CHAPTER TWO

ADDIE

––––––––

"Hey, you," I hit send on the text and wait with the phone in my hand, our chatroom open on the screen.

"Hey baby," comes his almost immediate response and my stomach does a little dance.

My heart floats in my chest, a giddy airlessness that never fails to make me lightheaded as I write back.

"I'm getting ready to head out. I'll be back in a week." I hit send on the message and wait.

I see the trio of dots ripple as he types, and I bite my lip in anticipation.

"What am I going to do for seven days without you?"

God, this man.

He's killing me. Making it impossible to go a day, an hour without seeing his words pop up on my screen.

It's the very definition of madness — being so completely and utterly in love with a man I'm hesitant to be with, but terrified of being without. He's become my whole world. The center of my universe and I can't even let him show me his face. I don't know his name beyond the one he uses in our chatroom — Atticus — or where he lives, yet I've cum so viciously on his cock I've seen stars. None of it makes sense, except I know that if I lost him, I would never recover.

"Get a break?" I say, trying to put humor in the situation because I can't ask him to come with me.

I can. I'm allowed one guest, but I doubt that means my masked stranger with his monstrous cock chasing me through the woods so he can fuck me when he catches me.

Still, that's a week with a man who only knows half of me and can only ever know that small piece. A week is too much time isolated together and too many opportunities to slip up. Plus, what if I accidentally say Rhys's name in my sleep? I have never even mentioned him to Atticus. He'll ask who Rhys is and I'll have to explain why I never brought him up and Atticus will finally realize I am a sick, fucked up person and leave.

And I will die.

It sounds dramatic, but the very thought of losing him guts me. It rips me apart. It's a pain I can't even explain into words, except I know I'm not strong enough to handle it.

It's why I haven't asked to see him since Halloween, why I haven't asked to see his face in nineteen months. If we submit everything, if I dive in, I have to let him into the other parts of my life. It'll become real and tangible. It'll be an actual relationship with all the trimmings. We'll go out. We'll meet each other's friends ... families.

I will have to explain why I live three hours away from everyone I love. I have to explain why I can't bring him home to meet Mom and Oz even though he knows I talk to my mom thirty times a day. I can't tell him it's because Rhys will be there. I can't tell him that it already feels like I'm being unfaithful to both of them, and I can't tell him why.

I can't tell him I let Rhys spread me open across the carpet to check how wet I was. I can't tell him I grinded my pussy into his cock, writing his name with my hips until I came soaking his crotch.

These are things you take to your grave but the second I see Rhys, I know it'll show on my face.

The second I see Rhys, I'll want him to finish what we started.

The phone chimes in my palm.

"I don't ever want a break from you, dimples," he's written back, using my username — using Rhys's nickname for me — and my insides twist.

My fingers squeeze the plastic until I swear I can hear it crack.

Why is this my life?

I feel the hot pinch of tears in my throat and have to suppress the urge to start bawling like a child.

Frankly, my life is wonderful. I love my life. I like my job — most days. I like my friends. I have an intense and vicious bond with my mom who is literally my best friend in the entire world, and I love my stepfather with my entire heart. I live in a cute, affordable apartment. And I am adored by a man who would walk on hot, broken glass for me.

It's selfish to want more, but I want Rhys. I want Atticus. I want Rhys without the pain and chaos it would cause. I want Atticus not to hate me.

I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood as my thumbs work over the screen.

"I don't think I can handle a break from you either."

"Fuck, baby."

I've heard him growl those words into my ear as he rode me violently against the wall, driving my clit back and forth across the handle of his knife. The memory rumbles across my brain now as I stand in the middle of my apartment, core throbbing.

Okay, so there is something seriously wrong with me. I don't deny that. I can't explain it, except that I must have been dropped on my head as a child and it fucked something up. But it's fine. I've managed to deal with it for the last twenty years without too many regrets.

No regrets.

One regret?

No.

Yes. Yes, definitely regret that night. At least, I should. A normal person would. They would have been horrified to even bring out the game never mind let herself get spread open.

"No, stop it!" I mutter to myself, fingers pinching the bridge of my nose as the vivid and erotic images threaten to take me back to that night, to the rough carpet beneath my knees and Rhys's thick, hard cock dangling over my upturned face.

But it was his eyes peering down at me, the hard clench of his jaw as he fought the hunger flaring his nostrils, furrowing his brows. He was doing everything he could to keep from touching me and that was all I wanted him to do. I wanted him to fist my hair and slam me down the veiny girth of his beautiful cock. I wanted him to use me to get himself off.

