I refuse to give him the satisfaction of a response. I don’t have to reveal that anything happened. As far as he’s concerned, I don’t even know Cormac.
He laughs, “Yeah, he was fucking his last lawyer, too. Keep that in mind next time he tries to charm his way into your pants.”
Now I don’t have to respond. The disgusted expression must be written all over my face if his smug grin is any indication.
With that, he disappears out of my sight, and I finally take my first real breath since he put himself in my path.
Shaking the tension from my body, I dig my keys back out and let myself into the apartment, half expecting Cormac to be in there waiting for me again. But it’s eerily silent, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved to not have to face him right now.
It was hard enough looking him in the eye to discuss the contract after his fingers had been inside of me. In the bright light of day with a completely sober mind, I don’t think I could take the embarrassment of remembering how I writhed on his hand and screamed into his palm.
Not to mention the immense displeasure I’m feeling now at that little tidbit of info the cop dropped. Didn’t bother to tell me his name, but he was only too happy to try to sabotage whatever he thinks Cormac and I have.
Which is, I repeat,nothing.
I was just in an impossible scenario, my desire and fear used against me until I was lost to all of it, the threat of a knife on my skin stopping me from daring to protest.
The moment he told me to sit, I obeyed, and when he urged my legs open without uttering a single word, I allowed it. Ishouldhave stopped him, yes. That goes without saying.
But Icouldn’t.
The words wouldn’t come out.
Everything inside of me had frozen under his touch.
Does that mean it was against my will?
Lettinga serial killer run his blade near vital arteries is a level of stupidity that goes past recklessness andwellinto suicidal. And if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s reckless.
But his not allowing me the room to protest gave me a sense of freedom from the guilt of making that choice.
Ihadto sit and behave and take every ounce of pleasure he wanted to dole out.
The legality of whether it was consensual or not is black and white. But does that mean my feelings about it need to be?
That’s an impossible ask. There’s no way to be black and white when it comes to the overwhelming presence of Cormac Fomori. He consumes me the moment he appears. His dark strength, the blazing heat in his eyes, the barely veiled wonder in them whenever he looks at me, I’m powerless against the force of nature that he is.
There was a sense of certainty in all of it. I knew he would push past my boundaries, and I knew I would love every second. It was almost acomfort. A feeling of belonging to him, of the rigid rules I’ve set in place mattering less than the magnetic pull between us.
Setting my purse onto the counter, I decide against pulling out my computer again. If I were to let myself log on, there’s not a doubt in my mind that I’d spend the next hour googling the man in question, searching for proof of what the officer said.
It’s not like I’mjealous.
But the idea that he sleeps with his lawyers is an ethical nightmare. It would put his legal representative into a power imbalance that no one with any sense would sign up for.
And is that all he was trying to do with me when he offered me a job? Is that all he’s doing now? Pulling me further and further into his seedy, violent life until I’m trapped there, keeping him and his company from legal trouble under the threat of going down with them? Orworse. Becoming so entangled in their fucking crimes that Idoend up dead because of them.
Lying my head on the cool marble countertop, I heave out an exasperated sigh.
He knows I can’t press charges for the breaking and entering, for the threats of violence, or for anything in between. Can’t even tell them that he admitted to killing those people. And he knew it from the second he broke in, he just kept the fucking game going, keeping all the cards he held secret while he toyed with me.
My stomach sours, anger and fear warring with humiliation as I recall all of our interactions through the lens of what I know now.
Regardless of my body’s stupid lustful thoughts, this fuckery ends now.
I am 100% done dealing with Cormac Fomori. If he feels the need to keep an eye on me, that’s between him and his own paranoia. I don’t need to do anything to make it easier for him.
Finally doing what I should have done weeks ago, I order the security cameras and door alarms, determined to set them up the second they arrive.
