My mouth breaks away. “Not yet, my girl.”
Pulling all the way out, I use my palm on her, teasing her engorged clit that little bit more before putting my fingers back deep inside her. But I want this to last, want her squirming below me, screaming for me before it’s fucking over.
Deep inside her wet cunt, I circle my fingers. She moans into my mouth as our lips meet again, her hips rocking to meet me, to get more of me as her tight muscles pull me in again.
A fist pounds on my door, interrupting it all. Those soft hands pull back from my face. Her head snaps away. Wide eyes are all I see in the dark, focused on the door and how the wood rattles when it bangs again.
“Dollie?” Shane calls from the other side.
“Stop,” she whispers, eyes back on me. “You have to stop, Ambrose.”
But she’s so close, it’s easy to tell by how she pants out my name.
My fingers don’t stop, swirling inside her over and over until her eyes flutter.
Even then, she whispers, “Now. You have to stop now.”
I hear the words, but they don’t register.
Pushing herself up, her tiny hands wrap around my wrist, her nails digging in and stopping my hand from moving inside her.
It snaps me out of my trance.
“Please, I said stop.”
It feels like cold water was thrown on me from somewhere. Perspiration drips down my torso as I reel back and pull my fingers out of her, falling to my heels. I slump there as she jumps from the bed and adjusts her shorts.
Stalling at the door when it pounds again, she turns to me. Even in the dark room, the panic in her eyes is obvious.
“Just a second,” I call out with a strained voice in response to Shane’s lack of patience.
“What am I gonna say? What am I gonna do?” she whispers so low, I only just catch it. “He’s gonna know something happened if he sees me in here.”
Forcing myself from the bed, too many thoughts try to hold me back as I take a step toward her.
She told me to stop, and I kept going.
I swallow down the vomit I feel rising up my throat. The bitter taste makes it to my tongue and clings there, but no chunks make it to my already ruined carpet.
I step in the pizza, forcing it deeper into the fibers.
As I move, cruel thoughts ride the wave of self-hatred that makes it to my brain.
You’re no better than that fuckwit clown. She didn’t want you touching her, and you did it anyway. You’re just like him.
Shaking my head, my brain doesn’t spare me a moment’s peace. I retreat to silence, not having any words to make things right between us right now.
“I don’t know what to do.” She still looks to me for answers, even after what I just did.
Knowing it well enough to do it in the dark, I release the lock on the secret door.
Whispering again, she asks, “You think I should go in there? In the walls? But it’s so dark. There could be spiders.”
Removing myself from her space, I clutch my phone from the nightstand and type a quick message with no contact to receive it.
Ambrose:
Use the light on this and follow the tunnels to the stairs. Be careful, they’re narrow. Look for little catches that’ll open the doors. The kitchen or music rooms are the easiest. Leave my phone somewhere down there. I’ll find it later.
