Page 17 of Damaged & Deadly

Doing as he instructs, I close my eyes and imagine him lying beside me on the bed, his arms wrapped around me. “Yes.”

“You feel my body, the heat of my skin pressed against yours.”

“Yes.”

“The press of my lips.”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“On my lips.”

“Gentle or dirty?”

I smirk. “Dirty.” He hums in agreement. “You’re kissing along my jaw. Down my neck.” I picture him doing exactly that as my insides heat, my body melting into the duvet.

“Leaving marks along your skin so those assholes know you’re ours.”

I shiver at the deep growl of ownership, my body responding to his claim as I dip my free hand below the waistband of my panties, finding myself wet and hungry for him. “Yes,” I gasp, sliding my fingers through my folds.

Over the rushing of blood in my ears, all I can hear is his heavy breathing, letting me know he’s as into this as I am.

“What am I doing now?” His voice is gruff, the words strained.

“You’re between my legs while you eat me out.” I use my fingers to work me over, picturing his tongue in their place as I crest that peak.

“Mmm, cherry pie. Fucking delicious,” he groans. “I need to taste your cum in my mouth, Trouble.” I moan obscenely as my back arches, my body writhing on the bedsheets. “You gonna come for me?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!” I bite down on my lower lip to stifle the cry threatening to break free as pleasure floods my body and I sag onto the bed, boneless and panting as Oliver grunts out his release.

***

“Mom, I’m home,” I call out as I hold the paper bag overfilled with groceries in a precarious grip and wiggle the key out of the lock. Why does it always stick? As if juggling heavy shopping bags isn’t a challenge all on its own. “Mom!” I call again when I get no response.

The key finally comes free, and stepping into the apartment, I kick the door closed behind me. Blood rushes in my ears as I freeze just inside the doorway, slack jaw as I glance around at the carnage of our tiny living room-kitchen. The apartment has been completely trashed. The television has been smashed against the ground, couch cushions slashed open, the kitchen table is upside down with a wooden leg broken off, and cupboard drawers are hanging off their hinges.

What the actual fuck happened here?

“MOM!” This time there is a ring of panic in my voice as I drop the grocery bags on the floor and move deeper into the apartment. Where the hell is she? And where is my baby brother? “LUC?”

Silence. I can only hope that means they weren’t home when the intruder broke in. My eyes are wide as I slowly, with careful footsteps, walk through the mess strewn all over the place.

Reaching the kitchen, I turn in a full circle, noting the broken dishes and glasses that look like they’ve been thrown all over the place. Someone was in a rage. Anger flares within me. Mom probably pissed off her pimp again or stole from a client. Fucking idiot. She was supposed to be looking after Luc, so where the fuck are they? She better not have taken him to that crack den again. I’ll actually murder her this time.

A sound has me spinning as fear trickles down my spine. Fuck, is the intruder still here? My eyes dart around the tiny kitchen, not seeing anything. My heart hammers against my chest as I strain to hear even the slightest sound, but there’s nothing but silence. No creaking of the floorboards or whining of a hinge. Nothing but the thud, thud, thud of my racing heart.

I hear it again as I step toward the corridor leading down to the bedrooms—a soft muffle. My head whips back around to the kitchen counters, certain that the sound came from that side of the room. My eyes narrow as I stare at the peeling yellow paint on the cabinets before I slowly take a step toward them. An intruder wouldn’t be hiding in a fucking kitchen cabinet, Sawyer, I chastise myself as fear threatens to take over. Hell, only a kid could fit in there.

I gasp in realization, and tossing all concern for myself aside, I rush toward the cabinets, yanking them open one by one as I shove colanders, saucepans, and plates aside. Reaching the third cupboard, I throw it open and freeze.

“Saw-er!” Luc cries.

“Oh my god, Luc,” I gasp, taking in his pink cheeks, eyes swollen with tears, and snotty nose. “What are you doing in here? Where’s mom?” He dives into my open arms, bawling his eyes out while clinging to me like I’m his lifeline.

I wrap my arms around his shaking body, holding him close while I try to soothe him. What the hell happened here? I sit there for ages, crouching in front of the cupboard with him in my arms, waiting until he cries himself out. Eventually, his wails turn to soft whimpers and hiccups.

“It’s okay, I’m here now,” I repeat on a mantra, trying to calm him. My legs are numb as I hitch him on my hip and get to my feet, returning to my search of the apartment. Hopefully, at least his bedroom is intact, and I can set him in there while I tidy up and find out where the hell our mother has disappeared off too. This is the last time I leave her to look after him. Can she not go five minutes without getting her next fix? Things have been going downhill for years as her addiction has repeatedly taken priority over mothering. At least when I was younger, she tried to keep it behind closed doors and could hold down a job for a few months. Now, every penny she makes comes from prostituting herself out, though most of it goes into getting herself high. Luc would have died from starvation or cold if I didn’t steal and pickpocket what scraps and spare dollars I could. It pisses me off that I have to be the parent in this family, but whatever. I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Luc gets everything he needs. God knows, it’s not his fault his mother is a complete waste of space who doesn’t care about anyone other than herself.

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