“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “I love how beautiful you are when you hurt.”
Thanks sounds stupid even in my head, so I don’t say a word.
He shrugs his suit jacket from his shoulders and drapes it over mine. I tug it tight around me and loosen my grip on his waist.
I drop to my feet, and he buttons me up. “This will have to do,” he says, and I nod. I don’t care.
I like being in his jacket.
The white of his shirt is easier to see in the moonlight. It’s easy to follow him with my hand in his.
He carries me down once we reach the steepness of the hill track, holding me tight as my pussy leaks all over him.
I feel it dribbling.
He doesn’t seem to care.
The streetlights are a welcome sight as we arrive back on the road. I can do it alone from here, wobbly legs perfectly able to carry me across the street to the truck.
I look around me. The houses are big here, perched right on the edge of the hill.
No sign of life. Nobody asking what we’re doing here, parked up so randomly in the middle of the night next to someone’s front garden.
His fingers graze my tit as he retrieves his keys from his jacket pocket. We’re right in front of a Neighbourhood Watch sign, but there’s nobody watching us. Not even a twitching curtain as his truck alarm flashes and bleeps.
Sure-footed. He was so sure-footed.
Knew just where to find me.
And just where to fuck me.
He knows this place.
Just like he knew the last one.
The tiniest shimmer of intuition, nothing more. It’s wild, but I go with it anyway.
“You live here…”
His eyes lock on mine. “Sorry?”
I gesture to the road. “You live here. This is your street.”
He pauses. Waits.
“I’m right, aren’t I? This is your street?” I spin on the spot. “We must be close. Are we close?”
I fix my eyes on a tall old place a few down. Maybe that one. Or maybe the redbrick place opposite, I think. Just far enough away to keep me off the scent.
But no.
He smiles a dirty smile. Gestures beyond the truck to the house right alongside us.
“We’re more than fucking close, Abigail. You’re standing on my driveway.”
Thirty-One
Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.
Khalil Gibran
Abigail
I stare dumbfounded at the property before us.
“This is yours?”
He nods. “Home sweet home.”
The place is gorgeous – period brickwork with big windows and an arched front door. Shrubs line the path to the doorway. The pane looks like stained glass, but I can’t be entirely sure in this light.
“It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” he agrees. He hovers by the truck, his eyes as dark as ever, his jaw tight.
He’s emanating tension. It makes my nerves spike.
“We should go,” I offer, but he takes a step forward.
“I want to show you something.” He takes my hand. Grips tight.
I follow in silence, terrified of breaking whatever moment this is we’re having. The revelations are rolling and I don’t want them to stop. I want to know the man behind the monster, stare into the shadows behind his eyes and uncover the secrets there.
He leads the way around the side of the house, unlatches a gate and steps on through. I’m excited. Nervous. My heart fluttering with every step. He flicks a switch on the wall and the whole place comes alive in front of me.
I can’t even breathe.
We’re on a balcony ledge staring over wrought iron railings. The view is breath-taking, just as it was up on the hills. Only this time there’s a tiered level down below, and that level has a swimming pool. It’s dotted with gold mood lighting. The water shimmers like it’s breathing.
“Wow,” I say. “Just… wow…”
He doesn’t say a word.
“Is this all yours?”
“I had it put in a few years back.”
“It’s incredible.” I can’t hold back a smile, can’t help wanting a swim in the darkness.
He knows it. “Be my guest,” he says and gestures down the steps.
I grip the railing tight on my way down. “Skinny dipping? You want me to skinny dip?”
I know he’s smirking behind me. “Unless you want to swim in my jacket.”
“Maybe you should stop tearing my clothes off me.” I laugh.
“Not gonna happen.”
Oh, how I smile.
I look around before I take the plunge. There’s a light on in a neighbouring house far above, but no other signs of life.
“You joining me?” I ask as he slips his jacket from my shoulders. He smirks as he drapes it over a railing.