“What?” The idea startles a laugh out of me. “Who’s this photo for?” When she opens her mouth, I press my forefinger against her lips. “And please don’t say you want to share this milestone with your dad.”
“Ew.” She kicks her foot and screws her face up enough to let me know that’s not a worry. “I just meant, everyone makes such a big deal of getting a picture on your first day of school and your senior’s dance and your graduation and your twenty-first birthday. Surely becoming a woman ranks up there in achievements.” She puffs out a sleepy breath of air. “Definitely deserves a photo.”
I scoot out of bed and snag my trousers from the floor, tugging out my phone.
“Ready for your close-up?”
She laughs and puts a hand over her face. “I wasn’t serious. It was just a thought. You’re not meant to pay attention.”
But I’ve already snapped an image. Crimson’s legs are spread, her delightful rump perched just above the stain on the otherwise white bedspread. Her ringlets poke out in all directions, messed by the bed and our exertions.
Even with the hand covering her face, she couldn’t look more beautiful. My cock regains interest, stiffening just enough to look ridiculous.
I take a few more, to tease her more than anything, causing another avalanche of colour into her cheeks. Then I toss the phone aside, and crawl onto the foot of the bed, settling my knees between her legs. “You know, I got this around the wrong way. I meant to perform some grade-a cunnilingus before moving to the next step.”
“Grade-a, huh?” Crimson perches herself on her elbows as she stares along the length of her body at me.
“At least.” I kiss my way up the inside of her right leg until she pulls them both closed.
“Do you mind if I have a shower first? I’m not… I want to feel clean before you…”
I rise to rest back on my heels, nodding. “Sure. How about we take a bath together afterwards, too? That’ll help you heal faster.” I’m pretty sure I’ve got some Epsom salts available. Lord knows if they do anything, but they can’t hurt.
She slides off the bed, throwing a single glance at the tangle of clothes on the floor, before walking across the room naked. I enjoy watching her, returning the shy smile she tosses me before she closes the bathroom door.
The moment she does, my face falls.
Crimson might not yet know the difference between caring sex and a rough fuck, but I do. What the hell was I thinking, making a move on her so soon after letting that detective get in my head?
I strip the cover from the duvet—the inner unmarked—wondering if I’ll be due another lecture from Agnes if she sees. Not that she has any reason to be poking around in my laundry but the maid who comes in to clean three times a week will tell her.
Perhaps I should just throw it in the bin and use a new one. It’s what I do when I wear a shirt that ends up stained with blood. Usually someone else’s.
Bundling the bedspread into a ball, I push it into the chute, smiling at the thought it will be collected by a contractor who’ll destroy it beyond recognition just in case it contains syndicate secrets.
Like that fucking matters.
Why don’t you concentrate on the woman you’ve left to shower alone in your bathroom?
I walk back into my bedroom, snagging my phone from the sidetable and swiping through the photos. As I do, a pinch of reality forces its way back into my head. The detective might have left me alone easily enough today but that he’s hanging around at all tells me it won’t always be so simple to despatch him.
With a burst of malice, I drag one photo into my instant messaging, addressing it to Gabriel. “This is what your girlfriend looks like when a real man fucks her. I wonder how many times she’ll bleed on my cock before she gets used to the size.”
The moment it’s sent, a slow crawl of horror runs from the soles of my feet up to the top of my head. I want to call it back but it’s too late—the message not only delivered but showing as read.
My face drains of colour and my eyes shoot to the closed bathroom door, scared at the behaviour driven by my vengeance.
I have to stop giving the snitch free room and board in my head. Time to get on with my life. That’s the only plan that can truly thwart what he did to me. What Detective Seward might still do.
I turn my phone off and leave it facedown on the table. The shower has stopped, and my beautiful almost-wife is waiting inside, deserving whatever love and comfort I can bestow on her.
My vendetta no longer matters. I can’t allow it to colour my relationship any longer. Crimson’s mine in every way that counts.
Just like it’s starting to feel like I’m hers.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
CRIMSON
