Page 5 of Hellbent
But eventually heat builds beneath the blankets, forcing me to kick them off. My dress clings uncomfortably to my skin, feeling stale. How long have I been wearing this? Forty-eight hours? Maybe more? I wrinkle my nose.
At least my stomach isn’t screaming anymore, thanks to the pizza that Jake made sure I ate before nodding off again last night.
Dragging myself upright, I shuffle past the fireplace and a bigleather chair, down a short hallway to the first floor bathroom. When I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror, I startle. Smudged mascara rings my eyes like bruises, stark against my pale skin. My hair is tangled beyond reason, and the dress—wrinkled and way past its expiration date—looks even worse under the harsh bathroom light. A shower is non-negotiable.
I strip down and step into the narrow shower stall, twisting the knob until steam rises around me. The hot water stings my skin in the best way, washing away sweat, exhaustion, and the remnants of the past two days. I lather with cheap white soap, savoring the clean scent, then work equally cheap shampoo through my hair. By the time I step out onto the gray shag mat and wrap myself in a faded towel, I feel almost human again.
The bathroom, like the kitchen, is old-fashioned. Linoleum floors, a seashell-shaped sink, and seafoam green tiles halfway up the wall.
I glance around, frowning, looking for something that might tell me more about who these men are. There are no stray razors or crumpled towels, no damp clothes kicked into the corner. Just a set of immaculately folded towels and an untouched first-aid kit under the sink.
There are four of them, but I don’t know exactly who lives here or how any of this works. They could be drug dealers, or survivalists. Maybe this place is a safe house.
But I suspect these men are dangerous—especially Ryder.
Not that that scares me. I’m used to dangerous men. So long as they’re less dangerous than the ones I left behind.
Billy wasn’t always so bad. When we were kids, he looked out for me.
Once, he made me feel safe. Wanted. But the more powerful he got, the more entitled he felt—to respect, to loyalty, to women. I became just another body in his bed, background tohis ego. First, I stopped mattering to him. Then, somehow, I stopped mattering to myself.
But he crossed a line and I left. That counts for something.
Whatever comes next, I didn’t let him erase me. I held on to something.
And there’s a little flicker of power in me now, because I chose something different.
Wiping steam off the mirror, I rub the last of the mascara off my lower lids and step back to study my reflection.
I haven’t really looked at myself in a long time. Sure, I checked my hair, made sure I more or less looked up to Billy’s standards, but I learned to do it without really seeing myself. Now I look closely, as if meeting a stranger for the first time.
Light brown hair that falls past my shoulders, hints of gold at my crown that will show more clearly when my hair dries. Unusual violet eyes. My skin is pale but smooth, my body curvy and feminine.
Looking at myself now surprises me. Ilikewhat I see.
The perfect handful of each high, firm breast. Small, pert nipples. The smooth line of my abdomen, the soft curve of my hips.
Maybe it’s the steamy heat. Or the privacy. Or the ache that comes from going for so long without pleasure. But looking at myself like this feels both obscene and electric—like touching something forbidden and finding it alive under your fingers.
My hands trail over my stomach and up to my breasts. I cup them, testing the weight and firmness. The touch feels illicit, and somehow foreign. But I don’t stop.
Instead, my mind drifts. I find myself thinking of the men I met last night. Jake, with his easy grin and warm eyes. Damian, with his strangely alluring quiet-predator vibe. Even Wyatt—built like he could snap someone in half.
But it’s Ryder my thoughts keep circling around. Rough, tattooed hands gripping my hips. Massive body caging mine as he crowds me against the sink.
He wouldn’t be gentle. He wouldn’t be shy. He’d take. Press me forward, unzip his jeans, and push inside without hesitation—until I was panting, gasping, clinging to the edge of the counter.
Heat unfurls low in my belly, and I squeeze my thighs together, breath shuddering. I haven’t felt like this in so long, the sheer force of it leaves me unsteady.
I bring a finger to my lips, wetting it, then slip it between my legs, teasing, circling—
It doesn’t take long. Within minutes, pleasure crashes through me, sharp and blinding. I grip the sink, biting my lip to stifle a moan, and when it passes, I’m left trembling.
Reality settles in seconds later. Masturbating in a stranger’s bathroom?Jesus.
But I don’t regret it. If anything, I feel...relieved. Like something locked inside me has been shaken loose.
I pull my dress back on, brush my teeth with some toothpaste on my finger, and follow the scent of coffee toward the kitchen. The house is quiet, but when I step inside and see Ryder standing at the sink, my pulse kicks up.
