Sparrow(19)

I practically jumped up and down in my seat next to Troy. He shook his head and ignored me for the most part, but occasionally, I’d glance sideways and catch him grinning to himself.

Something in him had cracked. I could feel it, and despite my best intentions to stay away, to protect myself, it stirred something in me. Did he feel it, too? Did he care?

In the elevator, I studied his face, drinking in his reaction. Searching, guessing…

“You care.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed.

Yeah, he definitely cared.

Even though I wasn’t tired, I danced my way upstairs and into the bedroom. Troy was left behind to get himself another whiskey and to lock the front door. He had a habit of checking all the rooms in the apartment, looking for God knows what before he went to bed every night. I’d heard him when I was pretending to be asleep.

I guess I, too, should have been worried about my safety, but everything about his security measurements pissed me off.

And especially Connor, my very own guard dog.

I felt Troy enter the bedroom, my back to him, a few minutes later. I was pulling my PJ’s out of my drawer, just about to go into the bathroom and change.

The thing about Troy was that he always walked into a room bringing the atmosphere he wanted to convey. Like a human thermostat, he not only controlled every situation, but also the mood you were in. Sometimes he brought anger and rage, sometimes gloom, sometimes terror and very rarely something positive and hopeful.

Tonight, he brought lust.

He took a step toward me, and then another one.

More heat gripped my body. I blamed adrenalin and the damn alcohol—I’d downed three more drinks while Troy and Pierre were tasting my food. The drinks and the rush from my new job were a lethal combination. Something buzzed in the air, something that made the space between my thighs quiver in response, a pool of heat washing over my lower belly.

I knew if I opened up to him, it would end in tears. The writing was on the wall, the text smeared in blood, no less. Stay away, Sparrow. Don’t let your curiosity get the better of you.

The floor-to-ceiling windows were fogged with condensation, and my breathing grew heavy. My back still faced him, and I knew that if I turned around, I’d cave. I was holding the top of a six-drawer dresser, the expensive kind, my feet still clad in those goddamned high heels. He closed the space between us and stood behind me, his body pulsing heat at mine, wave after wave.

But he didn’t touch me, and somehow, it made me want him even more.

My body froze, legs clenched together in fear and...No. He was corrupted. A monster. No.

My mind raced and I struggled to read my own feelings. He said I needed to reciprocate. But also that he wasn’t a rapist. That with him, I’d want it. So right. So wrong. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

“Bend over,” he ordered, his lips pressed behind my ear. I wanted to respond, but felt his fingers already moving down my back, unzipping my dress slowly, deliberately brushing my spine in the process. I leaned forward to take off my heels, and he yanked me closer to his body by my waist, my ass hitting his groin. “Leave them on.”

My dress fell on the floor, exposing my simple cotton underwear and matching white strapless bra. I stepped out of the pool of fabric beneath me. He kicked the dress into a pile and, still behind me, trailed one of his long fingers along my collarbone. A shiver tickled my skin, raising goose bumps in its wake.

“Spread your legs.”

I did.

He moved away from me for a second. My heart drummed fiercely with anticipation as I placed my palms on the dresser, my body bent and my ass up in the air. I heard something click and watched as his hand snaked from behind my back, reaching over my shoulder. He put his gun on the dresser top in front of me. His holster dropped to the floor with a thud. Still completely and impeccably clothed, he trailed his lips over my neck, just barely touching me.

My skin was on fire and I lowered my head, staring at our feet. I was so needy I thought I’d collapse.

“Hold the dresser real tight unless you want a busted lip. I don’t want you hitting something.” His hand covered my throat as he pulled me into his face.

I had no sexual experience to speak of. I didn’t know what was about to happen. But truthfully, I didn’t not want it to happen either. If there ever was a good night to do something with Troy, this would be it. Hell, I wanted to experience what other girls were having.

I gripped the edge of the dresser, sucking on my lower lip.

“How’s your magical period tonight?” he taunted into my ear.

I moaned, arching my back to meet more of his body. He shoved his huge, warm hand into one of my bra cups, massaging and tugging at my nipple. I groaned, not uttering one word.

