Page 50 of Blackmail
As the soft sound of his snores lulls me, I tell myself not to get used to this feeling. Not to like it too much.
Why am I letting him do this? I need to get the fuck out of here.
The deafening hush of the room fills my ears as I listen, straining, almost praying for the power to come back. So I can go.
I really need to go.
The truth is, it’s too late.
Chapter
Seventeen
SIMON
My toxic trait is my need to keep busy. I grew up getting a swat to the back of my head if I was caught doing anything other than praying or plowing, and I don’t mean the fun kind.
Any resistance I might have had to constant productivity as a teenager was later trained out of me by the demands of nursing school. Trouble is, nursing school is done, and now it’s only a matter of passing my certification exam. Which I’ve been studying for until my eyes bleed.
When I haven’t been getting fucked into a coma by the ice prince of Belle Argo.
Which is why I’m hiding out at Toe Beans Animal Rescue. I try to come here at least once a week, more if I can manage it. I love animals. They’re cuddly and cute and they don’t give you any shit.
Except Penelope. She gives me plenty of shit.
I’m surrounded by barking dogs. Usually, it’s a welcome distraction. The noise helps me to clear out my thoughts. Not today, though.
Lately, I’ve got myself taking Sebastian’s dick over his desk on a loop in my head, and nothing is working to make it stop. No amount of barking, whining dogs seem to be quieting the memory of the filthy things he whispered in my ear or erasing the feel of his teeth sinking into my lip, and then later, my shoulder. That spot at the crook of my neck is a major button for me. Major.
Every time I remember, I shiver. Even though I’m in a cement structure in ninety-degree heat.
I’d hoped being here would take my mind off Sebastian. Hurricane Hecate is gathering off the coast, and even though it’s expected to pass slightly north of us, they’re predicting it’ll hit land as a category four. There’s a good chance I’ll be called into work as emergency help. Before then, the shelter needs help prepping for the storm and shuffling dogs around. I’ve already driven Penelope to Brennan’s place, which is built to withstand two hundred-mile-per-hour winds.
I’m cleaning the kennel of a pregnant mama dog when my phone lets out a rapid series of buzzing sounds in my pocket. Usually, that means the group chat is active. I pull it out to find I was right.
Michael: Does anyone need help prepping for the storm?
Adam: Troy’s got us stocked up on juice and those little packs of donuts.
Michael: Consider some batteries and flashlights, guys. Bottled water if you can still find some.
Troy: We’re good. Our building used to be a hotel, so it’s pretty sturdy, and the manager lets us use his generator to charge stuff if we blow him.
Ravi: The trouble here is I don’t know if you’re joking.
Adam: It’s kind of messed up that Troy keeps trying to put a finger up the guy’s butt when he didn’t ask.
Dean: Do you think that’s the messed-up part? I’m no expert, but I think you guys need therapy. Or Jesus.
Troy: Adam called me Jesus just this morning
Have I mentioned there’s a pool on them revealing their actual couplehood? The pot is over a grand.
Brennan: What the hell is wrong with you guys?
Alexis: Nobody’s got that kind of time.
PJ: groooaaannn
