Page 98 of Necessary Cruelty

I hate myself more than a little bit as I sheathe my still cock and step into the shower. She stands there waiting for me, body lushly welcoming and an invitation in her smile.

When my mouth opens again, and I almost tell her the truth. The urge to drop down on my knees and beg forgiveness is overwhelming.

Then her thigh hooks over my hip. She squeezes my cock in her hand and urges my hips forward until I am posed at her entrance.

Any ability for rational thought flees and the words die on my tongue.

Pushing inside of her feels like finally coming home after a lifetime of wandering.

I push her back against the tile wall of the shower. Her passage clenches around my cock, gripping harder than a fist. It only takes a few strokes before I feel the sharp fluttering of her approaching orgasm.

My hands form a shelf under her ass so I can lift her feet off the floor. Using her back against the wall for balance, I slam into her over and over again. Zaya begs me to fuck her harder, faster, fisting my hair and pulling on it hard because she is losing control of herself.

I’m right there with her.

Her eyes roll back into her head and her pussy clamps down on me like a vice when she comes. A silent cry parts her lips. I cover her mouth with my own, taking everything she has to give. Her whimpers, her screams, her very breath.

She is too far gone to tell any difference when I explode inside her.

* * *

I’ve always liked watchingZaya sleep. Nobody needs to tell me how weird and creepy that is, but it is what it is. The first few times I climbed into her room, it was just to stare at her sleeping face. I think I hoped that she might whisper her secret into what she thought was empty air and I’d finally get the answer I’ve been waiting for since we were children.

It became something different the first time she woke up to see me sitting there. I had to pretend that I hadn’t climbed up the trellis outside and hung from my fingers until I could level my foot up on the window sill, just because I wanted to study her face in the only moments when she seemed at peace.

So I made it about sex, because that was easier than telling the truth.

We’ve always had everything but truth between us, so what was one more lie.

But I no longer have to think of excuses to watch her sleep. I carry her from the shower to the bed, and she is already asleep by the time I lay her out on the blanket. To be fair, I woke her up in the middle of the night to bring her here, and not everyone needs as little as sleep as I do.

When she rolls over and lets out a little sneeze before burrowing into the downy comforter, I nearly wake her up to fuck her all over again. Instead, I let her rest while she still can.

I don’t bother trying to sleep, because there isn’t any point. Instead, I surf Reddit on my phone and respond to the handful of text messages I’ve been ignoring. The oldest one is from my father:

Is it done?

My response is only one word.

Yes.

He hasn’t asked me for any details about the money I’ve spent or the plans I’ve made to get Zaya’s compliance, and I haven’t offered any. I get the feeling he’d rather not know what I’m doing, because he doesn’t want to feel compelled to get involved. That has always been the way of things. Whenever some uppity administrator at school tried to force me to heel by threatening parental interaction, they quickly learned that for every ten messages they left with my father’s secretary, maybe one would get returned. Even that was a stretch.

We’ll expect you for dinner tonight.

And that’s what I get for not ignoring him. As stupid as it sounds, I had this idea that I could keep these two very different facets of my life completely separate. I doubt she wants to be inside Cortland Manor any more than I do. I angrily push out a reply and close the messaging app. I hate that I’m supposed to be available to everyone in my life at all times. Sometimes, I just want to cut myself off from the world.

The next time I look up from the screen, Zaya is awake and staring at me.

She opens her mouth. Before she can say anything, I hear a loud rumble from under the sheet coming from the general vicinity of her stomach.

Her face flushes with embarrassment.

“I’ve already ordered lunch,” I laugh, thoroughly amused. I keep forgetting how cute she manages to be without trying.

Her shy and grateful smile sends a stab of warmth through my cold heart.

Zaya attacks the tray before the room service guy can even finish setting it down on the small table. The fact that she refused breakfast is a testament to just how annoyed she had been with me earlier.

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