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I gripped the remote on a floating shelf high above my bedside table, pushed a button, and lit up my TV, giving me options of what to watch—Netflix, cable, and the cameras I had set up in this house. I selected the last option...then, her room.
The tears in her eyes didn’t stop my fingers from rubbing over my crotch, didn’t stop my cock from responding to the sight of her. Her chest rose and fell, and teardrops had her skin glistening.
I freed myself, the strain against the material growing uncomfortable. I fisted my shaft with a hard and brutal grip, needing to strangle something...needing one painful ache to leave me the fuck alone.
Feebee sniffled on the screen, her attention moving to her own TV. She watched my memories play out before her eyes, all painful and beautiful times...but I saw none of them.
I only saw her.
Newer memories filled my mind...her between my legs that first day in the cell. I had played dead...practically out of it, unaware of her talents but not her turmoil.
But it was all a lie as I had rested, slumped against the cold wall, my cock in her mouth. I had felt everything. Her tongue, teeth, suction...her pulse pounding in her fucking throat as she sucked me deeper into her mouth. And it had felt fucking phenomenal.
Hiding my moans that day was one of my life’s greatest challenges.
The screen burst through my reverie. The image of Feebee crying over Chandelle’s existence, or lack of, amplified my guilt, but it didn’t stop me as I tugged myself harder, fingers slipping over my tip, smearing the precum dribbling out from me.
One last look into her eyes as she glanced in the direction of the hidden camera, not having any idea of its existence, as it hid in the beady eyes of a stuffed bear, and that was it. I didn’t need my eyes on a great body, my stare on something sinful or arousing. I came all over myself...by looking into her beautiful fucking eyes, and I knew right at that moment, I was fucking ruined.
Because of her.
Chapter 14
Feebee
My body was weak, still naked, hidden beneath my bedsheets. My pillow—covered in hundreds upon hundreds of hairs I had subconsciously pulled—was the only thing that offered me support as I rested my pounding head. Her voice, sweet and rich like caramel, was still playing inside my head, overpowering every thought that didn’t involve her.
I couldn’t use her name. It made her more real. It made it harder for me to come to terms with the fact that I was partly to blame for her death.
The pretty girl on TV died so I could live...and I couldn’t, not with the heavy weight of guilt crushing her heart.
My stomach rumbled, and I ignored it. Dinner time was near, but I didn’t want food. And I probably wouldn’t get it. Trix was off playing bingo now, stamping out numbers, hoping to get lucky. She wasn’t here this morning with a breakfast tray, and no one else came, either.
Knuckles rattled my door...another genie, this one more menacing sounding than little old Trix.
I didn’t bother to answer, having no power to keep whatever creature lurking out there out of this room.
The door opened despite my lack of welcome.
“Mercer requests your presence for dinner,” a man told me.
“Chocolate Eyes.”
“Actually,” he stalled, rubbing the back of his neck. “My name is Ethan.”
Ethan didn’t move. Not disrespecting the pink carpet by traipsing in with his shiny black shoes.
“Mercer can fuck off.”
“Do you have a death wish?” He laughed.
“Ironically, I do.” I had enough of life and all it had thrown at me. Had enough of survival and the guilt that came along for the ride. I wanted to be with my loved ones.
“I can escort you—”
“I said no!” I blared, anger rising as I turned to face the dark-haired loser in a fancy suit, not caring as my naked chest almost spilled out into his view. It wasn’t like he hadn’t already fucking seen it.
He blinked twice, dark eyes capturing nothing but my stress and agitation...probably to feed those images to Mercer during the dinner I wouldn’t be sharing.
