Page 36 of Five
I missed Ollie so fucking much, but right now, I need some time alone to actually process what the bloody hell happened to me.
“Pizza. Vegetables, no tomatoes.” I send him a pleading look. “From In Crust We Trust?” Which is the best pizza place in Chicago.
“Sure,” Rague hurriedly replies. “Come on, Kitty.” When Ollie doesn’t move from the en suite threshold, Rague grabs his hand. “Sully is here; Lori will be fine.”
“I need to take a shower, Ollie. I know you want to take a peek at all this again.” I slide a hand down my body, smirking at Rague’s growl. It’s so easy to rattle him. Too easy. “KKJ, this has gotten old. Chill!” I say as I let the door close on their faces a bit too hard.
I unbutton the jacket and carefully hang it on the hook on the wall. I lean toward it, letting my nose dive into the fabric. Gabe’s cologne and something else, a more intimate scent fills my lungs. My shoulders slump and that weird flutter is back in my belly.
When my eyes open again, they fall on my reflection in the mirror over the sink.
My curls look like a preschooler’s scribble, crazily pointing in every possible direction. Black shadows are visible under my eyes and my lips are chapped and puffed. I let go of the jacket and take the two steps to the sink. My nipples are red, and bruises mar my hips, and when I turn to check my back, my tushy as well.
A sudden memory of Gabe’s fingers digging into my flesh assails me.
The slap of skin against skin echoes in my ears, my own pants against his silence. Me splayed open with his hips pressing, hitting my arse every time he thrust. The heat in me an inferno, burning my insides as I writhed under him, begging him to come inside me, to make my hole his.
My fingers slide down the crack of my butt, and I follow the path his dry jizz left between my legs. I just now realize.
He…he came inside me.
Too many thoughts, too many feelings, all battling in my overwhelmed mind. And Christ, my arse hurts. A flash of Gabe’s gray eyes filled with heat, his mouth parted to let my name slip out, his strong grip on my hips, his cock spearing me again and again, rutting me, hits me, and my body trembles with desire while my mind is engulfed by incredulity.
A tiny, shameless flash of vicious satisfaction spreads in my chest at the sight of those purple marks on me because cool and composed Gabe couldn’t control himself while he fucked me. The gratification is quickly accompanied by a dreadful thought. He felt forced to help me, and even worse, in front of a bunch of perverts. I enjoyed some voyeurism when I was younger, but never when drugged or against my will.
I hope Gabe found his inner Sweeney Todd, cutting those bastards’ throats one by one.
I feel violated. A shiver runs through my body, and I hug myself for a minute, struggling against the distressing sensation. It helps to remember that Gabe was with me. I know he covered me with his body from the leery stares. He protected me.
Does he regret it? Not seeing him when I woke up has left me strangely unsettled. I can still smell him on my skin, or imagine I can. It doesn’t help the crazy train of thought.
I move to the shower and turn on the water, letting it pelt down the stall walls as it warms. Once I’ve washed myself—extensively and thoroughly—I can still somehow feel Gabe on me. I physically removed the evidence of our sex marathon, butthe bruises, the soreness, and the memories are still here, with me.
I never felt this marked, taken before, like no one but him will do.
What the bleeding, sodding fuck! Gabe Reed. That’s ridonkulous. I rub myself furiously in body cream and then attack my face with toner and moisturizer.
The experience is still too fresh, or maybe this is a horrible side effect of the drug. I need to stop this before it festers. I need a distraction. Maybe I should eat something while I wait for Ollie and Rague to come back.
I grab one of the oversized t-shirts I left in the dresser and slide it on as I make my way out of the room and to the living room.
I’m opening a pack of chips when Sully appears in the kitchen—almost tripping on one of the chairs around the table. He’s such an uncoordinated klutz, an adorable one with a propensity for accidents. His square black glasses have slid down his nose a little, and his hair is mussed, like he’s run his hands in it multiple times. I know it’s hard for him to sleep. The haunted look has become a permanent feature in his oddly beautiful eyes, one brown, one green. He was never the confident type, but he’s turned into an insecure recluse.
“You know the sun is the best source of vitamin D? Your skin will turn see-through if you spend another day indoors.” I drop onto the couch near him with enough force to push a whoosh out of it, regretting it straight away as my tushy protests in pain.
“How are you?”
“I’m splendid,” I reply a little too forcefully.
“Are you going to act like a bitch for the rest of the night and pretend nothing happened?” he retorts. I’m glad to hear that his spirit is not broken, but the boy needs to start living again.
“Is that an invitation to your club? What’s the website address again? Miserydwellers.com?” I taunt back.
“Do you still have those bats in the trunk of your car? I need one to beat your insensitive ass up!”
“Bugger, my car!”
“It’s in the garage. Uri drove it here this morning before he left,” Sully lets me know. I tilt the pack of chips his way, but he shakes his head and hugs his bent long legs close to his chest, placing his cheek on his knees. He looks so damn young and lost. But I’m done feeling sorry for him. He’s seventeen and needs to fight for his future.
