Page 5

5

Calista

I slept on the couch; that was after I placed the rocking chair in the doorway to the hall. As if that would stop a man like him from getting to me. I think because of that I didn’t sleep very well.

As the sun begins to creep through the windows, I start to wake, albeit groggily. It takes me a few groans and moans to fully situate myself in the moment. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I hunch over and bury my face in my hands. The events of the night before flash through my mind like a movie—albeit a scary one—but because I’m sick, I enjoy every second of it.

That man is a fucking gladiator. He must work out every day without fail because there’s no way his muscles don’t have muscles of their own. The nipple piercings, adorned with the same jewels I wear, caught my attention just as mine had caught his. Along with his defined ‘V’ that led straight to a ride I know would satisfy me to no end, I'm surprised I didn't start drooling.

When he had me pick up his towel, I seriously contemplated accidentally knocking my head against his cock. Though I kept my eyes closed like the scared bitch I was, I could still smell his musk mingled with cedar body wash.

I’ve not had sex in several months, and I’m a horny slut.

He exudes danger—no, he screams it. I have no doubt that his hand could easily wrap around my throat, and with just a simple squeeze, threaten my life.

I’m messed up. My good girl appearance is nothing but a facade. I crave the violence that comes with danger. It’s not entirely my fault, or at least I don’t think it is. I shouldn’t feel a rush of arousal at the thought of him stomping on me. But did I secretly hope he would place his bare foot on my shoulder and shove me down onto the towel last night?

Yup .

Did I hope he would have found me attractive enough and, like in those books Gene tells me about, come into the living room and fuck me while I was sleeping?

Yup .

I’m sick, just like they said I’d be. He probably has some disease.

I’m here for a reason and need to stay focused on it.

Knocking off the knitted blanket, I head into the kitchen. I know there’s a coffee machine in here. I just need to find it and pray to some god that it still works. Maybe I should pray to the one sleeping in the master bedroom.

After rummaging through half the cabinets, I finally locate it—dusty and forgotten. This will be the first thing I replace; I need my single-cup maker. If that makes me a snob, so be it. Pots of coffee go to waste, and I only drink one cup to avoid messing with my energy for the rest of the day.

As I scour the rest of the kitchen, my heart sinks. I find absolutely no coffee. I’d even drink the expired stuff if it came to that. I need it to get through the day and face—

“I swore I told you to be gone.”

My head snaps back and my shoulders stiffen. Swallowing, I slowly turn to face the man whose voice sounds like he’s summoning a thunderstorm.

The rocking chair has been moved aside, and I can’t help but feel a jolt of terror at how quietly he must have done it. He runs his hands up through his short black hair, rubbing the shaved sides, and when his piercing blue eyes meet mine, I notice faint red lines spreading into the whites. I’d assume he’s hungover, but as he strides toward me, he doesn’t stumble or bump into the counter.

“You can’t kick me out of my own house.” I’m not as aggressive as I was last night with my responses. He just surprised me, and I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I’d be for an encounter like that. “You should go.” I wish my voice carried more confidence, but it only echoes my vacillation.

“Call Eamon.” He invades my personal space, reaching past me to open the cabinets. We aren’t touching, but I can feel the heat radiating off him, sending a wave of unease through me. It’s like a warning, daring me to run before he burns me.

Ironic, really .

“How about—” My words cut off as he swings open the cabinet right at my head. Thankfully, I’m short enough to duck a bit and avoid getting smacked. That’s my cue to step back entirely. I know my expression is incredulous, but he just turns and gives me a bored look. “—introductions.”

He rolls his tongue across his front teeth, grabs a blue plastic cup without even glancing at it, and shoves it under the faucet. “No.”

“I’m Calista.” Fuck him, I’m not backing down.

Rolling his head away from me, he turns on the water and begins to fill up the cup, saying nothing.

This isn’t going as I hoped.

I’m not even sure what I was hoping for, but moving back in with my parents isn’t an option. Honestly, it doesn’t feel fair that I’m the one getting kicked out.

“You’re my stepdad’s brother. He never mentioned you.”

He shuts the water off and sucks down half the cup before mindfully turning it back on to fill it again.

More silence.

“You do look like him.” That gives him pause, and as he takes a deep breath, his white shirt stretches over every glorious muscle. I feel the urge to inhale too, as if his breath leaves my own lungs aching for more. “Maybe that’s why I didn’t run straight for the block of knives to stab your ass for breaking and entering.”

A low, thunderous growl rumbles from his throat before he turns and charges into the living room, searching for something. He glances around, sets the water down on the coffee table, then drops to his knees and lifts the couch.

“Uh…” What is he doing?

He stands, scanning the room before his gaze locks onto the stone fireplace. I follow his line of sight and spot my phone on the wooden floating shelf, plugged into the only outlet in the room.

I swear he huffs, and that’s when I realize what he’s about to do.

“No!” I scream, but he’s already stomping toward it.

I dart around the kitchen island and leap over the couch but he’s far closer, his hand already reaching for my phone by the time I’m at his side. I don’t even know why I’m worried; it’s password protected.

He yanks the charger out just as I stretch to grab my phone.

Before I can react he grabs my wrist, and in one swift motion, slams my back against the jagged stones of the fireplace. I gasp as his hand moves so quickly, stealing the air from my lungs as he wraps his fingers around my throat.

