Chapter 22

Abby

I bit my lip, sitting on my bed with my laptop open, trying to surf the news and social media to keep my mind occupied. It kept wandering back to Cohen and how he was two doors down from me, so close and yet on the other side of a barrier that I couldn’t cross. I took a deep breath and opened up an email, knowing that I shouldn’t, compelled to do so anyway.

Cohen,

You’re an asshole.

I sent it off, feeling a little lighter and satisfied, though it was petty and childish. I was about to shut my computer when I noticed that he had emailed me back. I told myself not to check it but I did, opening it up to see his response.

Gabriella,

I know. Is that all you wanted to tell me? Feeling a little lonely over there?

I couldn’t stop myself from typing out a snippy reply. No. I’m fine. I just wanted you to know how much of a jerk you are.

That’s pretty funny.

Funny? I sent the email, slightly irritated, though my heart was fluttering against my ribcage. I didn’t know why. Just talking to him made every one of my nerves light up in my body.

Yes. You could have told me that to my face. Actually, why don’t you come down here and tell me that? I’d love to hear it come from you.

No. I’m fine. Thanks.

Suit yourself. My room is always open. I’d imagine you wouldn’t be able to control yourself if you came over here. It’s probably a better idea that you don’t.

Control myself?

Yes. We get in an argument, your little panties get soaked as they usually do, you lose control.

I squirmed on the bed, huffing, tempted to shut the computer. But I found that I couldn’t stop replying.

You flatter yourself too much.

And yet here you are, unable to sleep, picking a fight with me so that you’ll have something to rub your pussy to in hopes that it will give you some rest.

I’m not rubbing anything, Cohen.

That’s too bad. I like to imagine you coming all over your fingers while you think of me.

My breath seemed to catch in my throat with every word I read, my pussy growing hot and swollen. I couldn’t help it, no matter how hard I fought against the feeling.

I’m not doing that.

Do it. I’ll give you something to think about. I think about it a lot. Turning you over, spanking your ass while you squirmed and came all over my fingers. I have never met a girl in my life who so thoroughly enjoyed being punished like that.

I started to type, but got another email before I could: Don’t say you didn’t enjoy it. That would be a lie.

I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy that.

No? Do I need to do it again to remind you?

I haven’t done anything to be punished for, Mr. Ashton.

You’re name-calling. Being impertinent. You are provoking me.

Maybe so.

Definitely so.

So that’s your solution to impertinence? Spanking? Like I’m six?

No, not like you’re six. Like you’re a grown adult who won’t mind her mouth. And there are other ways to punish you as well.

Such as?

I held my breath, still squirming on the bed. My hand had snaked downward at some point so that I was softly stroking my pussy through my panties, not daring to go any further, just applying the slightest amount of pressure to give me the pleasure I craved.

You want to know my favorite way to punish a woman? What I’d like to do with you?

Yes.

Good. Because spanking you is fun, but it would be much more fun to tease your pussy for hours without letting you come. I would lick your pretty clit until you couldn’t take it anymore and then stop for as long as you need until you’re no longer on the edge, then do it all over again. Or, if you’d rather, I could just fuck you good and slow for as long as you want. Just as long as you don’t come too early.

I licked my lips, slipping my hand into my panties where I needed it, stroking my folds with tender fingers.

Do you want me to come over there, Gabriella?

I hesitated, my finger hovering over the delete button. I sent my response: No. I’m going to bed.

You sure?

I sent the next email before I could stop myself.

Yes.

OK. Good night, Abby.

Good night.

I shut my computer quickly, pushing it away from me, my hand still in my panties. I pulled them out rather than finishing myself off, feeling guilt course through me after what I’d just done. I didn’t know what had possessed me to email him, only that I craved to speak to James, the man I had grown so intimate with. I wished that he hadn’t been Cohen, that he had been some other man who was more emotionally available and less trouble than he was. I sighed and curled up to sleep, desire making me feel heavy and wet, keeping me up for the next couple of hours until I finally drifted off.

I woke up early the next morning, slipped into my robe and left the room to go check on Paul. My eyes met Cohen’s as he came out of his room. He paused, rubbing his hand over his mouth as he stared at me.

“Good morning, Gabriella,” he said.

“Good morning,” I said to him stiffly. There was a tension between us that was somehow sensual and awkward at the same time, a raw nerve that had felt exposed.

“Are you going to check on Paul?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll—see you in the kitchen.”

“OK,” he said, brushing past me to the stairs. I followed him down and we split ways at the bottom. I headed into Paul’s room, quietly pushing the door open to see that he had his eyes closed, that the drip attached to his arm was nearly empty. I cursed myself for not waking up sooner but hurried over to change it. Paul was unresponsive—he slept through everything, including his bath, and when I woke him up to eat, he had fallen back into sleep almost immediately without putting any effort into taking a bite.

There was a soft knock on the door and Cohen came in, his eyes landing on Paul. His lips pressed into a thin line when he saw the uneaten food on the table.

“What’s going on?”

“He won’t wake up,” I said to him softly, and saw the pain and anguish openly on his features for the first time. It lasted only a second before his masked it, his features going cold.

“Is there nothing you can do?” he asked.

“If there was, I would have done it,” I said to him. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Would you?”

“Excuse me?” I asked.

“I’m assuming you’re ready to get out of here. It would go quicker if—”

I was up on my feet before he finished speaking, reaching out to slap him hard across the cheek.

“How dare you,” I hissed at him in rage. “You’re a fucking monster, Cohen.”

For an instant, he looked guilty. He opened his mouth to speak but then his eyes went over my shoulder to Paul. I turned to see Paul looking at us both, a blank look on his face.

“Paul,” I said, rushing over to him. Cohen stood where he was, looking down at the old man.

“Abby,” Paul said in a weak voice. “May I—will you leave me alone with Cohen for a moment?”

“Sure,” I said, though I was reluctant to let Cohen have any access to his uncle. I was filled with fury as I left the room, closing the door hard behind me.