“Tell me you don’t want this.” His tongue flicked over my earlobe as his hand moved down to my stomach, his rough fingers caressing my skin. His mouth traveled down my jawline, stopping inches from my lips. “Tell me that you’re not ready yet, that you want me to stop.” He nipped the tip of my chin seductively, and my head dropped backward, to his chest.

Suddenly, it felt so hot in the room I was barely able to breath.

I cleared my throat. “Would it even matter?”

He nodded yes into my shoulder, his firm body pressing into mine. I didn’t want him to stop, thought I’d die if his hands left my wanting body, but I hated to admit that he was right. I loathed him but loved his touch.

“Don’t stop,” I barely whispered, my self-control evaporating.

Troy dropped to his knees behind me, ignoring my silent plea for him to keep teasing my nipples. His head disappeared between my thighs, and then he tipped back his head, pressing his lips upward to my underwear. He kissed my opening through the cotton. A shudder ripped through me, head to toe. I gripped the bureau tighter.

“You’ve never had oral sex.” His voice was silk, traveling the short distance between my thighs to my pussy.

It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer. There was something intoxicating about seeing him below me like this, this powerful man, on his knees for me. His coal black hair contrasting with my white skin, his mouth so hot, so close…

“So this…” His long finger trailed between my folds, over my panties. “Has been waiting for me all this time. Did someone ever touch you there?”

I thought back to that awful day when someone did, despite my pleas, and all the days he did it over and over again after. I shook my head no, fighting my gag reflex. Brennan wouldn’t care, and it was too intimate to share with him anyway.

“You’re lying,” he said, hooking his index fingers into my underwear from each side, his voice suddenly harsh behind me.

Another statement.

His mouth was there again, between my thighs. I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my legs shaking. Desperate… wanting…falling in lust with this twisted man. One step from grinding my crotch against his face.

“I know how to smell bullshit from miles. So tell me now, who was it?” His warm breath felt good on my skin, especially as I could barely make out his face from that angle and didn’t know when it was coming. “Who was stupid enough to mess around with you?”

It sounded peculiar, even insulting—why would a guy be stupid to be with me? But at that moment, logic and thinking weren’t the thing on my mind. With my head hanging low, I felt the familiar burn behind my eyes and the lump in my throat.

“Paddy.” My voice thickened. “At his wedding. When I went to the girls’ room. Paddy Rowan touched me there. And many times after. It became a hobby of his at some point.” I swallowed a bitter lump. “I was only nine.”

I didn’t break down in tears. Instead, I delivered the information like I was talking about someone else’s problems, someone else’s sexual abuse. Maybe because I’d hidden it for so long, a part of me almost doubted it had really happened.

After all, no one knew. Not a soul. It went on for nearly a year, and yet, nobody knew. I couldn’t tell my father. He was working for Paddy and Cillian back then, and I knew how much he feared them and needed the paycheck. I had to choose between the truth and food on our table. So I kept it to myself.

Until now.

Admitting this to Troy made me feel more naked than I physically was—it was like giving up an imaginary bulletproof vest. A part of me wanted to see if it would push him away. After all, now I was damaged goods. Tainted by his father’s right-hand man. Troy’s shiny new toy was broken and cracked. Would it put him off? Would he back down? I wanted to know if taking off my armor would inspire him to shoot me where it hurt.

I peeked down to search his face, but he was still behind me.

"What did he do exactly?" He pressed his face to my panties, inhaling gently. He sounded composed and attentive, but clipped. Even though his voice barely gave him away, the sudden twitch of his hand caressing my lower stomach did the job. He was disturbed by what I’d said, but not disgusted by me.

I let out a relieved breath when I realized he wasn’t going to be snide or cold about my confession.

Human, after all.

"He..." I didn't want to elaborate, but not seeing his face when I spoke about it was liberating. So was getting this secret off my chest. "He didn't rape me. But he was violent. He shoved his fingers into me. He was drunk, and I was small. Paddy was one of my father's bosses. I didn't want to make a scene."