Page 54 of Pieces of Ash
I think about how tight she’ll be, how hot, how wet, how welcome.
I imagine the soft voice that she uses with Bruno as she gasps and moans and tells me how huge I am and that she’s never had it as good as she has it with me.
I fist her beautiful blonde hair in my hand, pulling back, watching the gorgeous lines of her neck as she extends it.
I watch the pulse in her throat as I feel the building of my own release, the tightening of my balls, the racing of my heart, the swirling inside that grows to a fevered pitch.
“Ah! Fuck! Ahhhh!” I groan, coming in hot spurts against the white tile walls. I pant through the waves of my orgasm, grateful for the relief, hating the inspiration.
When my knees no longer threaten to buckle, I lean my head back into the hot water and shampoo my hair, wondering what it is about this girl that has me so captivated. Is it as simple as her looks? Her beautiful face and gorgeous body? Or is it something more?
Let’s face it. A man could get used to home-cooked meals and the sight of her wide blue eyes as she listens attentively to the details of his day. Not to mention, I’m pretty sure she’s in trouble, and if—a big, unrealistic if, I know—butifshe’s a good person and not a user,ifshe’s a victim and not a culprit,ifshe’s someone worthy of protection instead of someone who would play on a man’s protectiveness, then there is something in me that would answer her need. I would keep her safe. I would hurt anyone who’d try to hurt her. I would kill anyone who’d try to take her away from me.
My heart thunders as I rinse the soapy water from my hair, my hardwired instincts to protect and serve now as aroused as my cock was five minutes ago.
Ayúdame, Julian. Por favor, mi amor!
I bite my lip when I hear Magdalena’s voice in my head, followed by a different voice from my past that makes me release my almost-bloody lip and clench my jaw instead.
Agent Ducharmes, at what point did you ascertain the true nature of Ms. Rojas’s objectives?
I flinch at the memory, picking up a bar of soap and running it over my body as shame washes over me.
Agent Ducharmes, I repeat, at what point did you ascertain the true nature of Ms. Rojas’s objectives? At what point did you understand what she intended?
I close my eyes, take a deep breath of steamy, scented air, and hold it in my lungs.
Never,I think, recalling my answer under direct testimony. I never ascertained the true nature of Ms. Rojas’s objectives. I didn’t understand her intentions until it was way too late to stop them.
The gavel bangs. A price must be paid.
Agent Ducharmes, you are hereby dismissed from the United States Secret Service. Your position with the Department of Homeland Security is terminated, effective immediately.
I turn off the water and grab a towel from the rack over the toilet.
Yes in-fucking-deed.
Ashley needs to go.
ASHLEY
Julian hates me, but he still allows Bruno to visit, which I regard as a kindness, even though I’m positive he doesn’t intend for it to be.
I’m lying on my bed, my eyes burning with tears after reading Tig’s diary, when my sweet friend walks into my room, his warm brown eyes meeting mine. He approaches the bed with soft, sure-footed steps, stopping directly in front of my face and sniffing tentatively. When he starts licking my tears, I’m so surprised that I hear myself giggling, despite the sharp pain in my heart.
“Aw, baby,” I croon, “thank you for the kisses.”
I scratch behind his ears as his soft pink tongue bathes my cheeks.
A noise outside the window distracts him, and he freezes before crossing my room and standing up with his front paws on the windowsill, his hound nose pressed against the screen. With a deep bark, he runs from my room, and I listen to his footfalls on the stairs.
I turn back to the diary, staring at Marilyn’s smiling face on the cover. My mother’s words are so terrified, so hopeless, so full of regret, so full of hate.
I remember her screams the night after Mosier found me in the pool with his sons, but when my mind shifts, trying to imagine what exactly was happening to her in his study, what degradationsherbody endured inmyplace, I can’t bear it. I can’t process this right now. I shut down my thoughts, push hard against the bed, and stand up, placing distance between her scrawled fury and my trembling heart, but it’s not enough. I need to get out of this room.
Water rushing through old pipes tells me that Julian is in the shower and probably can’t hear Bruno’s baying and whining at the kitchen door. As long as my nemesis is showering, it won’t “bother the fuck” out of him if I slip downstairs, let Bruno out, and make myself a cup of tea.
Bruno wags his tail gratefully as I open the back door, and he bounds down the porch steps in search of whatever he smelled from upstairs. I lift the kettle from the stove and fill it with water. I take a cup from the cabinet and plop in a tea bag, leaning against the marble counter as I think about Anders’s words in the limo when he drove me back to school.
