Page 94 of Watercolor Skulls

I’m so wound up I want to climb him like a tree. So, I do.

Once our clothes are off I scramble up his frame as he grabs me under my ass and walks us to the wall. My breath leaves me for a moment as he slams me against it. “You love this asshole,” he grunts as he thrusts into me, effectively shutting me up. And I do love him. I do. I do. I do.

He fucks me fast and furious until I come undone. Tension builds and builds and builds until I’m….

Spiraling down…

down…

down.

“Holy, fuck,” I clench my teeth, clinging to this big beast of a man like he’s my salvation. “I hate you and I love you,” I speak into his mouth, grabbing his face in my hands.

He chuckles as he continues to pound into me. The small of my back presses into the wall with each thrust. “Oh, oh, fuck, don’t stop,” I grit.

“I bet you’re loving me right now,” he grunts, his muscles tensing. His head drops to the crook of my neck as we come together, our bodies vibrating from the explosion.

“We’re going to kill each other.” His breath is hot on my skin, his voice raspy.

“In the best of ways.” I lay my head against the wall. Sighing heavily, feeling light and airy.

We spend the rest of the day lying around lazily. Dan has started reading my journals. He flies through them. It’s as if he’s binging a series. I guess he is.

I take a bite of my apple, staring at Dan. I could stare at him for days and days. I’ve had time to inspect all of the ink on this side of him and I’m contemplating asking him to come lay face down beside me so I can inspect his backside. My eyebrow raises at the thought of his tight ass.

“I love you,” Dan calls my eyes to his. When they make contact, he smiles. I blush shyly. He stops every once in a while to tell me he loves me. Sometimes he doesn’t take his eyes from the page when he says it. It’s like whatever he read broke his heart and he can’t bring himself to show me the pain in his eyes.

“I’ve got a question for you?”

Leaning over, I drop my apple core in the little trash can on the floor, my mind racing. Question. He is going to ask me a question. I swallow down my panic.

“Lily.”

When I turn to the sound of my name amber eyes keep me tethered to the shore. I bob there nervously; afraid I’m going to drift into full blown panic.

“You wrote this so…” He suddenly jerks out of the chair, coming to sit beside me. He talks excitedly. “You wrote with such detail. It’s like you were dropping bread crumbs.”

I shake my head, confused.

“You left clues, Lily, clues. You mention several times that the day after you heard the crying your father would flip something black between his fingers.”

My mind instantly conjures my father, his fingers threading a piece of black plastic between them effortlessly. Mindlessly.

I always watched him closely after a night of hearing them. He reminded me of the lions I used to see in the zoo. He would grump around for days, throwing things, slamming doors and then I would hear them and the next day he would be calm. Just like the lions after being fed. It was as if he was finally satiated. It scared me.

Oh god.

“What was it he flipped in his hand, Lily?”

“Why?”

“Because this is how you get justice.”

“You mean they get justice.”

“No. I meant exactly what I said.”

I blow him off. I don’t need justice, they do. “It was a flip drive.” And the minute the words leave my mouth I understand where he’s going with this.

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