Up until that night, I'd never met a man I willingly wanted to blow. To fit his whole penis into my mouth and suck until he filled my throat with his hot, salty cum. Ironic that his would be my first. One of the few people I should never have looked at with lust and want in the first place.

I blow out a breath and focus on the stranger on my phone to find he'd sent another message.

"Just don't forget me."

The fact that he thinks that's something even remotely possible makes me want to laugh. I can't count the number of times I wanted to give him the address and had to stop myself.

I should let my masked stranger go. I should free him to find a woman worthy of him. But on top of being a vile human being, I'm also a selfish bitch, because the thought of him with another woman makes me think I would look damn good in orange. He's mine.

Rhys isn't.

He. Isn't.

He never will be.

But this guy, he's here. He cares for me. He stayed when he had no reason to.

After the party, after we were both too exhausted to cum again, he took an Uber with me to my place. I didn't ask him to stay. He didn't offer. He walked me to my door, kissed me like I was hogging all the air and waited for me to get inside.

I remember standing in the center of my apartment, heart breaking into a billion pieces as it registered that I would never see him again. He no longer had any reason to stick around. We fucked and fooled around in that basement for hours. Why would he want more?

The reality of the situation was clear: he could have anyone. Someone who let him take his mask off. Someone who wanted to know his name. Someone who he could fuck regularly.

What was I even offering beyond what I already just gave him?

The horror of that realization crushed me. It destroyed every shred of my confidence. I hated myself for being so stupid. I never should have given him so much of me that he could annihilate me so easily.

I was spiraling. I could feel myself coming apart at the seams when my phone chimed with his message.

"I already miss you so fucking much. Call me. I need to hear your voice getting home."

Just like that, he shredded my fears. He wrapped me back up and held me — metaphorically speaking — and he never left.

He doesn't ask me to give more than I can. He never judges me when I ask him to add one more thing to our list, no matter how deranged or weird it may be. He makes me laugh. He listens and comforts me, and I know if I text him right now and ask him to come to me, he would.

So, why not? Maybe this is the solution. Maybe this is how I'm supposed to get over Rhys once and for all.

Before I can second guess myself, before I can unfurl the mile long list of all the reasons why this is such a bad idea ... I send him the address.

"I don't want to be without you for seven days," I write.

I stow my phone away quickly into the side pocket of my duffle before the nagging voice at the back of my mind convinces me of what an idiot I'm being. I hook the strap over my shoulder and do a quick inventory.

The rest of my bags were already in my car. Mrs. Vega from across the hall has promised to watch my apartment and I'm not expected at work for the full seven days. I'm dressed comfortably for the four-hour drive in black flipflops, a black, plaited skirt and white camisole. I have my phone, wallet, credit cards, and eReader just in case; the contract recommended limiting our devices to a cell phone. Apparently the connection is spotty, but I never go anywhere without my books, especially not a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere.

I'm not going to lie, I was skeptical when Giselle, with her sultry voice, called to congratulate me on being the winner of an all-inclusive vacation. It sounded as scammy as all hell, but I'm not an idiot. I did my due diligence. I searched up Morning Glory, an all-women's wellness organization specializing in yoga, meditation, and spiritual retreats. The meadow is owned by the company, and they do the raffle once a year to send one winner to the cabin to enjoy seven days of spiritual release and grounding. I even pulled up the previous eight winners on social media and made sure they were still alive — they are. As an added bonus, I sent a copy of the contract they emailed me to Oz, Mom's amazing, brilliant and talented criminal attorney husband. Even he looked into the company just to be sure.

They're legit and I'm not passing up the chance for release.

I don't even care that I don't remember entering the raffle. I don't care if they got the wrong Adeline Broker. I'm going.

Sure, I've seen that movie, too. The one with the idiot girl wandering off into the woods alone to get away from whatever is happening in her life and winds up summoning a demon or getting chased through the wilderness by cannibals, but I'm okay with that. I've read Monster Smut. I know the way demons are built nowadays, and I haven't been eaten by anyone in months. I'll take what I can get.

I adjust the strap of my bag on my shoulder, take a final glance over the shoebox sized room and set off.

It's balmy despite the chill we're supposed to be getting. Autumn is taking its time tinting the leaves and the entire city is still basking in the harsh glow of radioactive sunlight that makes my eyes water as I jog to my black Subaru parked against the curb.

