30. One of These Nights

30

ONE OF THESE NIGHTS

LESTER

By the time we make it to six, both of us are in desperate need of a break. Clothes are scattered all over the floor, along with our shoes and underwear. I pick my watch up from the ground and notice that it's almost morning. We've been fucking for over three hours on a loop. I'm surprised my balls haven't shriveled up from the way she has sucked every single drop of cum out of me.

Daisy is splayed out on the silk sheets on the bed, her eyes droopy and tired, with a satisfied cum-drunk smirk on her beautiful face. "You've fucked my brains out, Professor," she mumbles. "I fucking knew you would."

I take a moment to stare at her, not missing an inch. Her legs are slightly bent at the knees, her skin covered with a healthy tan. I can tell that she's worn a lot of shorts and skirts in the summer by the tan lines on her thighs. She's covered with bruises from my bites and from my nails digging into her flesh.

Nipples still pebbling with arousal, her body is inviting me back in. Her long brown hair is messy, tangled with knots and sweat. Her heavenly cunt still glistens, and if I wasn't so set on making sure to properly take care of her now, I would've slid my cock back inside for another round.

Stretching out her arms above her head, she groans. She must be completely sore, as am I.

Chuckling, I walk toward the bed and slide my arms underneath her body, picking her up. "I'm still not done with you, little nymph. I don't think I'll ever be. But I'm going to take care of you first."

She bites her lower lip to suppress a smile as she locks her arms around my neck. I carry her to the bathroom upstairs, putting her ass down on the sink and turning on the faucet of the bathtub. Filling it with soap and bubbles, I hold my hand under the stream to check the temperature.

"Wait here," I tell Daisy before I plant a light kiss on her forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me now," she quips, swinging her bare legs back and forth as she leans on her hands.

Very briefly making a trip to the kitchen, I find Luna cozily asleep on a chair. I return to the bathroom with cold drinks and snacks, putting them down on a little table beside the tub. Daisy just smiles at me sweetly, watching my every move as the tub slowly fills with hot water.

"I'm going to need you to drink about two liters of water to make up for all that squirting you did. Christ, woman." I shake my head in disbelief, handing her a glass of cold water.

She giggles. "You're not complaining, are you?"

"Hell no," I immediately say, taking her face between my hands. "I'd happily replace your cum for water if you'd let me. I could drink from you forever, survive only on you."

"Wow, Professor." She laughs even harder, flashing me those cute vamp teeth. "It seems like my pussy has magical powers. You're down bad ."

She downs the entire glass and hands it back to me. I fill it back up and place it on the edge of the tub. Picking her up by her hips, I set her down in the water.

I take off my boxers and get inside behind her, our bodies disappearing in the bubbly soap. Wrapping my arms around her chest, I pull her close so she can sit between my legs. I run my fingers over her skin, massaging the spots that I hurt.

A satisfied moan slips from her lips as she leans further into me. "No one has ever taken care of me like this after sex. Or at all," she says softly, her voice a little raw from all the screaming she did earlier.

A pang of anger shoots through me. "No one?"

She shakes her head. "No."

"Then what did they do? They just left?"

"Most of the time I left. I never wanted them for anything but sex anyway. Don't you feel bad for me. It's not like no one ever tried to hug me afterward or something. I always just pushed them away the second we were done."

"This is how it's supposed to be, Daisy. Aftercare is just as important as sex itself," I tell her sternly. "Especially with sex like this. It can take a toll if you don't take the right measures afterward. It can fuck you up. Mentally."

A chuckle makes the water in the tub shake. "I'm already fucked up mentally. And now the only person I could talk to about it is dead."

Worry and panic pull my veins tight. Because I am the reason for that.

"Your therapist? Did he pass away?" I ask, feigning innocence, making sure my voice stays the same and she can't notice my guilt. Not that I have any, really. I'm glad I killed him for what he did to her. But maybe, despite his unruly practices, she did truly have a connection with him. It might hurt her that he's dead. And somehow, knowing that hurts me , too.

