“Did you like it?” I pull my finger free. “Did you like being used like a dump? Passed between them?”
Her fingers are in my hair, guiding my face the rest of the way down without hesitation.
“Yes.”
Her breathy groan is all I need when I dive in for my breakfast. I lick and suck, cleaning my mess like it might change what I did.
But it’s not guilt ringing between my ears. It’s her loud, greedy whines of my name as her slippery cunt gushes on my mouth.
Like a gentleman, I clean her. I take long, hungry swipes of her seizing channel before moving up her body to take her mouth. To shove my tongue down her throat and make her taste how good we are together.
It does dawn on me to ask how she was twenty-five and still a virgin when it’s clear they hadn’t been shy about things. But that’s a question for when my cock isn’t ready for another round. It doesn’t help that her breasts are so sweet and perky. Perfect globes with bright pink nipples that make my brain fuzzy.
One kiss,I tell myself.
I bow my head and press a kiss to the rosy bud. It tightens beneath my mouth and I suck. Just once. I roll it beneath my tongue.
Lenora moans.
And I have to do the other one. Have to add a little teeth while teasing the first.
She’s wiggling and I have no choice but to make my way back down to kiss the wet lips begging for my attention. I have to spread her legs and show her what a good girl she is for me.
She’s whining and trembling by the time I’m satisfied I’ve been thorough.
I bathe her once I’m done. I carry her into the bathroom and stand with her against my chest under the warm spray.
She’s gone back to her quiet. To that place I can’t follow her. She lets me run soapy hands over every inch of exposed skin, lather the heavy weight of her hair without a word.
But the distance is in her eyes. It’s a fog that shrouds her from me and reality. It keeps her in a place I don’t know how to reach her.
So, I let her find her way back. I rinse her and myself and swaddle her in a towel. Her gown is a wrinkled puddle of white across my carpet, but I leave her damp and barely clad on my bed, and hurry to her room for a dress.
Mrs. Pym — I assume — has straightened the mess from the previous night. Everything has been replaced or repaired, practically brand new. Like it never happened. Even the antique vanity with its oval mirror and fine, pink trim is exactly how it has been since before Lenora came to live with us.
It baffles me how, but I’ve learned to never question the older woman.
The closet opens to miles of gray, yards of burgundy and whole sections of black. Not a pink amongst them. Or green. I almost miss the tiny cluster of white gowns hidden at the back.
I select something at random. A black dress with a corset top and full sleeves. I recall seeing Lenora in this a time or two and always enjoyed how the lacing cinches between her breasts like a gift waiting for me to unwrap … with my teeth.
Amongst it all, not a single pair of shoes. I try to think if she keeps them in a different location, but ultimately, I gather the dress — only the dress — and return to my room.
Lenora is where I left her, bundled in a thick, white towel, flat on her back, staring up into the mirrors overhead. She doesn’t move when I approach. Doesn’t say a word when I drag the towel free and carefully dress her.
“Marcus?”
It’s been so quiet for so long, I jump at the murmur of my name.
“Oui, mon p’tit?”
She sighs, face still tilted to the ceiling. “When can we start?”
I don’t feign ignorance to the question, the implication behind it.
“When we have a plan.” I take her hands and pull her upright, so I have the full focus of her eyes. “This can’t be rash or reckless. We can’t have the police at our door.”
She’s waiting for me to continue, like she doesn’t understand how that is an issue. And I get it. I understand that need to destroy everything just to make the pain stop.
