Restless, p.17
Restless, page 17
Just him fucking my face gave me more of an emotional release than anything has in weeks. I'm giving him what he wants, no matter what it is. If he wants to fuck my ass, by God, I'll let him.
I pull my thermal over my head and drop it to the floor.
His eyes discover my covered breasts and examine the curves from where he stands, not even reaching to touch me.
I grab the hem of my skirt and push it down my waist, revealing my sexy black lace panties and black satin and lace push-up bra.
He quickly moves to me, running his fingers teasingly over my skin before brushing the rough pads of his thumbs down the straps of my bra.
"You've got to be the sexiest woman in the world." His hands slide over my covered breasts, then down my stomach, teasing my hips for the briefest of moments before he drops his hands to his side and squats down on his haunches, putting his hands back on the intricate material of my panties, discovering the pattern.
I'm in full anticipation of what he might do next.
Is he going to take off my panties?
Is he just going to keep teasing me with this sensory overload?
Then, he presses his face where my pussy meets my thighs, and I gasp in shock as he takes a deep breath, smelling me.
"You're so fucking wet," he growls before pushing his tongue between my thighs, running it along the crotch of my panties.
"Oh god," I whimper as he tastes my essence on the fabric and hums.
"How bad do you want me?" he demands.
"So bad. I can't stand it," I admit without any hesitation.
He lowers my panties, takes them off, and tosses them over his shoulder before lifting one of my legs out of his way, staring at my core with heated eyes.
"So fucking pretty," he rasps as he runs a finger down the length of my pussy, hardly grazing my clit.
I gasp aloud from the rush it sends through my body.
"Please," I beg, pressing my hands against the wall to keep from grabbing him.
I don't think I've ever been this full of lust before.
He doesn't address my plea. Instead, he sinks a finger inside me, and I arch into the touch. Suddenly, he leans in and swipes his tongue over my clit, doing it again and again.
I whimper and try my best to keep from grinding my hips against his face, but it’s for nil because my body automatically responds to him.
"Fuck," I cry as my orgasm gets closer.
Duncan is about to make me explode into euphoria.
Then he pulls back and removes his finger.
"No, please," I beg, the ache between my thighs growing.
"Don't move," he demands as he stands to his feet. He unsnaps the clasp of my bra between my breasts and pushes it down my arms before the garment drops to the floor. "Now, you've had a long day, so you're going to go into my bathroom, take a shower, and then lay down on the bed. Understood?"
I stare at him for a moment, waiting to see if that's all his instructions, but he doesn't add anything to it. I nod. "Yes."
"Good."
I walk into his bedroom and head straight for his bathroom, completely naked and exposed. I stroll over to the shower and turn on the hot water before chancing a look in the bedroom.
Of course, Duncan is sitting in his desk chair, facing me, watching me with the eyes of a hungry man.
He's going to sit there and watch me take a shower like this is a bit of foreplay for him.
I climb in and am about to close the shower door when he calls out, "Leave it open."
If I do that, his floor will get wet, but I know it has a purpose.
He wants to watch.
I step under the spray and use his body wash to clean my body. I take this chance to torture him like he's torturing me. He's holding my pleasure in the palm of his hands. I might as well give him a little taste of his own medicine.
I run my soapy fingers down my breasts and my waist seductively as I stare right back at him.
His leg twitches with each movement I make, and I know I'm making my point clear. If he tortures me, I'll return the favor.
The look in his eyes makes it clear that he's barely restraining himself from pinning me against the shower wall and fucking me into oblivion.
Then, I reach between my thighs, spreading my legs a bit, and clean myself there, in full view for him.
I can hear him growling from across the room over the spray of the shower.
"That's enough. Rinse off," he demands.
I smile victoriously when he's not looking.
After rinsing off, I step out of the shower and grab a towel, drying my body off. I put back up the towel and anxiously step into Duncan's bedroom.
I try my best not to cover my body even if my instincts demand it of me.
"Lay down on the bed," he reminds me, his eyes nearly black and his jaw tenses.
I step around the bed and lay back on the mattress, spreading my legs to tantalize him into approaching.
"Hands above your head," he demands as his chair squeaks.
I can't see him, but I hear him moving around until he appears above me, holding a piece of rope.
"Give me your hands," he says, a request of consent in his eyes.
I nod and reach my hands out to him. He wraps the rope around my wrists before securing the rope under his bed.
"Turn over," he orders me before walking out of my view.
Turn over? Like with my ass in the air or just flat on the bed?
I flip onto my stomach and lay flat as he moves behind me.
"Every time I ask you for a number, you're going to tell me a number between one and five. Five being everything is perfectly fine, and one being you need me to stop immediately. Got it?"
"Yes," I mumble as I feel his hands on my ass, running across the flesh, as I wait to see what he's going to do.
He's planning to torture me some more. I just know it.
Then I feel the sharp, arousing sting of his hand against my ass.
A sharp moan forces its way out.
It shouldn't feel so good, but I'm quite the masochist. The harder it is, the more I love it.