"He didn't just pass away. It was suicide. At least, that's what they say."

"You don't believe it?"

"Absolutely not. He was arrogant. He would've never hurt himself. And he certainly wouldn't have done it without fucking me first. I was the one who found him, you know? We had an appointment."

I shift uncomfortably when the notion of that slams into me like a wrecking ball. "You what ? You found his dead body?"

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, trying to not clench my fists. The way I left his body was not a pretty picture. For a young woman like Daisy―or any normal human being for that matter―that is a horrific thing to see. Something that could scar you for life. I could fucking curse myself for being the cause of that. I should have handled it differently.

I checked his appointment book. She wasn't in there. She wasn't supposed to meet with him until late in the afternoon. Otherwise, I would have never done it. I would've at least cleaned him up, taken care of the body. Fuck .

"He was shot through the head. There was so much blood. On the floor, the desk. Pieces of his brain splattered on the wall. I don't know what happened, but he didn't do it himself. I just know it. I feel it."

I'm damn near losing my mind. The way she talks about this so casually is not what you would expect from someone finding a corpse. Her body language is serene and comfortable, and her heart rate beats in a normal rhythm.

I state the obvious. "You're so calm. Aren't you sad or hurt?"

"Not really. I know I should be more upset. I haven't shed one single tear over him. Though I am a little worried."

"About what?" I ask, continuing to caress her arms and shoulders.

"I saw him twice a week. And now he's gone. I'll be alone with my mind. I might lose it or do crazy things. I'm afraid that I might spiral out of control if I'm left alone with my thoughts."

"Then don't be alone with your thoughts," I mumble against her ear. "Tell them to me."

She huffs an amused breath. "You do not want to hear what goes on in my head, Mr. Gilbert." She sighs deeply. "Despite everything, I did care about him in a way, you know? I knew that what he did was wrong, but I was the one who started it. I fucked him so he would tell my parents that I was making progress. So I could be out of the therapy obligation and go on with my life. But then we formed a relationship, a sort of bond. I could tell him anything." She pauses, swallowing. "He was just a man. You can't really blame a man for taking the opportunity when it's presented to him."

"You absolutely can, Daisy. If he got killed by someone, then he fucking deserved it." The volume of my voice intensifies at that sentence, anger bursting through the cracks of my calm fa?ade. Even imagining her with him has my blood boiling.

She shifts and moves herself out of my grasp, turning around to face me. Looking deeply into my eyes, her left eyebrow shoots up in question. "Why are you taking this harder than me?"

Because I killed him for touching you.

I don't say that for obvious reasons, but the way her stare pierces through my eyes feels like she's searching for the truth inside them, trying to yank it out of me.

"Predators get what they deserve." Taking a deep breath, I tilt my chin up to meet her intense gaze head-on. "Are you okay?"

The corner of her lip shoots up, the conversation about Dr. Beaumont's death seemingly forgotten. "I'm better than okay. In fact, I've never felt better than the way you've made me feel tonight. I'm afraid to fall asleep, because I never want it to end."

She looks down, her cheeks reddening as she grabs my hand. This is the first time I've seen a sliver of shyness in her. It is the sweetest thing I have ever seen.

"You make me feel a little less crazy for wanting the things I want." She squeezes my hand, pulling it to her lips before planting a soft kiss on my knuckles. "Kiss me again." The sentence is as much an order as it is a question.

I yank her toward me so fast that water spills over the edge of the tub, wetting the floor. Slamming my lips onto hers, I pull her even closer as I taste her. Our tongues fight for dominance as we come together again.

The angel and the demon. A story bound for destruction.

I don't care about the ending. All I care about is this moment, when the world falls away and all that's left is us.

