Page 61 of Merciless

Steam curls in the shower stall as I stand under the hot water. The heaviness from the day’s events lessens enough for me to loosen my muscles and enjoy the relaxation.

I figured I’d decompress a bit before driving for three hours.

That place never felt like home. I was the specter, watching others live their lives to the fullest. I didn’t fit in anywhere, despite my stepfather trying to include me in family activities. It was hard to enjoy anything because of my stepbrothers. They made it clear that they didn’t like me. All by just ignoring me.

Then there’s Ruby, my little half-sister. The boys cherished her and treated her like a spoiled princess, while they treated me like a ghost.

I hate that once upon a time I worried about what they thought of me.

Now look at me. Hating men and confused because of the masked man and Elijah.

An ache builds between my legs at the thought of him. A shudder rolls through me, and I cup my sensitive breast.

That’s the thing. I didn’t hate his touch. It reminded me of what happened and how good it felt. I’ve never come as hard as when he ate me out and fingered me. After that, every orgasm by my hand has been lackluster. It’s never strong like what he did to me.

We crossed the line again this morning, blurring the boundaries between right and wrong for a moment of weakness.

I slip a hand down my stomach, between my legs. Biting my bottom lip, I close my eyes and dip my fingers between my folds and smear my wetness onto my clit. I conjure the memory of this morning. The memory fades and another takes its place. The one from the late night when he crept into my room.

I imagine what would have happened if he had kept going. He would have ditched his clothes and settled his hips between my spread thighs. I would have wound my arm around his neck and pulled him in for a searing kiss that steals both of our breaths away.

It’s so messed up that my stepbrother turns me on.

The masked man does too, and I hate admitting that to myself. Maybe I’m trauma-bonding with him. But something about him feels familiar. Whether it’s his voice, his taste, his smell, or even his touch, I can’t put my finger on it.

I let out a shaky breath and roll my clit with my middle finger. I imagine it’s Elijah’s fingers working me closer to an orgasm. Wetness coats the insides of my thighs, and I smear more onto the bundle of nerves before flicking it harder.

The memory of Elijah’s darkened gaze looking up at me from between my legs pops into my vision.

I throw back my head and squeeze my breast harder.

His lips were curled in a deviant smile as he worked me closer to an orgasm. I’ll never forget how unhinged he looked. He was just as turned on as I was when he feasted on me like it was his job.

“Elijah,” I whimper.

The shower curtain ruffles behind me. I snap out of the fantasy and spin around.

“What are you doing in here?” I squeak. I cover my breasts with one arm and my pussy with the other.

Elijah leans against the stall, folding his arms across his chest. He smirks as his eyes rake down my body and back to my face. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Get out.” I inch backward to put space between us. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

“I’ve been in here before.” He glances around the large community bathroom before looking at me again.

“I don’t care what you did with someone else, but I don’t want you to see me like this.”

His smile falls. “With someone else?”

“You’re pretty annoying, you know that?”

A grin stretches across his face again. “You think I’m pretty?”

I take a deep breath through my nose to calm myself. “What do you want?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“Tell you what?”