Aspen doesn’t respond to me. It’s like she can’t even hear me.
The snake is under the bed, but I ignore it. Its owner will be back to collect it later, and she can find it then.
I unfasten the cuffs around her ankles, tossing away the spreader bar and closing her legs. A shudder moves through her. I undo the gag next. Her teeth have dug into the rubber, indenting it, and she doesn’t open her mouth to release it right away. I touch her cheek and rub my finger along her jaw, coaxing her mouth open. I pull it out, and she wets her lips.
“Fire,” she whispers.
I go cold.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
How long has she been trying to say that? How long has she been trying to bail out of this? I untie her wrists and let her cross her arms over her chest.
She’s still not here.
We’re in the extra bedroom. The empty one in the basement that Erik used to sleep in, where there are only high windows—easy enough to block with blackout curtains. It’s noon, but it feels like midnight.
I snatch the blanket from the floor and wrap it around her. I help her into a sitting position, but she’s like a rag doll. She leans against me, her cheek on my arm.
Her eyes are fucking vacant, and a chill settles into my bones.
“Come back,” I say in her ear, like that’s going to make any difference.
It doesn’t.
She blinks slowly, and she draws her legs up. Wraps her arms around her knees. She makes herself as small as possible, a little naked ball.
I pick her up like that, with her trying to curl into a fetal position, and carry her out of the basement. The blanket that covers her—barely—flutters behind me, still half caught on her body. There’s no one home today, I made sure of that. I pass by the couch in the living room, my tablet open to the night-vision-equipped video feed of the basement room.
I waited for her to snap, to struggle. I thought she would fight and scream—but instead, I think I watched her go into a panic attack. And I did nothing about it.
I grit my teeth and carry her upstairs. Her eyes are closed, her breathing shallow and quick. I set her down on the edge of my bed and grab a clean shirt and boxers. I do the shirt first, guiding it over her head and sliding her arms through the sleeves. She doesn’t fight me, or help me, or anything.
Boxers are next. Her skin is cool under my hands as I take each ankle and put them through, then drag the fabric up her legs. I help her stand and pull them the rest of the way up, and she sinks right back down onto the bed.
I guide her back and drag the covers up over her, tucking them in around her body.
And then… I don’t know what else to do. Leaving feels wrong.
Staying feels wrong, too.
But I want to understand, so I circle the bed and crawl in behind her. I drag her into my side and brush her hair out of her face, then drape my arm over her hip.
And I watch her breathing even out, and she disappears into sleep. I try to join her, but I only manage a few hours before I have to get up. I leave her curled in bed and step outside, checking my phone.
It’s blowing up. Texts from Violet, from Willow. Everyone demanding to know where Aspen is. I reply that she’s fine, that she’s with me, although my gut squirms. I’m not sure she is fine. Or that she’s here with me, at all.
I grab a few water bottles from the fridge and head back upstairs. I can hear sound coming from Knox’s room, and more from Miles’. Good to know they’re back, I guess. I turn my phone off and head back into my room, setting the water within Aspen’s reach. I keep the lamp on my side of the bed on, because if she wakes up in dark again… it just doesn’t seem like the best idea. Then I settle in behind her and doze off, waiting for her to come back to me.
Because she has to.
Right?
When she eventually wakes, she panics. She flails, and it takes me a second too long to reach for her. Her knuckles catch my cheek. The force cuts my cheek against my teeth, and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. I catch her wrists and force her upright.
Her chest heaves, her eyes wild.
She snarls at me.
I shove the blankets off us. They slide onto the floor, leaving both of us sitting without protection. She curls her legs under her, and I mirror her. Until we’re both kneeling on the bed, her wrists in my grip.
But then I release her.
“Show me how you feel,” I demand.
She launches at me. I guess I should’ve expected it, but she bowls into me and knocks me off-balance. We crash to the side, and she propels us off the bed. I land hard on my back, and it takes a second for air to return to my lungs. As soon as I do, though, she’s on top of me. She wraps her hands around my throat and squeezes, cutting off my air.
My heart thrashes as I look up at the gorgeous girl straddling my chest.
I rub my hand along her bare thighs.
Best not to tell her that I’m harder than a rock right now, and I wouldn’t even mind this death.
My lungs sear. I resist the urge to knock her off me. She won’t kill me—and I deserve this. She finally releases her tight grip, and I take a gasping breath. She drags her nails down my throat. Pain follows.
I can’t seem to tear my gaze off her face. She’s furious.
