I blink. “Why?”
His entire body shifts until we’re facing each other.
“Because your mom knows exactly what we want to do to you.”
Despite the hot rush of excitement that rolls through me, I chuckle. “I don’t think she’d save me.”
Long, strong fingers curl around my exposed throat with enough pressure to flood my brain and panties before I’m pulledto him. His nose bumps mine and I know he feels the struggle of my swallow beneath his palm.
“No one can save you, my pretty whore.”
I have no feeling in my knees. All the blood has rushed to my head and I’m dizzy beneath the waves of arousal flooding my core. It’s fanned by the hot whispers of his breath stroking my lips.
“Don’t want to be saved,” I rasp.
The corner of his mouth quirks. His fingers tighten just enough to send tingles through me.
“I know you don’t.” He brushes a kiss to my nose. “Where are the Christmas ornaments?”
Nicolas takes that moment to return with all of our bags hooked on his fingers. I expect Dom to release me and step away, but he waits for my answer.
“Basement,” I croak.
It’s a crawl space, but he gets what I’m saying.
Unfazed by our nearness, Dom’s face inches from mine, Nicolas drops the bags down on the sofa and kicks the door shut with the heel of his boot.
“Let’s clean before we do anything else,” he remarks, eyeing the thick layer of dust now streaked by our feet. “I’ll check the generator. We might have to make a run for supplies.”
It’s pure luck we have a tiny gas station and convenience store ten miles down the road. It saves on hauling a bunch of things down.
But the plan has been made.
We set to work dusting and sweeping. I do an inventory of the pantry and icebox for the grocery run while the boys haul boxes from the cellar. They’re piled against the wall by the tree. Dom leaves Nicolas to finish as he moves to strip the mattress. Sheets are tossed over the railings from the loft to form white puddles across the floor.
“This mattress is finished,” he calls down. “Must have gotten wet. It’s covered in mold.”
Nicolas drops the final box with the others and straightens. His fingers settle on his hips as he tips his head up to where his boyfriend is climbing down the ladder.
“How’s the other bed?”
“Fine.” He hits the bottom landing. “A little musty, but we won’t die from it. I’ll stick it outside for an hour or so to breathe out.”
Nicolas says nothing, but I can see him turning this over in his head from where I’m standing in the tiny square of the kitchen. But he must have come to the same conclusion I do, because he suddenly looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and yet loud with barely controlled panic.
“There’s only one bed,” he muses at long last.
Dom rocks back on his heels. “Seems that way.”
I don’t say anything, but my heart slams in my chest. A jittery, wild clap of thunder that makes my fingers tremble.
“I’m going to toss these into the wash and run out for the supplies,” Dom goes on. “You stay with Isla.”
That’s a terrible idea but Nicolas makes no comment and I don’t know what I’m supposed to say so I stay in my bubble and eye a rusted can of corn.
I understand that this situation isn’t ideal. I didn’t ask to come. I hadn’t even wanted to. But I’m here and we just need to make the best of it.
You just want to be in bed with them, the voice that sounds a lot like Mom hisses.
