Page 90 of Creed

I didn’t see much of her when I’d accidentally walked in on her and Creed, but my imagination is running fucking rampant right now, just picturing the furrow of her brow as I sweep my tongue over the soft bud of her clit. I imagine the sounds that would escape as I devoured her sweet release, that rasp of her voice that is uniquely Collins.

My dick pulses as I squeeze my shaft harder, each stroke of my fist bringing me closer to blowing my load. For a moment, I let myself really drift off with this forbidden fantasy, imagining the feel of her pussy wrapping tight around my cock, her wetness allowing me to slide in, all the way to the hilt, like it’s where I’ve always belonged.

“Fuuuck,” I hiss through gritted teeth. I know I’m not gonna last much longer. I rip my headphones off and chuck them to the side so I can hear every sound she makes, and as if on cue, she releases one last husky cry as she comes for Creed. That does it for me. I bite my lip and exhale heavily through my nose, trying like hell to not make a sound as my own orgasm rushes through me, long ropes of cum painting my black shirt in streaks of white.

My moment of bliss is short-lived before shame washes over me. I just fucking came at the thought of fucking my best friend’s girl.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I would never, fucking ever, betray my best friend by making such a move on Collins—or any woman for that matter. So why did I allow myself to fantasize about something so forbidden to me?

Not wanting to spiral too deep into my own thoughts, going too deep to dig myself out of the self-deprecating hole I’ve dug, I quickly roll my shirt up my stomach before whipping it off my head and wadding it into a ball and slip from the curtained bunk where I’d holed myself up.

I toss my shirt into the laundry hamper, and grab a new one from my bunk. Not knowing what to do with myself, I put on my headphones again, grab my silent drum pad and start tapping at it with my sticks, needing something to keep my mind busy. We’ve been on the road for a few hours now and I’m already going insane.

I couldn’t be happier for Creed and Collins, there’s no ‘but’ about it. However, being near Collins has sparked new emotions within me that I’ve never felt before. Maybe I should ask to stay with Bear until I get them under control. It’s only been a week, for fuck’s sake. I don’t want to jeopardize my newfound friendship with my new best friend by doing something stupid. Like, accidentally flirt with her or something because I’ve never done that before, either.

It's fucking sad that I’m twenty-three and I’ve got no sexual experience other than jerking my dick.

Yep. You know that movie where the girl had never even been kissed before? That’s me. I’ve had zero sexual contact with any woman before. Other than hugging Collins, that is.

I give up on the drum pad and stalk over to the cabinet to grab my m&m’s only to find that over half of the giant bag is gone.

“Collins loves sweets, as you might have guessed.”

“Jesus-fucking-Christ,” I jump, startled by the sudden timbre of Creed’s voice behind me.

I turn to see him leaning against the counter adjacent to me, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. “Sorry,” he apologizes, not looking sorry at all. Crazy bastard.

Just as I pull a handful of the chocolatey goodness out of the bag and go to pop them in my mouth, his entire demeanor shifts and so does the air around us. My hand pauses halfway to my mouth when he pulls a phone from beneath his arm where they were crossed. My brow furrows at it for a second before I take in the sparkling red case and realize that it’s not his phone. It’s Collins’.

“Why do you have that?” I ask, not wanting to butt into their business, but I know snooping in your brand new girlfriend’s phone is a pretty big fucking no-no.

“Relax, Ri. She knows I have it. It kept fucking vibrating after she fell asleep, and I asked her if I could take a look. I have her permission to look through it.” He turns and walks towards the couches and sits down on one.

I follow him and sit next to him as he unlocks the screen. He’s practically vibrating with anger as he opens up the text messaging app. There’s a small list of contacts she’s sent messages to, some of the names I recognize from the stories she’s told me about her co-workers at Viper. But at the top of the screen reads Unknown. Creed releases a heavy, rough breath before clicking on it. “Fucking look at this.” He seethes next to me as he angles the phone to where I can see it better.

I don’t even get to process what I’m looking at before Creed’s practically shoving the phone into my lap and shoves to stand, pacing a hole into the floor of the bus. I watch him with concern for a minute, wondering what the fuck could possibly be on Collins’ phone that’s shoving him back into crazy mode. My heart races and my palms get sweaty.

I pick up the phone but Creed’s hand slaps over the screen, and my head snaps up to meet his panicked gaze. His eyes are fighting between raging and devastated. Fuck. He swallows, his throat bobbing hard.

“Ri, there’s some… really fucking fucked up shit that he sent to her.” He grits through a clenched jaw. “She—” he pauses, looking away briefly before removing his hand and pointing at the screen instead.

I look down and start scrolling. When my brain processes what I’m looking at, nausea churns in my stomach. It’s image after image of Collins. She looks younger, and her tattoo is missing in some of them. I press my hand to my stomach as I take in the pictures this guy sent.

All of which are Collins in various forms of consciousness, but all of them, she’s covered either in blood or bruises. I squeeze the phone in my grip when I pause on one where she’s awake with her hands zip-tied to a headboard, and her legs pinned open with some kind of device strapped between her ankles. She’s clothed in a t-shirt and cotton shorts, but in this photo, you can see the hand-shaped bruises on her inner thighs and large bruises marring her wrists and upper arms. Her upper lip is split and bruised with blood running down her cheek, staining her white hair. Her eyes are swollen and lashes stuck together from crying, wet tears visible and shining at her temples.

I press down the bile threatening to rise as I take in each photo. My chest aches and my lungs cease to draw in another breath as I watch her expressions morph from fear to… nothing. The last photo is pretty similar to the first, but it must be more recent because that floral tattoo is cascading down her shoulder. But her eyes are completely vacant. Void of all emotion. She’s…dissociating.

I don’t know if I want to rage or if I want to puke.

Beneath the photo is a text message.

Unknown: What fun we had, little girl. You always bled so pretty for me.

Unknown: I can’t wait to paint you in my favorite colors again.

Unknown: You think you can run, but I will always find you, little girl.

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