Page 67 of Corrupting Ivy

There was something about her that had me imagining wrapping my entire body around her and letting us both sink to the bottom of my depravity, just to see if we would both emerge at the surface again.

Randall lay on hisbelly beside me, his enormous frame somewhat concealed by the sheet, his foot dangling off the edge. I was sore, but not as sore as I foresaw after being kept up all night. His lust is fierce and insatiable.

I’ve never come so many times in my entire lifetime. By the time my body liquified into a puddle of mush, I’d lost count of how many he’d given me, and he was ready for another round. I finally tapped out, unable to keep up with his pace.

What can I say, I’m out of practice.

I rolled out of bed, careful not to wake him, and turned on the water; the pipes clanking in the classic chorus, then stepped in and washed my hair as gooseflesh peppered my skin.

Randall’s scent was strong on my skin, and I didn’t want to wash him from my body. But I had a feeling there would be plenty of opportunities for him to do it again, and a big part of me looked forward to it. I washed my body and shaved, then towel dried my body and hair, throwing it into a messy bun. When I stepped out, I froze. He laid in the same position I’d left him. His reaper tattoo is more visible, bold and menacing. I wonder what possessed him to get such a large, shadowy tattoo? There was an evil vibe radiating off the realistic figure that made me want to run my fingers over the ink just to see if it would grip me and pull me down to the ghostly depths of Hell with him.

I inched towards him, my hand outstretched until my fingertips skimmed the base of his spine. I paused. Did it wake him? He drew in deep, steady breaths, not stirring. I continued until my index finger touched the reaper’s hand clasped around the scythe. There was a deep, long scar covered by the tattooed handle. How did he get this? I rubbed my finger over the raised flesh.

Randall twisted in bed and grabbed me by the throat so quick I didn’t have time to react. He pulled me by my throat into the air until my back slammed into the bed, then straddled my waist. Panic froze the blood in my veins like a tonic. This wasn’t him playing with me. He wasn’t in those glazed over eyes. A sharp object pressed into my side just below my ribcage, making it hurt to breathe.

“Randall?” I said, gasping for air, my hands clawing against his wrist as I moved away from the stinging pain in my side. “Please.” He held me firm and pressed the object in harder until my flesh gave in with a pop and a sharp pain exploded across my torso. I cried out the best I could with his hand, crushing my windpipe.

“Randall.” I scratched harder, my fingers digging into his tattooed arm as I stared into the vacancy behind his eyes. My pounding heart abused my chest as it threatened to explode.

When Billy hit me, there wasn’t a fear down in my gut because I knew what would come from it—I knew how it would end.

Call it the devil I knew.

But Randall was the devil I didn’t know. He was unpredictable. And now downright volatile, which chilled me to my core.

Another sob broke through his tight hold as my tingling fingers weakened on his wrist. Randall blinked, and the dark vacancy that was there before brightened as the fog lifted away. He shook his head with wide eyes. I think the realization of what he’d done hit him like a ton of bricks. Randall released me, stumbling off the bed with a knife in hand.

I wheezed, holding my throat, and curled into a ball.

He stabbed me.

Oh, my god.

My hand moved to the ache in my side.

Randall searched around the room for something, his eyes wild with concealed darkness. He dropped the knife on the coffee table and dressed.

“Randall? What’s wrong? What happened?” I sat up, brave enough to move now, my side caustic.

His gaze punched me in the gut. Then took off out the door, twisting the proverbial knife.

A tickle mingled with the sting on my side grabbed my attention. I looked down, examining the wound to find a small trickle of blood flowing down my side.

I jumped from the bed, picked up my towel that dropped as he grabbed me, then wrapped it around my body and darted out the door after him.

He’s gone, his truck missing, and I was alone at the top of my stairs with wet hair, half naked, and blood snaking its way down my torso.

What the hell just happened?

I stepped back inside to the privacy of my home, then dropped the towel to check my side again.

It wasn’t as bad as my panicked mind thought in the beginning, but there was still enough damage to where the blood flowed rather than gathered at the sight. I shuffled into the bathroom and cleaned up the puncture wound, then placed a large Band-Aid over it with some antibiotic cream and got dressed.

Was this what Remy warned me about? His demons? Was this what he had in mind with his warnings? I’d hate for them to point and laugh and say I told you so. I rubbed my throat, sore even more so now, then looked in the mirror.

Dammit.

Red marks wrapped around my pale skin, making it clear what had just occurred. Grabbing some foundation, I dabbed around my neck, blending in the bruises with my skin. I never thought I’d have to do this again after Billy. Tears burned the backs of my eyes, threatening to spill over while I put away the make-up. My stomach growled as I made my way into the kitchen and pulled open the drawer with my words of affirmation written on them. I scratched off the material, hiding the message below.

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