I instinctively bring my hands up to grasp his forearm, but he tenses.

“Hands off me,” he growls.

“F-Fuck you!” My nails dig into his skin, but they aren’t sharp or even my own. They’re acrylic, and I can feel them starting to peel back as I press down with as much force as I can muster.

He doesn’t even flinch.

“Do not touch me.” He leans in, and his presence suffocates me even more than his grip. The scent of the surrounding forest mingles with the smoky aroma of an amber fire, filling my nostrils. My body screams at me to fight, but my mind urges me to let him unleash whatever violence he desires.

As I try to swallow, his grip loosens just enough for me to take a breath—more of a wheeze than anything.

I shouldn’t be obedient. I should fight back like I know how, but instead, I put my hands up as if I’m being arrested while he steps closer, keeping our bodies apart by the slightest margin. My phone presses against my fingers, sandwiched between our hands. The moment I hear a soft click, he retreats, releasing me in the process.

I don’t want to be dramatic, but I instinctively grasp my neck and rub at it. He was anything but gentle, and a twisted part of me craves that force to leave bruises on my skin.

He's swiping through my phone when I cough out, “Please, wait. I—don’t tell them.”

“Maybe I’ll call your mother, seems like you and my brother aren’t that close considering you have him in your phone as ‘Eamon’,” he scoffs and continues scrolling. After a dozen or so swipes, he slowly turns his head and narrows his eyes at me.

I’m not entirely sure why he is looking at me that way.

“No mom.” It isn’t delivered as a question, but a discovery of facts.

That’s right. It’s been so long since I’ve added her number into my phone, I forgot I had put it under “Jasmine”.

“Listen, she knows I’m here. Odds are Eamon will tell her anyway…”

Yeah right.

He tsks and says, “Something tells me not.”

Okay, this is good. I need to keep him talking.

I adjust my sweater. “I lost my house in a fire and I’m just waiting on the insurance money.” He looks from my eyes, and oh so fucking agonizingly slow, trails down my body. My nerves make me fidget, so I keep talking. “Six months. I’m going to have work done on the cabin. I… I didn’t see you had a car.” The garage is filled with gym equipment and can’t fit a car, so I assume he doesn’t own one.

He doesn’t stop looking at me, and I’ve never felt so exposed despite being fully clothed. I’m still in the leggings I had on last night and threw on an oversized Boulder Colorado University sweater. I can tell the moment his gaze reaches my thighs because he pauses.

Swallowing roughly, I keep going. “I have a car. As long as you don’t crash it you can use it.” I pause, wondering when he will stop staring at my cunt. When he licks his bottom lip and brings it between his teeth, my stomach falls right to my pussy.

Holy fuck… this is dangerous, but I have to see this through.

“I’ll be working most of the time. You won’t even see me.” It’s a big lie, though. This cabin is just too small for that. “I’ll even take the guest room.”

His eyes finally leave my thighs that are beginning to warm from the arousal soaking through my leggings.

A nervous, weary laugh escapes my lips, and just as I open my mouth to keep going, he cuts me off with a simple, “Okay.”

Blinking rapidly, I swear I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the edge of his lips. But instead, he shakes his head and glances back down at my phone, clicking something before aiming the back of it right at me.

“Calista.” Oh, fuck me. The way he says my name gets right under my skin and brings all of my nerves to life. “Beg to stay here…” He tilts his head so I can see his hard expression. “To stay here with me.”

My mouth drops open. “What?”

One of his thick eyebrows arches, the one that has ‘SIT’ tattooed over it, and I’m burning with curiosity as to why he put it there.

“You heard me, doll face.” He takes a single step in my direction, keeping the camera pointed right at me. “Beg to stay, so if mommy comes over and sees a man in her cabin, I have evidence you wanted this. Not me.”

It takes effort to swallow.

“Tell me your name… they can’t see who’s talking.” Am I really about to beg this man to allow me to stay at my cabin?!

He chuckles, and I swear it wasn’t possible for him to become more attractive, but the intensity of his laughter vibrates through me from head to clit. “For this purpose, call me Ronan.” I’m worried what he wants me to call him for any other occasion.

“Okay…” Licking my lips, I stand straight. “Ronan, please let me stay here. I…” He doesn’t interrupt me. He just keeps his head tilted, watching me—not through the screen, but directly in front of him. I’m not sure why, but that feels even more unnerving. “I need to stay here. I’m the one asking for this. Please.”

Without taking his eyes off me, he taps the phone twice, and says, “Beg better, and…” He looks down at my feet. “On your knees this time.”

“Excuse me?!” I nearly shout. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Absolutely not—”

“You will beg on your knees, Calista, or I will turn the camera off and call your father.”

“Stepdad…” I murmur defiantly.

I have some serious issues, because I’m conflicted. Allowing him to degrade me like this on camera for that matter, is not something I’ve ever done or asked for. Yet, my heart hammers against my chest not from fear but anticipation.

“You are sick, Cal, why would you even ask that of me?” A not-so-distant memory reminds me of how sick I am.

Flaring my nostrils, I slowly drop to my knees and look up—not at him, but directly at the camera lens. The three rounded circles give no indication that it’s recording, but I have no doubt that it is.

“Ron—”

“For this one…” I look to him as he cuts me off. The smile he gives me is filled with carnage. “Call me daddy , little niece of mine.”