Each slap gets harder than the last, hitting the same spot twice before moving on.
"Number?" he asks after the tenth spanking.
It's hard to speak from how his strikes make me moan.
"Five," I rasp, lifting my ass a little just for him.
"Good girl."
My body shudders, and he spanks me again, continuing with this pleasurable torture for what feels like only a few minutes but has to be hours.
"Damn. You're being so fucking good for me, baby." Duncan stops his torture, and I let out a relieved whimper. I love how it feels, but I'm already dangling on the edge. I'm not sure I can take much more without losing my mind.
"Please," I plead as I hear the sound of a zipper and then metal clanking to the ground.
"Please, what?"
"Please, fuck me."
Duncan flips me onto my back and moves over me. He wraps his fingers around my throat as he teases my clit with the head of his cock.
"I've always used a condom, but if you want me not to, I won't," he says as he sets a foil package on the bed next to me.
I'm breathing so hard from everything he's been doing to keep me on edge.
"No condom, please. I have the implant and... I trust you. I need to feel you," I beg moments before he kisses me like a starved man.
He presses his cock inside me, and both of us gasp aloud at the surprising pleasure of the entrance.
"Oh, fuck!" I cry out as I arch into him.
"God, babe, you're so damn tight," he growls before kissing me again.
He propels his hips forward and fucks me like an unstoppable force.
My entire body wraps in a blanket of ecstasy, and I never want to leave. My orgasm comes quickly with a few strokes of his thumb on my clit, and I lose my grip on reality momentarily.
In this moment, he's everything and everyone. This is the only thing that matters. Everything else can fade away into darkness.
I'm not the girl who was tossed away by an asshole like Finn.
He's not the boy who was tricked by my nemesis into cheating on me.
We're just us, and no one can take that from us. Not Finn. Not Gloria. Not the world.
I could easily spend the rest of my life like this with Duncan. I've already spent six years by his side. Subtract the past eight weeks, and nothing has changed.
He's still Duncan, and I'm still Francine, and there's still so much for us to learn about each other.
Duncan is the one who's always loved me, and I've always loved him. It just got lost amongst all the annoyance and the tethering line between loving someone and being in love.
I love Duncan—I always have—and I know if I let it grow, I'll fall for him and be happy for the rest of my days with him.
It will just take time to completely eradicate the town bad boy from my heart completely. Then, I'll be all Duncan's... forever.
Chapter Fifteen
Him
The second I saw Francine walk into my house, I knew it was a disaster waiting to happen. Turns out the reason she was here is because my brain-dead sister is trying to fix shit she has no business trying to fix.
"Why the hell are you fucking this shit up?" Sorcha sneers at me as Eoghan stands by her side.
I would've ended up balls deep in Francine if Colin hadn't come to get me, which I'm thankful for. I wouldn't have had the strength to send her away after I fucked her.
This thing is so fucked. I keep having to remind myself why it has to be this way. All I want is to take her in my arms and never let her go. Francine is right. I've hurt us both, but it will be better when she forgets about me and ends up marrying some dipshit in some out-of-state college. She'll forget about me, but I won't forget about her.
"Why are you sticking your fucking nose where it doesn’t belong?" I snap back at her. "I never fucking said you could invite her. Why did you even think that would be a good idea?"
"Because I'm trying to fix the mess you created. In case you haven't noticed, she is on a downward spiral, and it's only going to get worse from here, Finn. She's showing all the classic signs," she hisses.
"Signs of what?"
"Of someone in distress—someone highly fucking depressed—someone ten times more likely to try to hurt themselves than everyone else."
This is fucking bullshit. Sorcha is just trying to freak me out. It's not going to work.
"Yeah, right," I huff as I roll my eyes before taking a sip of my beer.
"Do you forget that I'm studying psychology? I'm in my third year. She exhibits every sign of someone who is potentially suicidal. Number one, she's isolating. She doesn't hang out with her friends anymore. Pretty much the only person she talks to on a regular basis is Duncan, and that's because he's holding her together. Even he's worried something isn't right, and he's not the brightest when it comes to shit like this. Number two, she quit the dance team, which she has been dedicated to longer than me. She's been dancing since she was a toddler. Number three, she drastically changed her appearance. She cut and dyed her hair. She changed the way she does her makeup, her clothes, everything. Number four, half the time, she seems like she has no emotion whatsoever unless she's snapping at someone. Did you see what she did to Gloria yesterday at the football game? She attacked her and was screaming in her face like a madman. Francine is losing her shit, and it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse. She’s either going to hurt herself or someone else. If she hurts someone else, like really hurts someone, Dad and the others will force you to step in. Do you really want that? Do you honestly want to be the person who has to put an end to her?”
Sorcha is genuinely concerned, and now so am I. Fuck. Is Francine on that much of a slippery slope? She can’t be losing her shit that bad, right?
“Francine isn‘t going to hurt anybody. Give her a few weeks, and she’ll be back to normal. She’ll get over it.”