"For years I've felt like there was something wrong with me," Daisy mumbles against my lips as our kiss slows. "The compulsions, the need to fill the cravings every second of the day. Therapy helped a bit. But it didn't stop me from finding myself in situations where I'd feel bad afterward. I'd feel gross, disgusted with myself. Nothing was ever enough, even when I went to the extremes and got hurt in the process. It never stopped me from doing it again."

Her free hand moves to the scar on her side absentmindedly, and I don't think she even realizes she's doing it.

I want to know what happened to her. I need to know. If someone hurt her, I am going to hurt them back. Erase them from this fucking earth just like I did to her pedophile psychiatrist.

A scar like the one she has, like the one I have, doesn't just magically appear. It takes a great amount of pain to carve something like that into someone's skin. Shallow cuts don't scar―only the deep ones do. And they don't just scar our flesh, but our minds, too.

I take her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes, letting her spill her truths.

"I've struggled with it for what seems like forever. It's never been drugs for me or alcohol. I mean, I like to indulge in them, but it's not what I'm an addict for. It's always been sex. Tonight, seeing your room… I felt like maybe I've finally found someone who gets me."

I plant the lightest kiss on her freckled nose. "I do get you. And I've got you."

"Why won't you let anyone touch you? Except for me?" she asks, and I look away instantly. I cannot talk about it. It'll swallow me up whole, unlock the heavily secured boxes in my mind that I've stored away. "Did something happen to you?"

I swallow, my whole body tensing. "Yes," is all I manage to get out.

She tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear and waits for me to speak.

I don't, and she doesn't push, instead moving along the conversation as if she knows exactly what I need. "I think I knew you in another life, Lester Gilbert. I know your soul. I know what you can't say out loud, what you don't dare to bring to the surface after burying the memories for so long. I don't know what happened to you, but you don't have to voice those things for me to understand."

"You're like a damn poet," I comment with humor, despite those words cutting into me like a sword to the heart.

She straightens her back, then swings her long hair over her shoulder with pride. "I grew up on Jim Morrison. Of course I am."

We both smile, then return serious again. "I think art is a form of escapism for us both. A way of seeing the world through our own colorful lenses. We can turn the horrors of society into something beautiful, and when it all seems to be filled with nothing but ugliness, all we have to do is grab a brush and paint the world red."

Before I get the chance to come up with an equally profound analogy, she takes the hairs above my lip between her fingers, lightly pulling it. "I love this damn mustache, you know that?"

I take a breath, then let out a chuckle. "I can't keep up with you. Being with you is like walking through Disneyland as a kid. At least, that's what I imagine it's like. Too many things to see and hear and consume."

"Fuckin' A. We should totally go to Disneyland!" Her eyes widen with excitement, and I have to clutch my stomach from laughing. "You've never been?"

"I have not." I pull her deeper with me inside the water, more spilling out of the tub. She giggles and squeaks, trying to pull herself out of my grasp.

When we settle again, she says, "As a little girl, my dream was to get married to my own prince in front of the big castle. As I got older, that memory faded, and I no longer want a prince. I realized that they're boring and bland."

"So what do you want?" I ask, pulling her close to my chest, letting her head rest on my shoulder.

"The villain." She rubs her cheek against mine, letting out a soft moan at the feel of my stubble. "A villain could show me a good time, I'm sure."

I wrap my arms tighter around her chest. She has no idea that the man who is holding her right now is one of the most wanted villains of the United States. They've been after me―The Sculptor―for over ten years now, with no leads whatsoever and absolutely no way of ever stopping me.

"We really should go to Disneyland, Professor. I could suck your dick on one of the rides. It'd be a dream."

"You filthy girl," I mumble in her ear, biting her lobe. "All this soap couldn't clean you." I grab a sponge from beside us and dip it into the bubbles, then start rubbing it all over her body.

A satisfied hum vibrates against me, and it makes me smile again. I rub the sponge against the insides of her thighs underneath the water, and her body relaxes even more than it already did. It's like she melts, our bodies fusing together as one. "Tell me about more of your dreams."

She hums. "I have so many."

