“W-what? I—yes—” She barely got the word out, distracted by his mouth, and the gentle slide of his fingers as he put his hand inside her jeans. “I mean, yes, Daddy.”
“You had fun?”
“Yes, but—”
“I want to take you out again tomorrow.” He was almost touching her where she needed him to, and Jay set her teeth to bite back another gasp, squeezing her eyes shut even more tightly at the sudden rush of pleasure. “When I come back from the vet, let’s go for a hike. And then we’ll grab lunch from some hole-in-the-wall. Wherever you want.”
“Whatever . . . I want,” Jay panted, feeling increasingly desperate as he dropped a featherlight kiss on one of her nipples while his fingersjustskirted her clit.
“How does that sound?”
“Sure, but—” She blinked in foggy confusion when he pulled away, sober enough that she sensed a trap. “You—”
“What?” His full mouth parted into a predatory grin. “Oh, you thought you were going to get to fuck me? You should have kept your eyes open like I told you.” His eyes flickered over her as he leaned back on the couch. “I’ll still let you suck my cock.”
“Oh my god, you’re such an arrogant—” Jay broke off irately, grabbing at her top and pulling it back on. “Asshole,” she said. “Why am I even surprised? Everything’s always a game with you.”
“Poor little bird. I’d feel sorrier for you if I didn’t know you’d be getting off in your room later with the door closed to that picture of me you still have on your phone.”
“Fuck youfor going through my phone.” Jay rose on shaky legs, breathing far too hard, while he leaned back to watch his effect on her with obvious amusement. “Iknowwhat you’re doing.”
He picked up his shirt and pulled it back on, rolling the fabric over his magnificent torso. She looked away, but not fast enough. His grin widened.
“Don’t worry, Jay. I’m sure you can work off all your frustrations on tomorrow’s uphill climb.”
???????
Nine years of scouring the internet for any traces of her presence.
Five years of fighting with his father until the old man obliged him by dropping dead.
Four years of living in this fucking house alone.
So many sleepless nights. So much pent-up rage.
Sometimes Nicholas tallied up all that lost time until he thought it would drive him mad.
He’d murdered his father in effigy when he turned this mansion into a soulless shell of its former glory, but that wasn’t enough. No, what he really wanted to destroy was whatever it was that still made Jay look at him like he was the monster from her dreams.
If he could reach inside himself and pull it out, he would. He’d offered her the chance to do it herself, though the rot had burrowed deep. Long before he’d resorted to blackmail, he’d spied on her, photographed her, and raided her room, desperate to find any keys that might unlock her soul.
She would hate him even more if she knew all the depraved things he’d done. The fantasies, the stalking, the fucking obsession. That he had used her shampoo to jerk off and stolen her clothes, her lipstick. That when she wasn’t around, he had sometimes lain in her bed and imagined what it would be like to touch her the way she said she’d wanted to be touched in her journal.
And of course, he had watched her touch herself. Every catch of her breath, every discreet rustle of fabric, every teasing glimpse of brown skin—he had seen it all, and taken it as a sign that not even Jay was immune to pleasure. And, more importantly, thathecould give it to her.
He could be the one to make her come.
The first time his stepmother had called him to beg for money, he had been thinking of Jay. She was in his thoughts constantly, like a fluttering dark moth drawn to the bright flame of his obsession. The sharpness of his rage at finding her gone the night of his father’s party had slowly dulled over the years, and in that well-lit gnawing emptiness, a lead-like desolation had begun to form that sometimes felt like it might drag him down to his knees. Nothing could fill that sucking void.
Desperate, he had set up a Google Alert for every variant of Jay’s name that he could think of but it hadn’t turned up much. Just fleeting ghosts of the past turned up by old web trawlers. One day, he’d got an email notification about one of her old high school awards. But then a Livejournal post written by one of her little hipster friends had allowed him to trace her to San Francisco, and he had felt a surge of victory chased by frustration and thwarted rage.
So close, he had thought.Just over an hour away by plane.
It had seemed a crime that she had been so close after all this time. A taunt. How fucking dare she.
He had no way of contacting her then but the private investigator had been able to provide him with some more leads: a list of her favorite places, the business where she worked, and photos of her looking impossibly, devastatingly beautiful.
She could be seeing someone.Nicholas had studied her large dark eyes in the photograph he liked best, the one of her inthe café, and remembered their once-defiant glitter.I’ll tear him apart if she’s fucking him.