“When are you going to get it, man?” Eoghan starts in on me. “Ever heard of better together than apart? That’s you and Francine. You’re losing your shit, too. You just don’t think we see it. What are you gonna do, huh? Are you going to maim every guy that looks in her direction?”
I haven’t thought that far ahead.
I’m a jealous, possessive dick. I know that. Yeah, I’ll probably beat the shit out of some of the assholes who look her way.
She may not be mine anymore, but the psychotic part of my brain hasn’t grasped that yet. I fantasize about killing Malloy every day just for being near her. It doesn’t matter if he’s helping her get over me. He reassuringly touches her arm, and I see red. I catch his eyes lingering on her tits when she’s not looking, and I’m castrating him in my head.
If I saw him do something like kiss her, I’d probably kill him in front of everyone in the school. Why? Because Francine Gray drives me stark, raving mad.
“Maybe,” I growl.
“Finn!” Colin yells as he runs around the corner of the house. “Man, you need to come quick. Someone destroyed your bike.”
Of all the fucking nights, something like this could happen. It had to be tonight, right? Right after I left Francine in my room, right after I walked away from her, hating myself.
This is not the night for anyone to fuck with me.
I charge around the side of the house and see Rian trying like hell to extinguish the fire on my bike... and the front yard. Both are fully blazing, and I already know my bike is totaled.
“Fucking hell,” I growl as I stand by, watching the fire as if it will give me the answer to who did this.
“Um, Finn, you might want to see this,” Eoghan says as he hands me his phone.
He has our security system app open on the phone, showing Francine stalking out of the house and straight over to my bike. She kicks it down and stomps a few spots on it before dousing it in lighter fluid.
She grabs another canister of lighter fluid and takes it to the lawn, where I can tell she’s not just spraying it. She’s leaving a message, but I can’t tell what it is.
If it were anyone else, I’d be raging pissed, but I know I deserve this. I hurt her, and she got her payback.
“Clear everyone out of here,” I order Eoghan, who nods.
***
I sit on the porch, smoking a cigarette, while Rian and Colin finish putting out the fire.
I quit these cancer sticks when I found out the smell was one of Francine's triggers, but what's the point in keeping to that? She's not around, and she shouldn't be coming around anymore.
What was so urgent for Francine to say that she burned it into my front lawn? It has to be important.
Rian puts out the last spark, and Colin snaps a picture with his phone before coming over to me.
"What the hell did you do to her?" he asks, a solemn expression across his face, before handing me the phone.
I look down at the picture, and my chest tightens.
There's writing in the charred grass.
Mr. J,
Hell hath no fury, like a woman scorned.
Fuck you,
Harley Quinn
I stare at the message, feeling a pit drop in my stomach. It's not so much the words or the damage to my lawn that gets to me. It's the emotions I know are behind them.
She's angry that I dismissed her and hurt that I rebuffed her affections. She poured her heart out to me, and I pushed her away. She begged me to give up on protecting her the way I am, but I refused.
"So much for her not being on a downward spiral," Eoghan groans beside me.
I can't fucking do this shit. I can't leave it like this. She's in pain, and it's my fault. I put her in this pain, and Sorcha is right. It's only going to get worse.
Francine has gone from being completely accepting of me walking away to destroying private property in an attempt to make herself feel better. She's crashing, and if it keeps going, it will be catastrophic when she hits ground zero.
I grab the keys to my truck and walk over toward it.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Colin yells.
"None of your fucking business," I growl as I climb into my truck and speed away from my house.
I was so fucking blind. I didn't realize how bad this would get for her. How couldn't I see it? She's been breaking in front of me, and I didn't notice because I've been stuck in my own misery. I thought this separation would be what's best for her, but was I wrong?
Have I been causing us both unnecessary pain these past few weeks?
I drive across town and pull up to her house, but her car is gone. Where the fuck could she be? It's ten o'clock at night.
I pull out my phone and pull up the tracking app I installed on her phone a while back so I always know where she is. Maybe I am a stalker, but I don't give a shit right now. I just need to find her.
Her phone pings across Burnett Street in the Raven Crest neighborhood, about a mile from here.
I pull back onto the road and drive until I reach where her phone is pinged. It's just a middle-class neighborhood. None of her friends live out here, so what is she doing here?
Then, my eyes fall on the black mailbox with bold white letters on the side.
Malloy.
She ran to him when I hurt her.
Rage bubbles inside me. I have no right to be angry. People do what they need to stop their pain, but I wish it was anyone but him she ran to. That fucknut hurt her, too. I remember finding her bawling her eyes out on the floor over him, screwing around with that slut, Gloria.
I may be many things, but at least I didn't screw around on her.
I climb out of the truck and hear the sound of Francine's scream. It's muffled, but it's undeniable. I look up at the window of the house it was coming from and see something I can never unsee.
I would assume whatever she is on is directly below his window because the view is angled way too close for it not to be so.
Francine is on her hands and knees, and Malloy is fucking her. Her face is below my field of vision, but I know her body too well to confuse her curves with anyone else's.
I have to turn my face away. If I look at that any longer, I'll lose my fucking mind.
