Chapter 25

TWENTY-FIVE

Laura

S team billowed in the bathroom around me. My knuckles were white on the edge of the sink, aching from gripping it so tightly.

Warmth dripped down my thighs. Phoenix had pushed his cum up inside me, and I'd wished it was his cock. I had wanted nothing more than him slipping inside me and fucking me hard into the bed.

I hated myself for it.

I hated him for it.

He seemed to know what I craved, and it made me sick to admit I wanted it.

I wanted him.

I wanted him to tie me back down and use me until we were both exhausted.

I craved his fingers and his dick, and I wanted to tell him I'd drink nothing but those god-awful shakes for the next year if he'd just make me come.

With a shaky breath, I pressed my fingers between my legs, gathering his slickness over them. Holding them up to the light above the mirror, they glistened with his pleasure.

Closing my eyes, I pressed them against my lips, my tongue darting out to taste him.

A sob broke free when I opened my eyes and saw myself acting in such a disgusting way.

This wasn't supposed to be my life.

I was supposed to have passionate, sweet sex with a man who came from the same world I did. Not be made to beg a man who stole me for dirty, despicable things.

I climbed into the shower, grabbing a sponge and scrubbed at the pen marking my skin. His words etched into me. I hated them too. Him writing on me had been degrading, yet, had made me hotter than anything any of my college boyfriends had ever done.

Flashes of him above me, his masked face and dark eyes devouring my every noise, the way his thick cock had felt against me, flashed into my mind. With another sob I pushed my fingers against my clit, determined to give myself what he denied.

I couldn't.

It's like he'd disabled something in me, programmed me to his touch. My fingers moved, but the coils of pleasure remained out of reach.

Anger, white and hot flooded me. I picked up the razor from the edge of the bathtub and smashed it into the wall, the metal blade falling free into the soapy water around my feet.

My fingers trembled as I picked it up, holding it next to my wrist. I didn't want to die. But I couldn't deal with Phoenix driving me to the edge again and again. I felt like I was losing my goddamn mind.

The metal glinted against my skin and temptation clawed at me.

I'd be out.

Free.

And what was there to go back to anyway? Some distant relations who hated my family anyway? Friends who'd console me to my face and gossip about me behind my back? What was the point? Snot leaked from my nose as my tears rivalled the shower for water pressure.

Would Phoenix even care if I did it? Would he send my body home? Would he throw me in the sea like a used piece of rubbish?

I pictured drawing the razor down my arm. Imagined the blood flowing out and filling the tub beneath me.

With a grunt I tossed the blade across the room and sunk down into the tub, water cascading over my head.

I didn't deserve to die.

He did.

P hoenix's chest rose rhythmically on the bed, the visible swath of his face utterly relaxed.

I stood at the doorway, seething in my towel. How dare he just sleep when he's filled me with so much emotion. I'd been in the bathroom trying to decide whether I should end my life, while he had his orgasm and crashed out. Just another fucking pig.

Heat flushed my cheeks the longer I stood staring at him.

Ditching the towel, I pulled on some pyjama shorts and a vest top, half expecting him to wake as I rummaged around the room.

I should just straddle him, take what he's denying me. Who made him the boss?

No. I couldn't. Despite my anger, I wanted to be wanted. For a man to be unable to resist. What kind of fucker can thrust against a woman's pussy but without just shagging her. It was a fucking insult.

My brush sat atop the dresser on Phoenix's side of the bed and I scowled at him as I passed him by. To add insult to injury, my foot tangled in his rucksack, tripping me up. I snagged my knee against the bed and bit down a cry as the sharp pain rang through my limb.

Squeezing my eyes together, I fought the wave of rage that had me wanting to throw the fucking brush through the window.

I levelled a kick into the bag, a jangle greeting me. Time seemed to stop. The jingle sounded an awful lot like keys.

Glancing at Phoenix to ensure he slept, I knelt down and opened the bag. The phoenix clad gas mask sat at the top, worn and smoke stained. It sent a shiver through me, throwing me back to the night he took me.

Placing it on the floor, I raked through the bag until my fingers wrapped around the familiar metal shape of keys. Holding my breath, I extracted them from the bag and gripped them tightly. Adrenaline swooped through me, making my heart thunder as the keychain saying Old Bess glinted in the low lamp light.

The boat keys.

Could I figure out how to make it go? Could I get to someone who could help me?

I had to try.

Staying with Phoenix was confusing me. Making me desire things I had no business wanting.

I looked quietly through the rucksack, hoping to find a phone or some cash, but found neither. Damn it.

What I found were more tools of his trade. Pots with accelerant written on the side in faded pen. Matches.

Were they the ones he used to burn my house down? To cover up for the devils crimes against me and my family?

Sweat slicked the back of my neck while my hands trembled, making the keys jingle.

Just go.

I ignored the urging of the little voice inside me, standing and opening the pot of strong smelling goop.

All it took was two minutes, and I'd spread it all around the bed. A moment of guilt clung onto me as I looked at the side of Phoenix's scarred face. He'd escaped the fire once, and lost everything to it's charring embrace.

My fingers slipped against the base of the match as I tore it from the book.

Was I any better than Massimo if I tried to torch Phoenix?

In the mirror on the dresser, I caught the faintest sight of the letters I'd tried to scrub from my skin. The backwards, barely visible BEG on my stomach.

‘Fuck you,' I muttered .

The match hissed as I struck it against the textured strip, a flame sprinting into being.

I dropped it on the accelerant smeared bed covers, grabbed the keys, and ran down stairs.

On my way past the kitchen, I stuffed some snacks on the counter into a bag, and picked up the bowl of apples.

With the bedroom window glowing orange, I upended the bowl of apples on the ground as I headed for the boat.

‘Sorry, Muffin,' I whispered. ‘I'll miss you.'