Chapter fourteen
Lyla
Dr.Mansonwasslowly becoming her favorite person. He had a weird sense of humor, one it took a while for her to understand, but he was kind and warm and genuine, and as she slowly talked to him, she felt herself opening more and more, even though she hadn't scratched the surface of her past with him. He knew she'd been raped and he knew she'd tried to kill herself, but beyond that, she didn't even know how to explain to an outsider. Yet, with what he knew, he was helping her.
It was dark outside, almost midnight, and she was watching TV in the quiet house—after searching ‘best movies to watch for the first time’—when the main door opened. Jolting up from her slumped, relaxed position on the couch, heart pounding, she pressed pause on the remote.
It had been a few days since she’d seen him, days since he’d told her there was something very important he had to do, and left her with the promise that he would return. She had expected to feel abandoned again, but for some reason, living in this house, getting into a routine, talking to Bessie and Dr. Manson, finding herself, she hadn’t felt discarded. She had felt cared for, because the house, the staff, the doctor, he had made it all possible for her. Even in his absence, he had ensured that she would be looked after.
And she had missed him.
She had missed his heated, crazy eyes and his little notes and his roses and his quiet, solid presence. She knew from the time she'd spent observing him that he liked watching drama and romantic movies because the emotions fascinated him, and thrillers because he liked knowing answers before anyone onscreen did. She knew that he had meetings in the afternoons that he attended on his laptop while she met with Dr. Manson, and she knew he liked working out every morning at the crack of dawn. She knew he liked listening to her voice, and he liked that she was exploring more and more of herself.
He entered, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and jeans and boots, his mismatched, mesmerizing eyes finding hers. His gaze roved over her, checking her physically to see everything was right, finding her in his t-shirt. For a moment, she saw something like satisfaction cross his eyes before his face went neutral again. It had taken her a few days of living with him to realize that wasn’t something he did on purpose to hide his expression—that was just natural for him. She had seen the way he put on masks when dealing with the staff, faking expressions she knew he didn’t feel, and she realized she preferred him the way he was with her—real and without pretense.
Biting her lip, not knowing what to say even though she wanted to say so much, she asked the first thing that came to her mind. “Why do you have a helicopter?”
He turned to lock the door. “I like flying it.”
“Is that how you got me here?”
His lips twitched with the memory of it. “Yes.”
Lyla tried to remember anything about her transference, but it was all a giant blank.
“I need to take a shower so if you want to talk...” he left the words trailing and headed straight to where the bedrooms were. She scrambled and followed, turning the TV off behind her. The movie hadn’t really been very engaging. Maybe she needed to find another list.
He went down the low stairs to the cave-like area and turned left to where the guest room was. Lyla bit her lip and followed, both curious and cautious. The small corridor opened into a smaller bedroom than hers, but still quite spacious, with a window looking at the sea and another door leading to the bathroom.
He dumped his bag on the bed, took off his leather gloves that hid his burned hands, and took his sweatshirt off, exposing a wide, unmarked back sculpted with muscles to her. Turning around, he let her look her fill of his chest and torso, his abs not bulging but sleek, a trail of hair arrowing down to his pants.
For the first time in months, arousal slivered through her veins, and she realized that while his physicality may have induced it, it was him she was aroused by. It was always him.
Her nipples tingled, wondering what his chest would feel like rubbing against hers, wondering if his arms would cage her in from the world or hold her down for his pleasure, wondering if he would stare into her soul as he claimed it or if he would suck it through her lips.
There was something wrong with her because after everything she had been through, the idea of being with a man, any man, being at his mercy and his control, should have made her sick. It did make her sick when she tried thinking about someone else. Not him. She wanted to be under him, struggling as he held her motionless, as he took what he wanted, ravaged her as he wanted. It should have made her sick but the thought of it lit a fire inside her.
Oblivious to the maelstrom within her, he sat down on the bed and unlaced his boots in quick movements, his fingers sure and strong and drawing her eyes, making her wonder how they would feel tugging her nipples, inside her, stretching her open, bruising her with his grip as he held her down, making her surrender to him.
What was wrong with her?
She’d had occasional fantasies of him, but nothing so intense, nothing so… hungry.
Finally done with the boots, he stood up and pushed his pants down, exposing his entire naked body to her for the first time, and she froze.
Not because he was naked, although he had an amazing body. Not because he was hard, even though the size of him was breathtaking. Not because he was letting her look, and his the confidence was a turn-on.
No, it was because along the ridge and the top of his massive cock, he was pierced. She had never, in her entire experience, even seen a pierced cock much less experienced one. And he wasn’t just pierced, he was pierced—the underside, the crown, and the upper ridge.
What. The. Hell...?
He moved to the bathroom without a word, and dazed, in shock, she followed him in. It was a smaller space than the master bathroom she’d used, without a tub and only a shower chamber.
Lyla looked at his ass cheeks, sculpted and hard, as he turned the spray on and got under it. Water sluiced down his back, his ass, his thighs and muscular calves before swirling into the drain. He took a dollop of shampoo and rinsed his dark hair thoroughly, in simple motions that somehow looked so good she wanted to feel him washing her. Gripping the counter behind her, she watched as he cleaned up, finally turning around so she could see his full frontal form.
His hard, huge, pierced cock bobbed with the movement, and saliva filled her mouth. A small part of her was sickened by her own lust, remembering how much she hated the appendage in her mouth. But she wanted his, she wanted to see how he would feel, how he would taste, how far he would go with that titanium jewelry.
His large, burned hand wrapped around his cock, suddenly making her realize how thick it was too. He would tear her apart and fuck if she didn’t want him to. Years of attraction, of playing the push-and-pull, of fantasies she’d had with him, culminated in her mind.