Page 28 of His Atonement

Something I couldn't help but notice since Frankie doesn't seem to believe in wearing bras. Something that has made me insanely curious about what other secrets she harbors.

“Fuck," I groan as I look down to find my cock hard as stone, the bastard standing so far away from my body I could practically use it to hang all my clothes on.

I have jerked off no less than ten times since lunch yesterday, hell maybe more. Each time she is within range of the house my dick goes rock-hard so fast it makes my head spin.

Thankfully, smoking has helped curb that when we are in the same vicinity, but my body still manages to light up like a goddamn switchboard when she's near, even when someone merely mentions her name. The electricity in the air around her is so thick, so palpable that I can barely breathe, the way my body reacts to her, no better.

It is nothing like whenhe who shall not be namedcomes to visit, though I interpreted it as such before.

No, it is far worse because I am completely fixated on her, obsessed and unable to focus on anything else. She occupies all of my thoughts, even possesses my dreams and the ludicrous need it has created, a need for things that are even more foreign to me than being a part of a family, that I'm completely consumed by it.

And all of that has only pissed me off even more at the stray human now living here amongst us.

Her laugh permeates my ears again and my cock grows painfully hard, my skin so sensitive and tight I may orgasm from the slightest touch.

But I will not touch, not again.

I just had a wank in the shower not even an hour ago, there should be no need for another this soon.

Except there is, and if I do not relieve the ache in my balls, the pain in my dick, they will surely be rendered useless and turn me into an impotent, miserable prick.

So, I relent.

Give in once again to my body’s traitorous reaction to the female that is destroying my mind, and jerk off like a horny teenager that recently discovered pornography.

Temporarily sated, I roll the fattest blunt I can, inhale it like its oxygen, then decide to head to the main house for food.

I don't want to go up there; I don't want to risk running into Frankie, but I fear my stomach has other plans as it screeches and rumbles its demands.

Then, just in case I need it, I roll two more blunts, set them on the table, and move to my dresser to find something to cover my nakedness, only to discover my drawers in complete disarray.

My ankle socks, though few, have been replaced with absolutely hideous ones—knee high, fuzzy, and adorned in rainbows and unicorns.

All of my shirts are missing the sleeves and cropped to the midriff, the collars cut into V-necks, and the solid white ones have hot pink puffy paint scrawled into hearts and flowers.

And my basketball shorts, my jeans, even the black and gray joggers have all been hacked to pieces, turned into the shortest shorts I have ever seen, shorts that will most definitely crawl up my ass and barely cover my dick.

Frankie.

I know it was her, know beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is her payback for her linens.

It had to have been her since no one else would even dream of breaching my home to destroy my clothing, to fuck with me on such a great scale for fear of my wrath afterward.

That spirited little she-devil has no idea what kind of beast she is poking, but she will find out quickly.

How the hell did she even get in here?

She just moved onto the property, there is no way she could have learned so quickly of the secret tunnels or the passageway, and surely no one would have shared with her about the war room or dungeon.

To my knowledge, Frankie has no idea what anyone is, no clue about shifters or vampyrs or fae, definitely not my status as demon, so surely they would not have told her about the basement, nor the on site and state of the art clinic, the war room with its maps and weapons, Milos’s forge, or my prison cell turned home.

The fact that she found me out, located my residence and invaded it while I was most likely with Cora and Havok has me a touch angry, but more curious.

And that curiosity has me feeling a tad playful this morning.

So, I pull on the shortest pair of shorts from my new wardrobe, maneuver my junk the best I can despite the way they ride my ass, remove a white t-shirt with a gigantic hot pink heart in the center, and the ugliest socks I can find from the dresser and quickly put them on as well.

My ensemble is completed by my checkered Vans and I tuck my phone into the front pocket like an arrow straight to my dick that is struggling to stay confined in the denim.