(Blood and Bone, #2) Sin and Swoon (6 page)

She winks, dropping a curl and spraying it. “Ya know I do. I love me some intense men with obsessive qualities.” She laughs and curls another piece of hair on her wand. I know she’s talking about my brother. She likes him a lot, and he seems to think she’s charming. He just hasn’t heard one of her racist rants about the English or the Irish.

I want to say that I don’t like men who are that way, but instead I just make a mental note to break things off this weekend if he doesn’t chill out.

At the end of the day, class drags on. The teacher actually sounds like Charlie Brown’s teacher. The name Charlie Brown sits funny in my mind. I can’t seem to make out his face, but I know it’s a cartoon. I just don’t know where I’ve seen it before.

As it ends and I make my way out of the building, I see him. He’s leaned against a tree, smiling at me like a cat watching a mouse. He makes me nervous, and regardless of the obvious attraction I have for him, I can’t stop feeling uncertain around him.

He waves with nonchalance. I grin, walking over to the tree. He doesn’t wait for me. He turns and walks to the car, a gesture I don’t appreciate. He says it’s because he’s a professor at another school and we shouldn’t really be dating. We keep it secret, except for Angie. She knows everything. Without her I think I’d go crazy. She and Binx are my sounding boards.

I follow him to his Jeep, climbing in and wishing for a moment he would open the door for me or hold my hand or carry my books.

But he just grins as I struggle to climb in with my books and purse. “Hard day at the office?” he asks with his intense way of speaking. I get lost for a moment in his eyes. The stare whispers to me that I’m foolish to doubt his love for me. He’s sweet the moment we are off campus. He just doesn’t want anyone to know he’s dating a student. It’s logical.

I shake my head, placing the books on the thick rubber mats on the floor. “Just did a few theory classes and English.”

He doesn’t bat an eyelash at the mention of his favorite subject. “You ready for the trip?”

I nod. “My bag is at the dorm, ready to go.”

He looks out the window like he’s struggling with the sentence. “Why don’t you run back to the dorm, get the bag, and meet me down the road a little?” The question makes my stomach ache, but the idea of being on a mountaintop with him, alone and able to be together, makes me nod again. “Okay.” I leave my books and climb out. He points. “Take those.” The way he says it makes me frown, but he just grins more widely. “You won’t be needing them.”

I grin back, picking them all up and hoofing over to the dorm.

Angie isn’t there when I get back, but I know she’ll be watching Binx. I sniff his thick fur, pet his chin a bit, and leave, carrying my heavy bag out into the hallway.

“You going home for the weekend?”

I glance back, seeing Michelle and Leona in the hallway. They have hit it off as well as Angie and I have. “I am.”

“Have fun.” Michelle rolls her eyes, dragging Leona off down the hall with her. She really is a miserable twat, as Angie would say. Has said.

I offer a weak wave and strut down the stairs and out the door. The cool wind bites at my fingers as I send Angie a quick text to remind her to feed Binxy. She responds with a happy face.

I almost text my brother to tell him where I’m going, but the realization I’m an adult hits me. I don’t need to check in with anyone. He wouldn’t tell me he was going to shack up with an older lady for a weekend. He would do it, have fun, and maybe text me when he got home to fill me in on the gross parts I prefer not to hear.

The bag cuts into my hand with the weight of my hiking boots and a thick coat. I have to assume a mountain retreat isn’t going to be as warm as it is down by the sea, and it’s friggin’ cold here.

I round the corner, leaving the nursing college completely, and see his vehicle. He jumps out, opening the door like a gentleman. He’s like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde that way. He scoops me up, kissing me after he’s tossed my bag like it weighs nothing.

He buries his face in my neck, and I know it’s going to be a wonderful trip.

He drives for what feels like forever, just to get out of the city. He offers me hot chocolate, my favorite drink. I sip it slowly, staring out at the people bundled up on the sidewalks. “It’s so cold out,” I mutter as I close my eyes and let myself drift off.

I don’t know how long we drive. I don’t know how long I sleep. But I wake as we’re making our way up a hill. I have a slight headache from the nap; I never nap anymore. The sun has set, and the headlights of the Jeep bounce off the road ahead of us. It’s gravel, and the only other lights are coming from random cabins we’re passing.