Rightly so.
I hold her hips and move her backward, off my chest, and my erection brushes her ass.
Her brows furrow.
“Show me how you feel,” I say again. “Everything.”
She lets out a little noise, a roar too small for the animosity she feels, and tears my shirt down the middle. I stare at it, then her. There’s blood on her fingernails. The wetness pools on my throat, and a drop of it slides down toward my neck.
I move my hands to her thighs. She inches backward and frees my cock from my sweatpants and boxers. She fists it and strokes me once, twice. She’s fucking brutal, but my balls tighten in reaction all the same. The pain and lust feel good wrapped up together.
But there’s something missing.
I grip her chin without warning, dragging her face toward mine. I sit up at the same time and force her mouth open.
I spit into her mouth.
She stares at me. Those green eyes are going to be the death of me, because her jaw works. Not swallowing, though. She rips free and leans down, letting her spit and mine drip onto my dick.
Now wet, her fist glides easier. She runs her thumb over the tip with every stroke, seeming entranced by it.
When my hips thrust, she stops.
“You know what I want?” she whispers, her voice so much deeper than usual.
I shake my head.
For now, I’m her captive. It won’t last. Our power balance will right itself again, eventually. But if this helps her…
She stands over me and pulls the boxers down her hips. I get a view up her legs to her pussy—and an even better view when she kneels again. Fuck, I want her on my mouth. So I slip between her legs and drag her down over my face.
The noise she makes is cute—and she tries to lift off me. But I’ve got her in my hold now, wrapping my hands around her thighs and urging her lower. She’s still resisting, though. Her pussy is right there. She’s wet, too. I see it, I smell it.
“Sit,” I order her, licking my lips.
“Steele—”
“I swear to God, Aspen, sit on my face right now.”
She slowly gives in, and I’m greeted with her cunt on my face. I tip my head back and lick her, groaning at the taste. She’s like candy, which is fucking weird, but I can’t explain it. I thrust my tongue into her, and she jolts. She’s tense, her hand bracing on the bed, until I get to her clit.
Then she whimpers.
I’m fucking addicted to that sound.
I do it again, and again, swirling my tongue around the sensitive nub, until she gives in and grinds against my face.
I let go of her thigh and add my hand to the party, pushing two fingers into her. She cries out and moves faster, getting herself off on my face and my fingers. My cock twitches, wanting in on the action, but I focus on the sounds she’s making above me.
All at once, she goes still. Her pussy clenches down on my fingers, pulsing, and I lick at her clit until she sags forward. She crawls off me and curls into a ball, staring at me with a mixture of hate and confusion.
I climb to my knees and fist my cock. It demands my attention, and I stroke it slowly. It’s still wet from her spit, and mine.
Her gaze lingers on my neck. The scratches she left behind are burning slightly, so I can only imagine what they look like.
“Tell me,” I order. “What do you need?”
Show me how you feel. Give me what you want.
Tell me what you need.
I’ll get to the root of her.
When she shakes her head, it isn’t good enough. It isn’t enough. I shake my head back, frowning at her. She has to know that this is our fucked-up way of making things right, of figuring out a solution. Naked. Hot. Angry.
I don’t do apologies—and neither does she.
Besides, an apology would be a lie.
“Aspen.”
Her name makes her eyes close.
“I don’t need anything from you,” she says.
I scoff. I rise, my dick still pointed straight at her. Always at her, like a fucking beacon. I knew from that first day that she was special, and hell. She is.
“Yes, you do,” I growl. I offer her my hands.
She hesitates, but she takes them.
I pull her to her feet and shed the scraps of my shirt still on my arms. I kick off my boxers that were trapped under my balls, not really hiding much of anything.
She plucks at the shirt she’s wearing, and I wonder if she’s trying to decide what it is she needs. And honestly, at this rate? I’d give her anything she asks for, do anything she said.
I’m a sucker, and the tears still on her cheeks are just making things worse.
“I need you…” She bites her lip and steps closer, her hand wrapping around my cock again. Fisting it and sliding her hand up and over my head, then pushing back toward the base.
“You need me to what, sweetheart?”
Her fingers touch my balls. Cups them with her free hand while stroking me, and I don’t know why the light suddenly in her eyes has me all twisted up.
“I need you to go fuck yourself, Steele.” She steps back and grabs my forgotten sweatpants, dragging them up over her legs. She leaves me standing naked in the middle of my room and disappears out the door.
