Chapter 6 - Vlad

The trip back home seemed to take longer than it usually did. There was no traffic or anything that might have slowed me down. There were no missed exits or me spacing off and not keeping the speed clocked to eleven. It just felt longer.

It may have had something to do with my not looking forward to getting home. It could have had to do with how I was still thinking about the woman who I'd left in that office—her eyes, the soft curve of her mouth, the way she knew just what to ask to get me thinking about things I'd rather fucking not think about.

She's a damn good counselor, I'll give her that.

Eventually, I pulled up to my long driveway and navigated the turns through the trees until I reached the property. There wasn't a garage, so I parked off to the side near Ivan's car. Oh, goody. They're home.

As soon as I got inside, the door smoothing shut behind me, and the auto-lock securing it immediately, I heard heavy footsteps hurrying toward the door. It only took a second to identify the pattern and that of the next set of steps that followed.

"There he is. How'd it go?" Ivan smiled easily enough as he walked up to me at the door.

I just eyed him, raising my brows and then immediately letting them fall into a scowl. Abe was right behind him, and he got the same treatment.

"Oh, come on. Nothing good came of it?"

I wasn't dignifying that with a response, text or otherwise. There was a damn good reason I didn't think about why I didn't speak. If everyone kept fucking bringing it up, I was going to do a lot more than just resign myself to being mute.

Ivan frowned, trying to snag my arm as I pushed past him. "Come on, Vlad. I just wanted to help."

With that, I turned around and faced him, jabbing a finger in his chest. As I met his eyes, I shook my head once. It was all that he was going to get and all that he should need to keep his fucking mouth shut on the subject.

"Vlad."

I didn't listen, not stopping for a second as I turned away and headed to the second floor so that I could hold up in my room undisturbed. Adley came down with the baby from the third floor as I hurried up the stairs. I just eyed her as I walked past the pool table.

"Hey, Vlad. Are you okay?"

She was the only person in this house that I was going to give so much as a pause to, and I just looked at her with a head shake. Adley frowned, and Grace started fussing in her arms as if sensing things. That was my cue to leave. I wanted nothing to do with babies, and I could already hear my brothers running up the stairs to try and talk to me some more.

I shook my head again as I rushed down the hall to my room. I was there before Ivan or Abe caught up with me, and right as I was pushing into the bedroom, I heard them both call out down the hall.

"Come on, you dick. Ivan hasn't shut up about this fucking session, and I need him to shut his yap."

Leave it to Abe to try being an asshole as a means of communication.

"Goddamn it, Abe," Ivan grumbled to himself, and then I could hear him easing his tone as he realized the baby was there. "Hey, sweetie. Vlad, please come down for dinner at least."

But I didn't stop; I just shoved myself inside my room and locked the door behind me.

Inside, I shuffled over to my bed, the low platform barely off the floor, and I let myself fall face-first into the mattress. I screamed into the covers without making a sound. I couldn't even bring myself to take ot the frustration with no one around to hear.

Because that was the rub.

Sure, I didn't speak to anyone, but I never talked to myself either. I wasn't even sure if there was a voice left inside my throat. If I did use it, I would undoubtedly sound gravely and beyond rough.

That was enough self-examination, though. I'd had plenty of that at the therapy office. I rolled over, staring at the ceiling as I lay in my unmade bed.

The room wasn't particularly decorated. The "décor" consisted of my bed, the small nightstand next to it, and the shelf of books stuffed in the corner on the other wall that wasn't glass. Books were how I filled most of my time. They were a quiet activity, and the characters in the stories could be ignored when they were pissing me off.

Much harder to do with brothers.

There was no rug. I didn't bother with curtains because I was usually waking up around dawn anyway, and I had one cable in here to charge my phone. That was it. And speaking of it, the good old Samsung probably needed to be plugged in.

Leaning over, I grabbed the charger and pulled out my cell to plug it in. With the thing set for the evening, I scooted to the foot of my bed so that I could grab a book from the shelf. I wasn't in the mood for pool with Abe, and I wasn't leaving this room, so I'd throw myself into a classic.

I snagged Dracula and brought it back to the bed, leaning against the wall and kicking off my shoes. It wasn't long before sitting around in my jeans was too uncomfortable, and I stripped down to my boxers so I could just pass out when I got tired enough.

