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“You touched me while I slept?”
One side of his mouth kicks up. “You could say that.”
“But I was a virgin last night. You couldn’t have fucked me while I was asleep because I bled last night.”
My eyes move to Ryker’s mother. I don’t know if she can hear or even understand what we’re discussing, but even if she can’t, I don’t feel comfortable having this conversation in front of her.
Ryker doesn’t seem to have the same self-conscious problem because he says without any compunction, “I didn’t fuck you, but I made sure my cum still went inside you. I played with every inch of your body. I ate you and played with your little pussy until you creamed all over my face. Then with your cunt soakedwith your juices, I slid my cock between those pretty slick lips and jacked off. When it was time for me to release, I put the head of my cock right at the little hole in your hymen and made sure every drop went inside.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “You’re a sick fuck.”
I feel violated in the most personal way. Iwasviolated. I wasn’t conscious to give my consent, and Ryker took advantage of that. Didn’t just take advantage. He ensured I wasn’t awake to protest.
You wouldn’t have protested anyway, my mind reminds me.You begged him to fuck you out at the cliffs and again on the balcony at the church.
It doesn’t fucking matter what my idiot brain says. The point is, during those times I was unconscious, I wasn’t aware of what was being done to me.
It’s all so fucked up. What he did to me. What he took from me.
But the part that’s truly disturbing, what leaves me horrified?—
“I may be a sick fuck, but what does it say about you that you’re creaming your panties as you sit there thinking about what I did to you while you slept? Don’t pretend to be a prude, Vicious. I’ve seen the books you read. I’ve seen the paintings you hide from the rest of your family. I know your secret desires. You and I aren’t so different.”
I want to tell him he’s wrong. To deny the unwanted but undeniable secret cravings I keep hidden. To ignore the fact that he’s right and that Iamwet right now. I should do all of those things. I should be disgusted with myself, and part of me is. But a bigger part, the part I fear is bigger and badder, won’t let me.
So I don’t tell him he’s wrong, but I also don’t confirm he’s right either. Instead, I pick up my fork, turn my eyes away from him, stab a piece of egg, and stuff it into my mouth.
Yes, I’m a coward, so sue me.
After breakfast isover and after Beatrice, Vivian’s nurse, wheels her from the room, Ryker gets to his feet and holds out his hand. “Come. I want to show you something.”
I eye his big, veiny hand, not excited about taking it, but I’m picking my battles. So, after finishing the last dregs of my coffee, I toss my cloth napkin on the table and place my smaller hand in his. I feel like a child with how big his is compared to mine.
He leads me from the library, and we go toward the back of the house.
“Where are we going?” I ask. I have no particular reason to be nervous, but suddenly I am.
“You’ll see.”
And I do, after his determined strides take us through the kitchen, where Susie is preparing the menu for the next few days. He seems to be set on a mission because Susie and I only have enough time to smile at each other before he’s pushing open another door.
I come to a complete stop, my mouth dropping open in surprised stupefaction. Three of the four walls, excluding the one where the door is we just came through, is floor-to-ceiling glass. I’m utterly amazed and captivated at the view on the other side of the glass. It’s apparent this side of the house faces the cliffs, because the view, for as far as the eye can see, is nothing but clear-blue sky and the beautiful ocean beyond. The floors are a shiny black tile, and the ceiling matches in color, but not shine.
All around us, there are blank canvases of all shapes and sizes. A couple of tables hold stacks of paints in little bottles and jars. There has to be every color ever created. The same couldbe said with the brushes and charcoal pencils. There’s a ton of them, all in different sizes and brand names. On the other side of the room, there’s another table, this one holding supplies that I recognize from my art room at home. Against the wall beside it, there’s a large stack of canvases. The one in front is a painting I did several months ago, which makes me believe the ones behind it are other ones from home. Two easels sit directly in front of the largest wall of glass.
“The glass is tinted and can be adjusted to whatever works for you,” Ryker says behind me.
I spin around and face him. “You had everything in my art studio brought here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He pushes his hands into his pockets. “Art is your passion, something you enjoy immensely.”
I ignore the butterflies that swarm in my belly at his statement. “How did you do all of this? I only got here yesterday.”
“Marcelo went back to your parents’ house after he brought you here. He delivered everything this morning.” He tips his head toward the new stuff. “As for the rest, it was delivered months ago.”