He focuses on the pictures, and for a long time, just strokes himself, face calm and blank like he’s thinking of baseball or mortgage rates or the best way to break someone’s neck. Then he lets out a sound, not a groan, but like the exhale from a heavy barbell. His thumb circles the head of his cock, glistening in the computer light.
But then he jerks faster, hips shifting in the seat. He’s muttering, under his breath, his face contorted with pleasure. “Make me come, you little fucking slut.”
I’m paralyzed by the horror of it, but something else is happening inside my chest—a spark, a heat, a pulse that echoes his movement. I absolutely hate myself for it, but my hand slides down the waistband of my jeans, fingers pressing against the every-growing wet spot against my underwear.
I shouldn’t do this.
I really,reallyshouldn’t.
But watching him, knowing it’s my face on the screen, knowing he wants me…
It’s too much. I rub slow, desperate circles, feeling my breath go short, biting down on my lip to keep myself quiet. I imagine what it would be like if he caught me here, now, panting and wanting him.
‘You little fucking slut,’echoes in my head as I edge myself in rhythm with him.
His hand moves faster. “Oh fuck,” he starts to groan, his body stiffening. “Jenna.”
I swallow the gasp, as my knees go weak and my body pulses with my orgasm. I explode with him, as he pulls a rag from the desk and catches his come in it.
Calvin leans back in his desk chair, and lets out a guttural, “Fuck.”
He then slams the computer shut, startling me. He wipes his hand, rubs his face, and mutters something I can’t make out. He sits there for another few tense beats, just breathing, before getting up and heading to the bathroom. I hear the water run.
I wipe my hand on my own jeans, ashamed and exhilarated all at once. My clit throbs, my heart races. And I know I have to get the fuck out of here while I have my chance.
He’s still in the bathroom as I slip out of the closet, down the hall, back to the laundry room. I reach for the frame without thinking, and wince as I slice my palm.
Fuck.I bite back the whimper, and then slide through the window. I drop into the ground, and make a run for the trees, my pussy still aching from the disturbing shit I just did.
Every nerve in my body is on fire, as I sprint. I don’t feel the cold, I don’t feel the bruises on my legs, or the gash on my palm. I get to my car and fumble with the keys, cursing under my breath, until I’m in and the doors are locked.
I sit there, panting, staring at my own hands as blood soaks my jeans. My fingers smell like my pussy and adrenaline and blood.
I don’t know if I’m disgusted with myself or if this is the first time in years, I’ve actually felt alive.
There is so much fucking wrong with me.
I check the rearview. No sign of pursuit.
I turn the ignition, but before I drive away, I take one last look at the glow of the cabin, the man inside, and the knowledge of what I just saw.
Calvin Bradford wants me.
And I’ll be damned, if I don’t use this to my advantage to find my brother.
If I can just keep my head on straight.
Chapter 15
Bradford
The secondI step out of the bathroom, my skin prickles. The house is dead quiet except for the slow tick of the kitchen clock and… A cold draft. But before I investigate that, my eyes catch the closet door at the edge of the office, wide open.
I never,everleave that closet door open.
That’s a rule. And the world only makes sense when you respect the rules.
I stop, mid-hall, and let my pupils adjust. It’s not just the closet. There’s a trace, a whiff, of something outside the usual that isn’t the scent of my home.
