She blinks but something inside of me loosens when she gives a small nod and leans into my touch. The youthful part of me, the side most people frown at, feels like a superhero.
My room is a bit of a mess. The bed’s unmade. Sheets of music lay scattered by my guitar and every surface is littered with fidget toys and a variety of things I’ve taken out and forgotten to put away. Eventually the clutter will get to the point that I can’t stand it anymore and I’ll start a big clear out that I’ll abandon halfway through till Oz quietly turns up to help.
I know it’s the ADHD, but a blush heats my cheeks as I usher Freya inside. I snatch the clothes off the chair in the corner and sit her down. “Sorry about the mess,” I mutter, but I needn’t have worried. Freya’s eyes are glazed over. She’s not paying attention to the state of my room. “Hey,” I say, raising my hand to dry her cheeks with the soft edge of my hoodie. “Come back to me, Angel.”
Freya blinks a few more times before her eyes focus on me and she lets out a shuddering breath.
“There you go.” I rest my hands on her knees, rubbing soft circles against her jeans. Her hands are still cuffed behind her, but she leans back into the armchair, little tremors running through her body.
“What happened?” she asks.
“You, uh, got a little violent with Eli. Not that I blame you, I’ve wanted to claw his eyes out a time or two before.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. “He called me a murderer.” Her words are so soft I don’t think she meant for me to hear them. My hands tighten on her legs, and I have to force myself not to storm out of here and finish what Freya started. She needs mehere right now. “Eli has his own issues, Angel. He shouldn’t have said that.”
“I hurt people.”
“Hey, look at me.” I grip her shoulders and sit her up straight. “You were raised by a serial killer. You were just as much his victim as they were.”
She shakes her head but I’m not having it.
I curl my hand around the back of her neck and sink my fingers into her hair, holding her still. “Did you choose to cut those women, or did he make you?”
Freya wets her lips and I’m momentarily distracted before I draw my gaze back to her eyes. “Answer the question, Angel.”
“He made me. It started when I was seven. One cross for every year I’d been alive, like some sort of twisted birthday candles.”
Jesus Christ.My childhood was far from perfect, but I can’t even begin to imagine the trauma Freya’s been through. It’s a miracle she’s sitting here in front of me.
I kneel between her legs and cradle her face in my hands. “You are not to blame. Say it, Freya. It’s not your fault.”
Freya’s throat bobs and another tear falls down her cheek. “It’s not my fault.”
I say it again, just to make sure she really hears it. “It’s not your fault.”
We sit there for a long moment, her letting the words sink in and me getting distracted by little details. Freckles scatter across the bridge of her nose, but one is further out than the others, just to the edge of her left eye. A single tear catches on her lashes and when I go to brush it away with my thumb Freya sucks in a sharp breath. I’m worried I’ve scared her, but her gaze drops to my lips, heat blooming behind her emerald eyes.
I should back away, she’s vulnerable right now but then she opens her mouth. “Hey Jude, are you going to kiss me or what?”
I curl my hand back around her neck and pull her towards me. My lips press against hers, just a whisper at first then harder, hungrier. I pause for a second, checking to see if she pulls away but she leans into me, opening her mouth and asking for more.
I comply, diving in and tangling my tongue with hers. Gone is the scared little girl from a moment ago, Freya meets me stroke for stroke. I twine my fingers through her hair, positioning her just how I want her.
She tries to press her legs together but I’m in the way.
I pull back from the kiss and trail my hands down her thighs to her knees.
“Undo the cuffs,” she pants.
I run my hands back up her legs, sweeping my thumbs out teasingly close to where her thighs meet her core.
She shudders. “Jude, please.”
“I don’t know, Angel. Normally, the cuffs are more River’s thing but there’s something about seeing you this way, spread out before me like a feast.” I press my hand to her chest. Her eyes flare as I gently push her back until she’s resting against the chair. I brush my knuckles over her breast and her nipple pebbles hard enough I can see it through her top.
My cock swells but I barely even notice it, I’m too busy watching the way her mouth falls open and her back arches. I bring my hands back down and she gasps as I tug on her waist, sliding her hips to the edge of the chair. I lean down and press my lips to the soft skin of her stomach where her shirt has ridden up. My fingers pause at the button of her jeans. “Say ‘red’ if you want me to stop, okay?”
She moans.
