Mom: Brunch will be at 10:00 a.m. We will discuss everything with our lawyer then.
Ugh. That’s your response too, admit it.
I know one thing, Tiller is going to kill me.
There I am, in the driveway of the Sawyer mansion, parked next to a wrecked bright yellow Maserati GranTurismo and on the other side of that, parked haphazardly on the lawn and boulders, like someone jumped it, a Honda CX650 Scrambler. I don’t even want to know why that’s there, and why the side of the Maserati has what looks to be tire tread on the hood that matches the Scrambler.
I really hope River wasn’t involved in any of that. It’s been two days, but with the help of Willa and a little from Alexandra, I was able to get my entire apartment and River’s stuff packed and into the new place.
And that brings me here. I decide I can’t wait any longer to see River. And if I’m being honest, Tiller. At two in the morning, I make my way inside the house. Not that the door is ever locked.
The house is dark and quiet, and if you’ve ever been inside the Sawyer mansion, those two alone are something you never see. Even in the middle of the night, lights are on and there’s usually someone up, and most of the time, they don’t even live there.
Keeping my steps light, I walk around the main floor looking for Tiller.
When there’s no sign of him, I make my way upstairs, by-passing the noise coming from Shade’s room and down the hall to the left where Tiller’s room is. Tucked away from the other bedrooms.
Inside his room, my heart bursts with happiness when I see River and Tiller together on his bed. He didn’t wait up for me, but there, on a twin bed with ninja turtle sheets. He’s holding her close, snuggled up and freaking adorable. I’m serious. It’s the cutest think I’ve ever seen. I’m somewhat jealous of her being able to snuggle that close to him. Over the years I’ve hardly gotten hugs, let alone being able to sleep on him.
Careful not to wake them, I adjust the blankets on them and kiss River’s cheek lightly. It takes incredible self-control not to sneak my way in the bed with them.
I’m exhausted, but strangely not ready for sleep. And I stink. All the bedrooms in their house have bathrooms, including Tiller’s. As quiet as I can without waking them, I take a much-needed shower.
When I’m finished and drying off, a towel wrapped around my body, I stare at the foggy mirror in front of me. It’s then, in the low visibility of the steam, I spot a figure in the mirror behind me. Let me pause for a moment and briefly tell you a story. It won’t take long.
Tiller and I used to watch horror movies as kids. Always his idea. Something about the rush of being scared he loved, even as a child. Given our horror movie connections, one in particular has given me nightmares my entire life. He knows this too.
One has stayed with the two of us for years. Candyman. Let me explain why. In the movie there’s this legend claiming that Candyman can be summoned by saying his name five times while facing a mirror, whereupon he will murder the summoner with a hook jammed in the bloody stump of his right arm.
For Halloween, the year after we watched this movie, Roan thought it’d be funny to dress up as Candyman, and he and Tiller held me to the floor until I said Candyman five times.
Nothing obviously happened, but I still can’t look in a mirror without thinking of that damn movie and the boys who terrorized me with it.
Can you take a wild guess as to what Tiller does in that moment of vulnerability?
Smiles like a sinister evil person he is and whispers, “Candyman,” in my ear.
Consequently, I nearly pee myself. The hairs on my neck stand up, a shiver shaking through my body, and I drop my damn towel as I bite back a scream, stumbling into the counter. “You jerkface,” I breathe, my hand covering my racing heart and smacking at him. “You did that crap on purpose!”
I’d like to add, I’m naked.
His head tips to the side, eyes drifting down my bare body. I don’t know what it is about the way he looks at me, but the hunger is undeniable. It’s frightening—I still can’t get Candyman out of my head—and exhilarating. “It’s my bathroom,” he points out, as if I didn’t know. “And I’ve come to hook you.”
“Don’t even joke about that.” My hands move to my breasts, one of them at least and then I sneak one between my legs trying to cover my bits. Like he hasn’t seen me naked already.
Half-naked himself and only wearing a pair of low-hanging basketball shorts, he steps forward and usually I’d tell him to get out, but I’m unable to move, anchored by his steady gaze and demanding presence in front of me.
