Devoured Book 1 - Page 23

To a house where I’m expected to do as I’m told, but still.

After I open up an Internet radio station, I flip my suitcase open and set about the tedious task of pulling my clothes down from the hangers and neatly storing them into the bag. As I work, I sit as many of my black items of clothing aside.

Black drop waist dress that I’ve only worn once.

Ankle pants and a tight black cardigan, a lace edged camisole.

The flutter sleeve top I wore when I first came her and the 4-inch pumps that Tori swears make my legs look amazing but I’ve always been skeptical because they boost me up to well over 6 feet. The tweed pencil skirt, too, which is charcoal gray, but I doubt he’ll notice.

The music straining softly from my laptop switches to another song—an older Your Toxic Sequel s.e.x ballad called “Crave It”. Automatically, the corners of my lips drag up into a nervous smile because of the irony of it all.

“I’ll hold out ‘til you crave it,” Lucas Wolfe sings and tingles that border pain and pleasure streak through me, from my ni**les to between my legs.

“Ten days,” I muse aloud. “I can hold out on your a.s.s for ten days.” I pad into the bathroom, shrugging out of the spaghetti strap tank top and shorts I wore to bed last night. The tips of my thumbs skim over the dampness in the skimpy pink shorts, and I s.h.i.+ver. “I mean, I’ve worked for Tomas for more than 10 months.”

Of course, Tomas is a short, balding guy p.r.o.ne to temper tantrums and breaking things. Lucas Wolfe is a rock G.o.d with the ability to inspire spontaneous wetness just by me listening to him over Internet radio. Lucas Wolfe is a gorgeous and infuriating and unavoidable man p.r.o.ne to . . .

Dominant behavior.

Pressing my forehead against the shower wall, I support myself with my forearm and let the downpour of water beat down upon me, first icy cold and then so hot my skin screams. Neither really bothers me at all. My mind focuses on Lucas, on whether today and the nine following it will work well in my favor.

I’m still thinking of Lucas when my fingertips push past my damp folds, seeking out my swollen c.l.i.t. My breath catches in my throat as I draw the sensitive flesh between my thumb and forefinger, carefully rubbing my fingers in a back and forth motion. Slip and slide. Forward and back. My knees buckle, and I moan. Trailing my fingers away from my c.l.i.t, I slip two inside of me, moving against them. My hipbone beats against the tile wall but I imagine it’s Lucas’s body touching me, his hands digging into my hips as he plunges his c**k into my tightness.

I sink my teeth into the wrist of the arm supporting me to hold back a sob. When I think of his face hovering above mine—and his sweat-dampened hair clinging to my wet skin—I come quick and hard. Slumping, I reach up and grab the shower bar for support. I tell myself that by getting this over now I won’t want him. I won’t let myself be sucked in by the inevitable that he swears by.

But d.a.m.n me, he’s still on my mind as I send Tori a message, a brand new lie for yet another person I care about. Hey, I’m still alive. Still immune to Lucas’s charms. Still . . . well, you get the picture. I’ll call you when I get the chance—things are busy around here what with everything going on. Miss you.

I dress in the ankle pants, the cardigan, and the camisole—all black, just as he’s requested.

And I wear red underwear beneath my clothes.

†

My grandmother insists on preparing breakfast for me, though to be honest, I’m not the least bit hungry. I feel nervous about lying to her. And sick to my stomach whenever I think about the next week and a half. There are millions of tiny b.u.t.terflies in the pit of my stomach, swarming around, making me more and more nauseous as the time seems to zoom by.

6:02.

“I’ve left some clothes in the closet, for my return, so don’t give them to Goodwill, okay.” It’s my best attempt to lighten the dark mood that hovers over the dining room table and a poor attempt at that.

Gram smiles, genuinely, and the corners of her blue eyes crinkle. G.o.d, Kylie was right about one thing—there is nothing that’s not worth seeing my grandmother face light up that way.

“So you’ll certainly be back then,” she replies, taking a sip of her black coffee. I can’t mistake the relief in her voice or how her face seems less strained once her smile fades.

“There’s nothing that can stop me. And then we’ll fix things.”

She laughs. “If determination could win this thing we would be set, sweetheart.”

That’s something else that I’ll have to work on while I’m with Lucas—coming up with what to tell Gram when I suddenly show up with the deed to her house and, quite literally, save the day. I nearly groan out loud because it means I’ll have to tell Gram more lies and dig myself deeper into holes I prefer not to sink my shovel into.

6:37.

“Determination and hope have won wars,” I say and Gram just smiles, granting me one of those looks she gave me when I was younger and I came up with wistful dreams. While my mom shot them down, my grandmother nurtured it. Even if she didn’t believe something was possible, she never let me know that.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

More than you’ll ever know.

6:45.

†

The cab driver seems skeptical about taking me to an address that’s in Green Hills, the ritzy part of Nashville, especially since Gram tells me to have a safe flight right in front of him. I tell him I’ve got to make a stop to visit a friend, and that they’ll take me to the airport, though I don’t know why I feel the need to explain myself to him. The long driveway to the palatial corner lot mansion is gated, but Lucas quickly answers the intercom.