"I want to know them all."

She takes a deep breath. "I want to travel the world. Get inspired by the beauty of different cultures and climates. See beautiful art and sculptures and museums."

I listen intently, smiling when she goes on and on. "I want to see everything. Hear everything, keep losing myself in beautiful music. I want to become an artist that's so good that people from all over the world will come over to admire my work. I want to fuck and I want to love." She pauses, letting out another deep sigh, one that contains hope for the future. "I want to live ."

"Those are beautiful things to look forward to. Realistic, too. You'll get to do them all. You'll be a famous artist one day."

"Like you," she adds.

"No, not like me." I shake my head. "Better."

We stay that way for a while, me holding her with my hand resting over her heart, feeling her heartbeat as we continue the conversation. "What's your favorite place on earth?"

"The record store," she immediately answers, yawning. "Or my studio at my parents' house. Both are places where I feel safe and content."

Her breathing slowly turns shallower, and I know she's on her way to unconsciousness. "Little nymph," I whisper in her ear. "Don't fall asleep yet. Let me carry you to bed."

All I get in answer is a groan and I grin amusedly. She shakes herself out of it and I help her get out of the tub. Her eyes are lidded with sleep and the tips of her brown hair are wet. Droplets of water trail down her bruised body, evidence of our wild night visible all over her flesh. I quickly grab a towel from beneath the sink and wrap it around my body before I start drying her off.

She lets me do it, too tired to do it herself, but I think she also just enjoys it when I take care of her. When she's all dry, I grab a bottle of ointment and squeeze a generous amount on my hands, rubbing them together. I sink to my knees, moving my hands between her thighs and spreading the product over her skin, my fingers rubbing over her sore pussy.

I don't miss the catch of her breath when I do it, and she immediately shakes fully awake, ready for another round. Shaking my head, I tell her no. "It's time for sleep now, angel. Sleep is just as important as aftercare. Besides, we have a long day ahead tomorrow."

"Do we?" she asks curiously.

"Did you think I was going to waste even a second of having you here?"

"What are you going to do to me?" she teases, her hands threading through my hair. Despite her being so tired, there is still that spark in her eyes that promises unholy things.

When she's all lathered up with ointment, I clean my hands with a towel, then get up from the floor. "Bed. Now," I say strictly.

She rolls her eyes. "Okay, Professor. You're so bossy."

I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder with ease, her legs kicking behind her. The bedroom is just across the hallway, so I throw her onto the bed within a few seconds. She lands on the mattress with a jump, then immediately spreads her legs and raises her eyebrows, inviting me in.

She is going to be the death of me.

"Come on," she whines. "Fuck me to sleep. Think of it like you're singing me a lullaby or reading me a bedtime story."

I shake my head in disapproval, but I'll do what she asks of me anyway. I can't say no to her.

Before I get into bed, though, I hesitate. An unfamiliar fear slams into me.

No one has ever stayed in my bedroom before―in this bed. I only allow women into my Red Room. I have also never slept with anyone before. I'm all for aftercare, but sleeping in one bed with someone, cuddling up… That's a form of intimacy I could never make myself do. When I tried in the past, it felt like I was being consumed by an inferno of broken recollections and traumas.

I'm getting lost in my head before I feel a soft hand grab mine. "Hey," she softly says, her voice sweet and understanding. "Where did you just escape to?"

It's incredible how just the faintest touch of her skin against mine has the ability to pull me out of it. It has all faded away, all the concerns, all the memories of me trying to live a normal life, but never succeeding.

"Nowhere." I crowd over her naked body and she instinctively widens her legs.

"Sleep?" she asks.

"Bedtime story first," I murmur against her lips before I push my tongue inside. My cock is a throbbing ache, in desperate need of wanting to be used, even though it's completely sore.

"Oh, fuckin' A," Daisy moans. "I love a good bedtime story."

I sink inside of her right as that sentence leaves her mouth and fuck her to sleep just like she wanted me to.