My pulse hammers. “Can you hand me the towel?” The last thing I want to do is bend over in front of him. Can you imagine the jokes he’d make? Or the things he’d try? I can.
Planting his hands on either side of sink behind me, he traps me against the counter, his body pressing into mine and invading my personal space. “Nope.” His warm breath skims across my damp skin of my neck.
He brushes his nose along my collarbone, breathing out a heavy sigh in the process. “Why not?”
Drawing back, he levels me a dirty look, but in fact, it’s not dirty like you’d think. It’s like, well, naughty. “I prefer you naked.” The way he delivers the words, controlled and precise, there’s no denying the possession bleeding from them. “That’s why.”
I don’t say anything. Or maybe it’s that I can’t. I’m shaking so badly I’m not sure my lips can even form words at this point.
Leaning in, he wraps his hand around my throat. My pulse thumps wildly against his fingertips. “I don’t think you want me to hand you that towel,” he bites. “I think you enjoy ruining me.”
Before I can lie and say he’s wrong, Tiller’s mouth drops to the swell of my breasts, then lower. Slowly, like he’s trying to torture me, he drags his tongue over my nipple.
A moan of pleasure slips past my lips. It all feels so good I don’t want to stop him.
Sliding down my body, he drops to his knees before me. “And I let you ruin me. I let you every fuckin’ time.” With his hands gripping my hips, he shoves his face between my legs.
“Tiller,” I whisper, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what else to say..
With his hands on my thighs, he widens my stance, darting his tongue out and flicking my clit. “Are you going to stop me?”
“I uh. . . .” I’m shaking, my knees and legs wobbly. Unable to control myself, I grip his hair, tightening my fists between his dark locks.
“You fucking love that, don’t you?” he growls, keeping his hold on me and forcing his tongue deeper, between my folds. “You might be innocent, but your pussy’s begging to have my cock inside it.”
Notice the use and intonation of my in his words? I certainly do.
My body flushes with heat as he buries his mouth between my legs, lapping at my clit with long leisurely passes. Pleasure races through my blood, my fingers yanking his hair.
It’s when his pierced tongue glides over my opening, I can hardly keep from falling to the ground. I’ve always loved his tongue ring, but now I’m obsessed with the way it feels when it hits my clit and my opening.
I don’t know when he did it, but he apparently at some point he stuck two fingers inside me because I can feel him massaging me, coaxing me along. “That’s it. Come on my tongue, baby.”
Clutching his hair, I squirm, responding to his every touch. He doesn’t stop and it’s maddening. To fall apart like this, in his hands, and not be able to make much noise in fear I’ll be heard.
I fall hard. So hard and so good. Best orgasm of my life, hands down.
Looking up at me, he removes his fingers and sucks on them, his eyes so dark, so focused. “Are you going to let me?”
“I’m scared,” I admit. I know what you’re thinking. I’m twenty-three and I shouldn’t be scared of sex. But this is Tiller Sawyer, and I am scared. Of more than just sex. And let’s not forget River is in the next room.
He groans, smashing his face into my center and inhales. “Please let me inside.” Drawing back, he gives me the saddest look I’ve ever seen on him. Like he’s pouting. “You’ve been teasing me long enough.”
My hand touches his face as I peer down at him. “I don’t want my first time to be in a bathroom against the sink. And with River in the next room.”
He pushes away from me and stumbles to his feet. Reaching inside his shorts, he adjusts himself, giving me a full view of the monster inside his pants begging to be let loose. “Fine, but we’re talking about this again.” And then he walks out the door.
I stand there, still breathing hard but it’s his words, “We’re talking about this again,” that get me. He’s not going to let it go and while I’ve been hanging onto my virginity with him since I was fourteen and he tried to get me to have sex with him, I think nine years of waiting has finally become my breaking point. What am I holding onto? The fact that he’s been with other girls and I don’t want to be lumped in with them, or, and this is more than likely my reasoning, I don’t want him to lose interest once he’s gotten what he wants.