I was happy not to touch myself. Relieved even.
But thanks to her?
All I could think about was her welcome, her wetness, the way we fit so perfectly together.
Ah, Christ.
My cock rippled with pre-cum, creating a damp patch on my boxer briefs.
Seemed just thinking about her had the power to make my body disobey. My teeth ground to dust as I squeezed my eyes closed and focused on the constant sickness inside me instead of the overheated lust in my blood. My head still pounded. My eyes still felt too big for their sockets. My ears still rang with concussed bees.
Focus on getting strong again. Sex has to wait.
But...sex with her. Sex with someone who actually gave me pleasure instead of pain.
I wanted that.
I wanted to touch her, hold her, kiss her—
Another ripple up my cock. Another damp spot.
Ah, stop.
The flutter around my stomach came again, wrenching me upright.
I grabbed my head, sinking all ten fingers around my skull as pokers of pain stabbed from all directions. It took a horrifyingly long time before the library stopped spinning, and I trusted my stomach not to evict the pasta from last night before opening my eyes again.
The flutter returned around my belly—a sensation of something wriggling on a fishing line.
You’re the spider now. And she’s the fly.
Gemma.
She was moving around. Wherever she was, we were bound, and that knowledge sent a dark thrill through me. I was alive to feel her. I’d left that decision in her dangerous hands, wondering if she’d do what others had done.
However, even in her rage last night, she hadn’t come to harm me in my sleep. And really, I had to face the facts—the fact I was alive was a blessing in itself. After her mood last night, I honestly hadn’t known what she’d choose. She’d certainly looked pissed off enough to do me serious bodily harm if it ensured her freedom.
Sweat ran down my temples as I looked down at the belt around my waist. The chain pooled onto the floor, then snaked its way out to the door to wherever she was.
Two p.m. in the afternoon and she still hadn’t come to find me.
I could feel her.
Moving around.
Existing in my home.
But I couldn’t see her, and that was almost as bad as not knowing what drawers she was poking through or what she’d been doing while I’d been imitating a useless corpse.
Climbing slowly to my feet, I wobbled a bit before grabbing a handful of Parable and moving forward. Unsteadily, I made my way out of the library, following the links, swallowing hard as my stomach decided to tangle with hunger at seeing her and hope that she hadn’t been snooping into things she shouldn’t see.
No sound hinted at what she was doing, and I held my breath as I continued tracking the path of the chain, through the foyer, past the stairs, following a path leading through the games room all the way to the rear conservatory.
And there she was.
Sitting cross-legged on a rattan peacock chair, nestled between two palm trees with the algae-stained water of an abandoned fishpond beneath the glass floor. In her hands rested a magazine that one of Fable’s guests would’ve brought. Trivia and gossip from a society I’d been stolen from. It didn’t seem to bother her that it was over a decade old. She studied the glossy photos of women on the arms of men and overly white fake smiles from movie stars as if it was an almanac on escaping.
She didn’t look up.
I cleared my throat.
She didn’t acknowledge me.
I coughed pointedly.
Her eyes stayed locked on the magazine.
“The silent treatment will get old real fast around here, you know,” I muttered, entering the stagnantly humid conservatory and leaning nonchalantly against the glass wall. I leaned to give an air of “I don’t care,” but I also used the stable surface to catch my breath and train my knees into being trustworthy instead of trembly.
Surprisingly, I was feeling better than yesterday. The short walk had woken me up and my internal war on denied orgasms and wanting a woman who I had a lifetime to fuck and grow old with blew away the smog in my head, leaving me slightly more coherent than before. Perhaps it was the carbs from dinner; maybe it was knowing she’d lasted a night, and I was still alive. Maybe it was because I’d finally accepted something had been missing inside me for so fucking long, and she’d somehow filled that void.
I’d say all of those things were worth celebrating.
Despite the fact that her living here wasn’t voluntary, I couldn’t argue that her wrath was worth more to me than her disappearance.
She sniffed and thumbed over a new page, her body language screaming at me to leave her the hell alone. She was so prim, so proper, so exquisitely beautiful. It was unfair really, how gorgeous I found her. It wasn’t just physical attraction—it was so much more than that. It was too much more. Too much for me to acknowledge in my current concussed condition.