When we get to what seems like the top of the hill, he stops and turns onto a wide driveway with a large barn next to a beautiful cabin. The back side has no windows, just a door and a porch, but I can tell it’s stunning just by the architecture. The roof is a dark tin, and there are several eaves. But instead of logs, the cabin is covered partially by regular siding and rock. It looks like the back side of a mansion, all closed off so the public sees very little.

“This is your family cottage?”

He grins wide, nodding and sighing. “This is my favorite place in the whole world.” He leans in, kissing softly on my cheek. “And you are my favorite person, so you can see why I was excited for you two to meet.”

It makes me blush and embarrasses me. Even in the dark car where I know he can’t see my cheeks glowing, I hate it. He hops out and runs up to the main door at the front and opens it, leaving it ajar. I grab my bag from the back and hop out, walking to the door he’s left ajar. He points at the barn. “I have a few things in here I need to tend to, mechanical crap. Why don’t you head inside, snoop around, and find the hot tub. It’s on the back deck, overlooking the woods and mountaintops. I’ll join you in a moment.”

I don’t feel particularly comfortable going, but I just shrug and walk inside, closing the door behind me. It’s dark, but even so I can tell the home is magnificent. It’s not a chalet or a family cottage—it’s remarkable. The foyer is large, opening right up into the massive great room. A river-rock fireplace climbs the wall to the left, and the kitchen is to the right.

I drop my bag and stumble in, stunned at the beautiful house. It flickers in my mind, contrasting with the stone walls of a building I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. It’s a barren place with children running and playing, making up for the lack of joy in the air.

But this, it’s something completely different. It’s like a whole other world, and I don’t know how to be in it.

A vision of my childhood bounds into my brain. My house is nothing like this. There’s warmth in my house, surrounded by clutter, and my mom shouting at me to bring her the thing she’s looking for. And yet, the place with the stone walls and running children feels like home for a second too.

Walking into the living room I reach to flick on a lamp, but the moon surprises me, rising above the mountains. It’s so large and bright that I stay my hand and watch it fill up the room.

It’s cold and silver, a perfect moon for the dark night. As it crests the hill across the valley from me it lights up the small valley. All of the hills fill with shadows, crevices I imagine are dark places someone could hide. Or places where something could lurk.

I shiver, lost in the captivating brilliance of the cold moon, realizing I’m cold too. The fireplace on the wall is a wood-burning one, and even though I don’t know how to start it, I walk to it, dropping to my knees in front of it. And then, as if the silver light of the moon gives me knowledge I can’t possibly have, I light the fire. I make a teepee of sticks, and stuff the paper I’ve rolled up under it, lighting and watching as the soft sparks lick at the paper and then build into orange flames. Immediately I feel the heat from it, realizing how cold the room actually is. I leave the glass doors open as the fire increases, giving off a slight scent of the smoke coming from the hardwood crackling inside the fireplace.

I turn and walk into the kitchen, leaning on the large, pale-marble island. There are pictures on the fridge of small kids and Christmas cards, but when I blink they vanish, leaving behind only a steel refrigerator. The Christmas cards and pictures and old coupons are on my mom’s fridge, but I don’t know what made me think of that. Except maybe because the house is so cold in some ways, and yet homey in others. It’s staged to be inviting and warm, but it lacks life. It is missing people.

That doesn’t take away from the beauty under the silver moon.

“She can build a fire—who knew?”

I turn, smiling as I see his lips curling up into a grin. He’s a bit out of breath, and he looks like he’s been running or working at something hard.

“Do you like it?” He tilts his head, staring deeply into my eyes.

I nod slowly, realizing this might be the first time for us. We may actually make love.

The mischief in his eyes tells me we won’t be kissing and admiring purity rings much longer, that tonight I might be in for something I have never had before. Sex with an adult is amazing—in my head. I don’t know how it’ll be in real life, but my expectations are quite high. Teenage boys are not great at it. I have experienced that a few times and have never come away feeling like I understand the greatness that is sex.

He crosses the room, lifting his hands to my face, cupping and lifting to a nearly impossible angle. He kisses my forehead and stares out the window over top. “I want your permission to make—love—to you.”

