“Get out,” he barks and shoves me away. “Now, before I hurt you.”
I should leave and thank my lucky stars I got off with just a bruised wrist. Instead, I stay rooted to the spot, watching as he gathers the scattered items and places them back in the shoebox.
My eyes widen, realization washing over me. “Oh my God.”
The hair scrunchie, socks, bracelet, lip gloss—things I thought I lost. He had them all.
“Why do you have my things?” I whisper.
Sandman throws the shoebox right past my head, and then he’s on me, crowding me against the wall with his big body. His ragged breaths fan across my temple with each rise and fall of his chest. Anger pours from him in waves, raising the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
He’s close to breaking. And when he breaks, no one is safe—especially me.
“Because I was obsessed with you from the moment I saw you.” He leans in, his hard body brushing against me. “Have you ever been obsessed with someone, Zilphia?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Your mind becomes fixated on that person.” He pulls the strap of my camisole down my shoulder, exposing my right breast. “You can’t think about anything else, and when you’re not with that person, it feels like your heart is going to explode,” he continues, circling the pad of his thumb over my nipple with featherlight caresses. “You would move heaven and earth… sacrifice everything for that person, even your own life.”
“I never asked to be your obsession,” I respond breathlessly.
“Liar,” he hisses. “You called to me that night and begged to become my obsession.”
I frown up at him. “What are you talking about? I saw you go into the tree house, but I didn’t call out to you.”
“You did.” He presses a palm to his forehead. “Here, you called to me here. You told me to come to you and everything would be okay. And for a while it was. I loved you so fucking much, Zilphia. I loved you more than I loved myself. Before you, I wanted to die.”
He was beaten so badly that night, whatever he thought he heard was nothing more than a hallucination. That’s the only logical explanation—or maybe he’s straitjacket crazy, like Meela said. Regarding the latter, I knew his feelings for me grew beyond friendship, but nothing could’ve ever come of it. We lived on the same planet, but we were from two different worlds.
“We created something magical inside that tree house,” I say, choosing my words wisely. “The pressure to be perfect in everything made my childhood a living hell. Without you, I wouldn’t have survived it. I loved you, but we couldn’t be together. You know we couldn’t.”
“Thought you were too good for the trailer-trash white boy?” Sandman snarls, glaring down at me. “But look at you now, belly round with my babies and pussy on call for my dick.” He slips a hand into my panties, pushing long fingers deep inside my wet heat.
“I never thought that,” I moan, latching onto the front of his shirt with both hands. “I swear I didn’t.”
“You were always going to be mine, Zilphia,” he rasps, nudging my legs further apart with a booted foot. “I was biding my time, but fate brought you to my doorstep. Did you think I had forgotten you?”
No, and I hadn’t forgotten him either. I thought about him every day.
His fingers stroke my slick walls, his calloused palm sliding back and forth over my clit, shooting white-hot sensations straight to my core.
“I want to come,” I beg, rolling my hips, my movements frantic with need. “Please, Sandman. I want to come.”
“Your orgasms belong to me,” he whispers in my ear. “You come when I say. Understand?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
“You’re dripping down my fingers,” he murmurs. “Pregnancy made your pussy wetter.”
I grasp his shoulder and bear down on his hand, matching him thrust for thrust. He hooks his fingers inside me, teasing the sensitive spot behind my pubic bone. I gasp as a ball of heat rushes through me like a freight train.
“I’m about to… I’m about to—”
Sandman snatches his fingers from my body and puts several inches between us. “What I tell you?”
“No, no, no.” I reach for him, but stay pressed to the wall, my legs weak and unsteady. “Please come back.”
“No orgasms for you, but I still gotta get mine.” His gaze rakes over my body, lingering between my thighs. “Strip, then lie on the bed.”