The bag is tossed into the backseat, and I take a few minutes to set the GPS on my phone. The coordinates I was emailed is a three-hour drive straight out of the city and deep into the wild. I add an extra hour for breaks and gas and estimate my arrival a little after one in the afternoon.

I text Mom quickly to let her know I'm heading out and she replies as I'm pulling into the morning traffic like she's been sitting with her phone in hand waiting.

"Text me when you get there."

I use the speech to text to send, "Will do. Love you."

I initially jumped at the idea of her joining me. A week of just me and Mom would be heaven, but she and Oz are currently on vacation for their ten-year anniversary in a whole other country and I'm not making her fly back to go on vacation with me even though Oz is a saint and wouldn't mind.

I place my phone into the holder mounted on the dash when a new message lights up my screen.

"Driving?" Butterflies dance in my belly with his follow up message. "Go Live."

I don't right away. The cars are moving around me, and I focus on driving for several blocks until I'm at another light.

The request shuts off my GPS, but I practically have the route memorized just in case and switch to the live option in our chat. His screen is black, but I can see the thumbnail sized video of me behind the wheel from the neck down. Not an intentional angle. Unlike him, he's seen my face, but the holder must have jostled down when I set my phone into it.

I leave it. Let him enjoy the swell of my breasts pushing against the lace cups of my camisole.

"Pull your straps down," his message instructs. "Show me your tits."

I bite my lip at the demand. I'm surrounded by other drivers. The flow is heavy, and my car is small enough to see into, especially since I don't have tinted windows.

But I know that's the point. It's on my fantasy list.

Fumbling, I work the thin straps down each arm slowly until they catch on my elbows and spill my breasts free for the viewing pleasure of anyone who happens to glance over.

I steal a glance at the car next to me but the woman in the passenger side seat has her head down, focused on her phone.

Still, my nipples tighten as if with anticipation. The tingle ripples down my spine to pool between my legs

"Play with them," I'm instructed.

"I'm ... I'm driving," I try to reason.

"You have two hands."

Every labored breath strains my chest, erecting the mounds proudly to the man watching me play with myself in the middle of traffic.

But I do it. I pull my right hand off the wheel and brush my thumb over the crest. I roll the peak and pinch the way I like to be teased. The sensation has my head swimming and my core pulsing. I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning even as my head falls back against the headrest.

I'm grinding against the leather seat. My thighs are rubbing together to ease the pressure building in my clit, but I need more.

"Lift your skirt, but don't touch her."

I can taste blood from the gash I'm cutting into my bottom lip with the effort to restrain myself, but I flip my skirt up over my stomach, exposing the pink laced panties covering my mound.

"Push it aside. Show me your pussy."

My hands are shaking as I drag the wet fabric to one side and part my thighs to show him my sex.

"Spread your lips."

God, I'm on fire. My skin is scorching despite the AC on high. My pussy is throbbing, begging to be filled, but I obey and use two fingers to spread my lips, baring my swollen clit to him.

"Stay like that."

"Like this?" I choke out, horrified and thrilled by the idea of driving through the city with my slit leaking across the seat and my clit just out for the world to see.

I want to touch it. I want to stroke my finger over the bump and down to where I need him. I want to fill the void and pump until I cum. But he's watching and more than my own release I want to please him.

"Pull over when you can. Take your panties off."

I don't for several miles. Miles where I drive with my tits out and my pussy open. When I finally get the chance, the fabric is soaked. The stain has turned the pink transparent and I hold it up for him to see.

"Fuck, you're such a messy girl. Put your finger deep in your cunt and show me how ready you are for my cock."

Still pulled onto the shoulder, I kick off my flip flops and lift my knees to my chest. It's tricky, but I press two fingers in and groan as they slide through the mess with ease.

"Oh God!" I whine, head falling back against the headrest. "Oh fuck. I'm so close."

I don't realize I've closed my eyes until I open them to see his commands.

"Do not cum."

I whimper, fingers ignoring him as they take what my body is desperate for.

"Stop. Now."

Wheezing, I jerk my hand back. A string of cream follows my fingers from where my pussy visibly contracts as if trying to latch on to the lost stimulation.

"Please. Please, I'm so close," I beg.

"Show me your fingers," he says instead.

I know he can see the tremor as I raise my hand to show him the glossy sheen coating my skin.

"Suck them like you sucked my cock after you squirted all over him."

