Afterward I'm sitting sideways across his lap with his jacket over my shoulders, catching my breath, the jukebox playing something neither of us is listening to.
"The bear watched the whole thing," I say.
He looks at the animatronic bear. The bear stares back.
"I'm buying this place," he says, "and burning it to the ground."
I snort, which is not a sound I've ever made in front of anyone before in my life, and he pulls me tighter against his chest and I let him because it turns out I'm a person who snorts now and I cannot find it in me to care.
"The pizza was really good," I say.
"Yeah."
"I want more."
"We'll get more." His hand moves up my back, slow. "Whenever you want."
We should go. I know we should go. I have things tomorrow that matter to people who are counting on me.
"Five more minutes," I say.
His arm tightens. "Take ten."
CHAPTER 8
Rye
The house is old, but it’s not classy. More like it’s out of a horror film.
I slept the entire night with her letting her cuddle against me, tell me all her secrets as she slept. I made peace with letting her do this, but I’m still amped up.
She had a morning practice as usual, which I took her too, watched then we went out for some more shopping and got her nails done. I spend a couple hours dining on her pussy as well, and she took to the blindfold and arm bar well only this time, I added some cock sucking to the scene.
I kept my dick out of her pussy though. She is nervous enough without me losing my mind and fucking her sore again.
What was it that Elodie said yesterday about this place being like the Bates Motel? Maybe not, but it’s definitely got a vibe I do not like.
“I’m taking you home,” I tell her as we pull up the gravel drive in my brother’s fucking minivan. “Or I’m staying too.”
She shakes her head. “I keep telling you, I’ll be fine. He’s a professional. He’s run some of the most successful dance companies in the country. Please, just I need to do this.”
I park the car, but stay exactly where I am.
“Where are all the other vehicles?” I ask as I glance around. I see only one car, the same Bentley that the director, Alexander Patrykov, arrived at Elodie’s house in yesterday.
“They’ll have left already. I’m probably the last to arrive, because you insisted on sharing a shower with me and—”
I squeeze her leg, and she falls silent.
“Why don’t you just walk me to the door?” she suggests. “You’ll see.”
I’m not convinced, but I climb out anyway. I come around to her door and help her out before opening up the trunk and pulling out her bags. Then we head for the steps up to the front door.
Before we get to the top, the door is already opening, and a man I don’t recognize is standing there.
“Miss McAllister?”
“Am I the last? I am, aren’t I? See, I knew we’d be running late, but it’s not even four, so I’m not actually late, right?”