I gulp as an involuntary twitch between my legs jolts through me. I nod, not saying it aloud.

“Say it.”

“I give you my permission.” My voice shakes but it isn’t nerves, it’s excitement.
And about bloody time.

“You give me permission to ravage you in every way I know how?”

I nod again, not even sure what the fuck I am agreeing to.
Don’t cuss!
I reprimand myself.

He lowers his gaze and mouth, crashing it upon mine. The feeling of his lips engulfing mine is unexpected. He kisses like he might actually devour me, and I don’t know if I like it or if I think it’s weirdly fetish-like. His saliva coats my lips, greasing the way for our kiss. I’m not sold on the way he kisses. I’m not sold on anything as he lifts me into the air and carries me into the dark. I have a terrible feeling he is taking me into the dark in more than literal ways.

Gently I am placed on the bed, gently my shoes are removed, and gently my hands are kissed.

That is the last of the gentle acts.

His lips pressed against my palms are deceptive. I let him lift my hands into the air after each kiss, locking my wrists into something, something I don’t understand until it’s too late. I’m too excited. His cock bulges from his jeans, rubbing against the inside of my bare thigh; my pants have been removed in the fluid acts he’s committed without really moving much. He’s smooth and efficient at locking me up tightly. I try to reach for him as my fingers tingle, desperate for the touch and feel of what I imagine is smooth skin. But he doesn’t allow it.

My hands are pinned and my heart is pounding when I realize what has happened. He lifts something from the dark bedside table. It’s then I realize the entire wall next to the bed is glass and the cascading mountains are almost in the room with us, they are so close. I can taste the moonlight in the air, the still cold air. The thing in his hands flashes a bit of light as the moon grazes it slightly. My eyes widen when I see the scissors. I don’t know where we’re going suddenly; my hands are bound and the scissors seem sharp, like kitchen shears. The way they catch the light and shimmer is cold and frightening.

“Do you trust me?” he asks softly as he rests the cold metal of the clippers against my stomach. I nod again, but it’s a lie. The grin on his lips and the gray his eyes have become make me even more nervous. “You don’t have to lie,” he whispers as he cuts once, making me flinch and wait for the pain. He cuts again and again until my bra and heaving chest are bared to him and the cold air. He drags the blades down my skin, barely a whisper of touch. “Are you scared?”

I nod.
Fuck it!
I can’t deny the fear in my eyes or the near-tearful stare I am certain he sees.

The grin on his face should have been my warning, but I eat it up like it is the most delicious thing I have ever seen. I eat him up; everything about him is beautiful and enchanting in all the wrong ways yet striking all the right places.

He lowers the shears, clipping away the sides of my underwear and then the middle of my bra. The cloth falls away from my skin, leaving me lying on a mat of my removed clothing. He cuts away the sleeves and flicks the bra from my breast. Even I can’t deny the beauty of my body as the shadowy silver light hits one side, casting abstract contrasts on the other. He runs the closed metal scissors across my nipple, making what is standing at attention grow even more.

He bends his beautiful face, replacing the cold metal with the heat of his mouth. Again he kisses with too much moisture, leaving my nipple wet and aching for more attention. But he leaves that one, sucking the other in a way that makes it feel as though there is a string from my clit to my nipple, and when one gets touched the other tugs.

He runs a finger down my belly as his tongue circles my erect nipple. The other is freezing cold and begging for more attention, which he grants it when his finger makes its way to the destination I have been desperately, but silently, begging from him.

As he inserts a finger roughly, his mouth lands on the cold nipple, both earning a gasp from me. He doesn’t hesitate to see what I like—he immediately saws his finger in and out of my wet opening. I cry out from the shuddering bliss rocking me as he bites gently, no worse than the cuffs do on my wrists.

I can’t touch or move, really. He’s pinning me to the bed and abusing me in the best ways I can imagine. It all feels wrong and right, conflicting my opinion on an appropriate response. I don’t know if it’s the second finger he inserts, or the clenching of his teeth on my nipple as his tongue flicks rapidly, or the cuffs pinning my body at an unnatural angle, but I orgasm in the most violent way I ever have. A scream tears from my lips as I arch my back and tremble, clamping down on his fingers, which don’t slow in any way. I twitch and ache, but he doesn’t relent.