My cheeks blaze with heat at the memory of his cock not only fucking me in front of the whole party but hitting something inside that sent a jet of clear liquid gushing out of me and all down my quivering legs. He'd torn my body in two and I didn't even know if I was standing anymore.

I was, but briefly before he shoved me clean onto my knees and grabbed my jaw, prying it open wide to shove his cock down my throat.

I took it. I wrapped him in my lips and tongue, and I sucked. I cleaned my release off his skin. I consumed every inch and matched his pounding hips driving deeper, bruising my face. His hold on my hair had tears springing to my eyes, ruining my makeup, but I didn't stop him, not even when he came, spraying the back of my throat with his thick, salty seed.

There's no hint of him on my fingers as I follow the memory into reality. It's just me coating my tongue and the words scrolling across my screen.

"Such a good cock sucker. You looked so good on your knees with my cum on your lips."

"Please can I cum?" I practically sob.

"Get back on the road. Skirt up. Top down."

It's four hours of this.

Four hours of being told to pull over and show him my wet cunt. To flick my clit and fill my slit until I'm so close I can taste it only to be stopped. My frustration is at an all-time high. I can barely stand straight when I stop to get gas. The fact that the nozzle started to look appealing is testament to my level of desperation.

"What if I lose signal?" I ask him sharply. "Will you leave me like this for seven days?"

"Yes. You promised me your pussy, remember? I can do whatever the fuck I want to it. It's mine. My toy to use and abuse. If I tell you not to touch her, do not touch her."

Asshole! I want to snap at him, but I love this. I love the wait and want. I love his authority and the power he wields over me with just his words.

I will wait the seven days if he tells me to. I'll be feral and ready to fuck the kitchen faucet by the end of it, but I'd wait.

True to my fears, I lose signal the deeper I rumble down a long, dirt road. The thicker the canopy of trees tightens around me, the less of civilization remains; even the radio dies at some point, plunging me into an all-encompassing silence you don't get to experience in the city.

It's not terrible. I grew up in the lush wilderness, enclosed from all sides by trees and mountains. I grew up barefoot, hair wild, running down uncharted paths for hours with Rhys.

But Pinecrest is still only twenty minutes away from the nearest town. We have full access to the radio, internet and electricity. We weren't so cut off that existing was a challenge.

But seven days without a phone? That's going to be an interesting week. It also reminded me that I didn't text Mom to let her know I'd arrived.

Mom doesn't hover. She's not the kind of parent who insists she know where we are at all times but if we tell her we'll text and don't, she will worry, especially if she tries to reach me and gets a dead phone.

Crap. Hopefully, she'll wait until morning before sending the swat team, or that Oz will remind her I'm going deep into the mountains and connection may be spotty. Oz can calm her down. He's very good at that.

A set of high, arch gates distract me as the forest parts, and they sweep into view. Brass beams intertwine in an elegant pattern of vines and flowers. They open to a winding road paved in dazzling white framed by miles of lush, vibrant green. At the heart, nestled at the center of Eden stands a modern style cabin of dark wood and tinted glass. All around it, flowers bloom and sway in the light breeze.

It's the most beautiful place I've ever seen.

Parking at the base of a set of wood steps, I cut the engine and hop out.

Even the air smells cleaner. Crisp and fresh. There's no sound, except my heartbeat. I don't think I've ever heard such an echoing silence or felt so small surrounded by so much.

Pocketing my keys, I reach into the backseat and drag out my duffle. The instructions for the alarm are in the manila folder I was sent after I returned the contract promising not to destroy the place.

A single set of silver keys slide into my palm with the notes, and I bunch them in my fist as I jog up the steps to the sheet of dark glass doubling as a door.

Not safe, in my opinion. Definitely wouldn't be able to get away with that in the city, but here with not a soul in sight, it made sense.

Also, the designer clearly has never seen a horror movie in their life, but that's not a me problem at the moment as I step inside and deactivate the alarm and take my first real look at the inside.

Gorgeous.

The wood and glass theme runs through the single floor space with bits of iron and marble. Most of the walls open to showcase the wide yawning of wilderness hugging the space. Even the ceiling over the loft containing a single, king bed is glass.

No. A mirror!

I laugh shortly thinking back on the website promising absolute release.

Now, I really do hope Atticus will join me. That mirror could definitely be interesting.

Biting my lip, I leave exploring for later as I hurry back to the car to grab my bags.