Page 10 of Bottoms
It was all too much. My hips snapped, burying myself to the hilt as I started to come inside her. Her scream was a mixture of fear from the turbulence and my sudden complete intrusion. The sound had me coming twice as hard.
I pulled my dick free, but before she bothered to complain, I moved down her body, seeing something that needed to be captured on film more than anything else. Nessa’s lips were swollen and glistening as her arousal mixed in with my release slowly leaking out of her.
I held her underwear to the side with one hand. With the other, I used two fingers to gather some of my escaping seed, pushing it back inside her while my lips were suctioned around her clit. Her thighs clenched around my head, but I did not relent as my tongue came to sweep over the bundle of nerves until she was practically mewling.
My fingers pumped in and out of her, coated in our combined lubrication. I felt her walls begin to flutter like a butterfly and her hips rocked against my face. Grinding her clit across my tongue as she worked to find her release.
Finally, the tension cracked, and her whole body stiffened. Her back arched when I dragged my teeth across the bundle, and she moaned while her restraints pulled tight. I couldn’t help but smile and pump my fingers as I worked her down through her orgasm and back into the tiny bedroom flying high above the city.
“Tanner,youmightwantto look at this one,” Colten said, breaking me out of my detailed memory. My eyes slid over to the box in his hands; they trembled slightly. He looked on the verge of losing control, and Colten didn’t lose control anymore. Extending his hand, I took the small box from it. Nestled inside was a beautiful blue glass butterfly.
A blue butterfly was Fynn’s calling card. Why would Nessa have picked out something for Fynn? She shouldn’t have known anything about him unless they had been in contact.
Ignoring every part of me that insisted on not touching anything that was hers, I set the box down on the table before deciding to head for Nessa’s room. Colten and Nik got up and followed me, but Mike simply shook his head with an amused grin as I passed. As if he still saw us as those same little boys.
Fynn too.
3
Finding Truth in Lies
LookingattheroomFynn set up for me was like looking in a funhouse mirror while drunk, when all you really wanted was to know was where the bathroom was. Other than the house's architecture being slightly different from my childhood home, Fynn had done his best to recreate my childhood bedroom. He even managed to find a purple comforter for the queen-sized bed.
I hadn’t seen that since I left for college.
My feet shuffled forward, my fingers itching to reach out and see if this was just a comforter or if this one happened to bemycomforter. Sentimental comfort filled me for only a fraction of a second before the dark, twisting knot of fear gripped me tightly.
“How long have you been watching me?” I whispered.
Turning around, I saw Fynn standing in the doorway. Leaning against the frame as if it was normal to stalk young women. Something inside of me had always passed Fynn off as not really my problem. More of a Tanner and guys’ issue that I happened to have a small passing role in. This room was proof that Fynn had always been my problem.
Fynn didn’t answer immediately, preferring to tilt his head to the side as if studying me. Clearly, he had been watching me from afar for some time now. Getting to interact with me must have been a jarring sensation for him. Particularly since he was unhinged.
“There are clothes for you in the closet,” he said, ignoring my question. “Get dressed. Come back into the kitchen when you're presentable, and I can open your eyes to the real world that has been living underneath your nose this whole time.” He pushed off the frame, heading back through the landing before disappearing down the steps.
I rolled my eyes with a huff before stomping my way back to the door to my new bedroom, slamming it shut. My heart thudded in my chest while my ears strained, listening for his heavy footfalls to come rushing back up the stairs to chastise me for slamming doors in his house. But apparently, that mattered about as much as cleanliness.
Turning around, I leaned back to brace myself on the door while slowly looking around the room with a discerning gaze. Each object my eyes landed on was given a thorough check through my memories to figure out the last time I had seen it, which didn’t help much.
Most of my older belongings came from my childhood home in Maryland after I moved to college. Mom packed all my stuff and put them out in the garage the day I left. He could have taken them years ago or last week, and I wouldn’t have known the difference. I knew that Fynn knew where my mother lived, and he was far more interested in me than I had assumed. Playing along may help me survive longer, but I felt Fynn would keep coming after me if I ever managed to escape.
Venturing into the small closet, I noticed the dark corners were free from the spiderwebs that plagued the rest of the house. He had cleaned this space before putting my items in here. My shirts hung from a central bar, organized by color. A swatch of bright blue caught my attention, and my fingers flipped through the garments until stopping at the dress I lost my virginity in.
I backed away from the closet and realized how often Fynn had been under my nose.
And Tanner’s. Unless he had been in on it the whole time.
Part of me wanted to hide and cower in the room, but as I put my legs in a pair of leggings one at a time, I told myself they were big girls’ pants. I needed to have them on for the conversation I was about to have. Anxiety and self-preservation aside, I deserved some fucking answers, and I had enough for once in my life. I grabbed a shirt randomly from the closet and threw it over the sports bra I had found inside a dresser drawer, along with the stack of underwear.
The material of the clothes felt like sand across my burned skin, and it took a few times to adjust my outfit before I was only mildly annoyed by the sensation. Having to do most of my dressing with one arm also slowed things down, giving me more time to analyze the past three months. I steeled myself before opening the door to my bedroom and venturing down the stairs to have an overdue conversation.
Fynn was sitting in a chair at the dining room table. A glass sat directly in front of him with another inch of dark liquid at the bottom. A second empty cup sat in front of my seat with the half-empty bottle beside it. My gun was missing.
“I want the whole story,” I said, sitting at the table before grabbing the bottle with my good arm. Attempting to pour, despite the low trembling beginning to set in, was a challenge, but Fynn made no move to stop me. “Is this safe with all the shit I’ve been on?” I asked, holding the cup to the faint light of the humming bulbs above the table. Mostly, I was asking myself, but when Fynn remained silent, I poured the entire glass contents into my mouth. I fought back the urge to throw up as I forced the strong burning liquid into my stomach. Whatever crunchy bits of cereal remained joined with the fire to form a party of chaos.
The warm, tingling sensation began immediately. Settling in from my stomach and radiating outwards. It seemed to help numb the painful itching sensation I felt whenever I moved, and the threads of my clothes slid across my wounds. Even my shoulder seemed to throb less as I sighed, getting more comfortable in the chair. I really wanted to pull my feet up beneath me.
“Better?” Fynn asked with a light smile on his face. He grabbed his drink, downing the contents with no hint of a suppressed grimace. He couldn’t be shown up by a little girl. What would that say about him?