Horror was a go-to of mine, and I didn't really care which author or type. Scary was scary, and that was really all I was looking for. I wasn't here to read romances or bullshit stories about a family dog. I didn't need a happily ever after. In fact, I hated them. Life didn't give you that shit, and I didn't want it in my fiction, either.

However, as the pages flew by, the story that usually entertained me, regardless of how many times I'd read it, wasn't doing the trick anymore.

My brain kept circling back to what we'd talked about in that damn session.

Something happened when I was a kid.

Yeah, something had happened all right, and I saw visions of it every damn night. The screams and blood haunting me all these years later. Worse—or maybe thankfully; it was hard to tell—I could also remember my mother's face as clear as day. She was beautiful, with soft brown hair and pale eyes that couldn't decide on green or blue.

And I had loved her more than anything in this damned world.

So naturally, the world had seen fit to take her from me in the form of my father. Thanks, Universe. Get fucked.

I shoved the book away with a sigh, shuffling down in the bed so that I was lying on my back. The ceiling was nothing much to look at, and yet, I was staring at it again.

What in the absolute fuck is wrong with you?

That was a loaded question, of course. There was quite a lot wrong with me from an objective standpoint, but I wasn't really concerned with what the shrink thought, or anyone else for that matter.

No, what was really plaguing me was that even after everything, after the memories of the past rushing up to the surface and threatening to choke me and the knowledge that there was absolutely zero chance that I was going back into that office and seeing Emory again, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Not for a single fucking second.

Every time I blinked, I saw her there—the swell of her hips, the way her warm tan skin glowed when I'd worshipped every inch of her, the way she tasted with her legs wrapped around my head.

My cock twitched beneath the fabric of my boxers, and I looked down at it with a sigh. As I quirked a brow, I shook my head.

I really don't have time for you, asshole.

But I was already knee-deep in visions of Emory dancing in my head like fucking sugarplums. I could feel her beneath me, the curves of her breasts absolute perfection as I sheathed myself deep inside her pussy.

I twitched again, and a low groan escaped me. I was reaching down and pressing the heel of my hand to my erection before I could even process what I was doing. The pressure was enough to ache, but I needed it— craved it.

I craved her, and it looked like there was no getting away from that fact right now.

"Ugh." I buried my face in my other arm as I let out the low noise.

I do not have time for this.

But then Emory was asking me for more and more, begging me to fuck her inside my head, and I couldn't turn off the vision that was playing on repeat.

It was broad fucking daylight outside, and it seemed odd to be thinking of her when there was still so much day left. But it was no use. I wasn't snapping out of it anytime soon.

With much more effort than I cared to admit, I dragged myself off the bed and walked into the en-suite without turning on the lights.

There was a single window in the shower, but the room was mostly dark when I got inside, which was exactly what I wanted. I didn't want to be doing what I was about to do with the sunlight streaming in.

At first, I half considered getting in the shower, but I didn't. I just sank to the floor, resting against the same wall with my bedroom on the other side. I sat there, my legs splayed wide, and for several long moments, I didn't move.

I wondered if the need to imagine her would fade and if the pictures in my head haunting me would get tired and fuck off for a while.

They didn't.

Emory was all I could see behind my lids as I pinched them closed. And it wasn't in that office of hers either. It was last night at the safe house, the way she'd been so beautifully submissive to me and let me lead.

I needed that. I needed to lead the situation because…well, because fucking trust issues, that's why.

The feeling of her body, the way her pussy squeezed around my cock flooded my mind, and at once, I was harder than a damn diamond. My head fell back against the wall with a solid thunk , and I groaned low as I dragged my hand off the floor and up onto my leg.

You can stop this. Come on, Vlad.

But I really couldn't, and before I could try for another pep talk about getting soft, my grip had found my cock over my boxers. I squeezed tight enough to make it hurt, just keeping the pressure turned up in some vain attempt to end things here.

Yet again, it didn't work. In the quiet of the bathroom, I reached inside the opening of my boxers and freed my erection. The tip was already moist with precum, the liquid smearing across my palm as I rolled my hand over the head.

I wouldn't open my eyes, still lifting my chin toward the ceiling and imagining Emory. And I just squeezed. I gripped so fucking hard, remembering that sinful beauty's pussy and how fucking tight it had been.

I had the sneaking suspicion that she hadn't been big on sex and that I may have been her first in quite some time. I'd gone slow, letting her adjust to my size as I sheathed my cock inside her up to the hilt. Her smooth skin had felt like heaven beneath my palms, and I'd taken my fill of gripping her round ass.

