my case before finding the perfect shade. I don’t remember buying it, perhaps one of my personal shoppers did, but it’s my new favorite. In fact, I may just throw away every other lipstick in my case and turn this into my signature look. The blood-red product glides across my lips like a silky kiss, its color reminding me of the blood I drew from Scott. It sends a thrill right to my clit thinking of wearing a constant reminder of what I did today.

Returning to the bedroom, I quickly gather my clutch and phone, then search for my taser and shoes. I find the taser under his long dresser across the room. There’s some damage to it, and I can only imagine he threw it on the floor in a fit of rage. My shoes are nowhere to be found, so I’ll have to widen my search to the rest of his house, and as a last resort, his car.

Before searching the rest of the house, I take a moment to memorize the sight of Scott on the ground like he is. I don’t want to forget a single thing about this. The silver watch on his wrist catches my eye, sparkling in the light now shining from the window. A compulsion comes over me, drawing me closer and closer to the object. It’s like a siren song calling me to it; I couldn’t resist even if I wanted to.

The Rolex is in my hand before I realize what I’m doing. It’s mine. I have to have it. The metal is already cool to the touch, having lost the body heat of the wrist it used to rest on. I deserve to have a trinket to remind me of him… I know this is wrong, but I can’t find it in myself to care, even though I should.

I’ve always known I was broken, but now I feel fractured into a million pieces. I’m on the brink of breaking apart, and if I do, I’m worried it’ll be impossible to put me back together again. There’s no way I can erase this new knowledge about myself. I can’t stuff it into an imaginary box inside my mind and forget about it, especially not now that I know what it feels like to let go.

four

It’s what they call a gorgeous day. The sun shines brightly, in a cloudless sky. There’s a slight breeze keeping us from feeling like we’re baking in all the black clothing. I’m able to wear sunglasses right now and not appear out of place. Which is good for me. I hold a tissue against my nose and sniffle every so often. People just automatically assume I’m crying because it’s what they expect from me.

All the while, I have more fractures forming within myself. Why am I not sad? Not even a little bit. I can’t muster up even the slightest twinge of mourning, or a single genuine tear. I still have all of this energy coursing through me, making it hard to sit still. And of course Vander is staring me down from the edge of the gathering. He knows something has changed.

I shift in my seat as the preacher—or is it the priest, maybe clergyman—takes advantage of having an audience. Religion and I don’t get along. Whoever he is, he hasn’t stopped spewing bible passages that are meant to give peace and comfort to those left behind by someone who died. I give another delicate sniffle as my father blows his nose in his own tissue.

I’ve never seen him cry before, but I know he loved his wife, my mother. They adopted me when I was four or five. Without a clue where I came from and my memories wiped out due to traumatic experiences, they had to guess my age. My parents loved me instantly, bringing me into the fold of their family as if I was always there.

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