God damn, and the way she tasted.

Warming up Emory with my tongue had been beyond entertaining, her sweet cries of pleasure echoing around us in the minimally furnished room. She'd been dripping when I'd licked my tongue through her slit, gathering up that delicious slick and swallowing it down.

I'd heard plenty of nonsense from other guys in the field that they hated going down on a woman—probably because they were lazy fucks all about their own pleasure. Me? I fucking adored it.

Licking up all that goodness was a pastime I could spend hours doing, and it was all the better for the way Emory's nails had dug into my scalp as the pleasure boiled over.

Fuuuck.

I dragged out the word in my thoughts, unable to stop myself from fucking into my fist.

I didn't relax my grip. I forced my cock through the tight opening I'd created, relishing the way it eased the burn and made it ache all the more. I wasn't looking for soft or easy. I wanted that hungry part of me that wouldn't let go of Emory to have to earn every second of pleasure it got.

Still, that needy throb in my shaft pulsed harder, begging for me to speed up, to squeeze tighter, to deliver whatever it needed to finally come.

My brain filled with more images of Emory, more memories of watching her through my lashes as I speared my tongue deeper into her pussy. She'd fluttered against my lips, that tasty arousal pouring from her. It had been a damn treat to slide my fingers inside her and find her G-spot because she'd come right then and there, flooding my mouth with her taste.

Dammit. God fucking dammit.

Groaning as I turned my face to the side and buried it down into my shoulder, I pummeled into my fist harder, shoving myself to the brink before backing off. I was keeping myself right on the edge of release, and every second I dragged it on—stopping to grip the base of my erection hard enough to turn my knuckles white—the impending climax reached higher.

Usually, if I was going to do this, I watched porn. But the movie in my head was better than anything I'd watched, but I did take a few hints from what I'd seen in some of the clips.

As I gripped the base, I smacked my cock down against my leg, making the head burn with each impact. The pain was delicious, ramping up the need to come. After a few seconds of it, I switched things up, rolling my hand over the head in quick circles that made my oversensitive nerves flare.

The effort to keep myself from coming is so damn much, and every bit of my body is aching for that release. I stroke slowly up my shaft, imagining Emory taking me down her throat. She'd also clearly not done much of that, and it had been a damn delight to watch her struggle to take me.

You're doing so well, gorgeous. Taking me so well, like my good, good girl.

I'd wanted to say the words so desperately that I'd almost broken down and screamed them out. Almost. As it was, the need to make Emory feel wanted—like she'd done a good job—had been nearly paramount, and I'd stroked her pretty cheek as she'd bobbed her head up and down my shaft.

"Ugh," the low groan was the only sound, and I finally gave in and stroked my erection hard and fast.

The sensations were intoxicating, and my head kicked back with a hard slam on the wall as I brought myself right to the edge of an orgasm. I squeezed the base again, the pressure blindingly intense.

As I pictured Emory's sweet pussy wrapped around my cock, I stroked forward just once. It was more than enough to have me coming all over my damn hand and legs. Hell, even the floor. In fact, I didn't think I'd ever come that much.

Ragged breaths rocked through me as I tried to blink my vision back into working order. The world was a hazy mess as I came back to myself, and I was even shaking.

Christ, you're sitting on the damn bathroom floor with a mess all over the fucking place. Ugh .

I stood up, a little less stable than I'd like to admit, and pulled off my boxers, using them to clean off my hand and a bit of the floor. Of course, it wasn't a foolproof system, and I had to grab a washcloth from the drawer to clean up the rest.

After cleaning myself as best as I could, I hopped into the shower, hoping to rinse away the remnants—along with the growing shame I felt over jerking off to my damn shrink.

She's not your shrink. You're not going back.

The water helped to clear my head, but only slightly. When I was finished soaping it up and drying outside the shower, I put on a new pair of boxers for the evening.

Reminder to self. Do the laundry yourself.

All I had left was to get into bed, and for some reason, I already knew that sleep wasn't going to come easily tonight. Sure, I'd gotten off, but the nightmares were brimming right there at the edges of my conscious brain. Whenever something made me think about the past—even for a moment—it was enough to have me up all night remembering things that should stay buried.

Sweet fucking dreams, Vlad. Hope you enjoyed the release. That's the last fun you'll be having today .