These Vicious Games (Seattle Undeground)

Chapter 21

"Love is like the wind, you can't see it, but you can feel it." –Nicholas Sparks, A Walk to Remember

I glare at the white and black roses, pushing them away from me at the breakfast table. Francis sighs, “Would you like to talk about it, miss?”

“Nope.” I inhale my pancakes, not even tasting the sticky goodness.

Flowers don’t fix cruel words. He either apologizes or I’m done. After years of abuse, I refuse to take it for another moment because he’s scared of feelings. I wipe my face, draining my coffee and heading to the garden with my book.

I sit on the concrete bench, opening Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. The beginning has been slow and a bit challenging but I’m here to see it through. I wonder if this is my life. Living on an island in a castle with my very own library full of every novel I could think of and play my piano… I don’t want to be complacent, but I definitely can’t be mad. This isn’t like that movie I saw where the girl marries rich and wants her own career. I want nothing to do with the outside world.

I hear the slap of his loafers, but I don’t look up. Atticus clears his throat, and I flip my page.

“Are you giving me the silent treatment?” Silence, and then, “Very childish.”

I’d laugh if I was speaking to him. That’s a bold statement from a man who throws out nasty words when he gets uncomfortable and sends flowers in fucked up vases when he knows he’s in the wrong.

“I may have said some things,” He grumbles.

Page flip.

“Come on, Little Bird.”

Silence.

He grunts, snatching my book and I look up to him with pure murderous eyes. “I’m sorry, alright?”

I smile, “Thank you.”

He glares, “That’s it? I’m sorry and all is forgiven?”

I shrug. “Emotions make people act out. It’s fine.”

He narrows his eyes, handing my book back. “I wasn’t acting out of emotions.”

“Yeah.” I shake my head in mock agreement.

“I do not do feelings, Constance.” Oh, man. Not the first name. “We are fucking, that’s it.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re doing very little of that.”

The silence grows tense until leather slips around my neck and I’m pushed to fall on all fours, my book falling to the ground, and I lose my place. “If you want to be fucked, day or night, all you have to do is ask, nicely.” The leather tightens around my neck and for some reason, I moan.

"Please." I ask.

"For you, sure, my sweet, innocent, Little Bird." He pushes my skirts up, a cool breeze caressing over my back side. The belt tightens and a sharp slap hits my butt. I gasp. "But you weren't being very good when you ignored me." He smacked me again in quick succession before thrusting his fingers into my aching channel. "But maybe being a bad girl makes you wet. Tell me, Little Bird. Is it my belt around your neck or my hand across your ass that has you dripping all over my hand?"

"Both."

"Hmm." He runs his nose across my hair before he pushes his fingers into my mouth. "Clean my fingers. I want every drop of your cum off my hand and down your throat." I blush, taking his big fingers into my mouth tentatively and slowly licking his finger. "You can do better. Suck them like it’s my cock. We know how much you enjoy my big cock down your throat."

The memory of sucking him makes me whimper around his fingers. He was big. Massive in length and girth. It was beautiful in the most intimidating way. Just like Atticus is. Just thinking about his dick has me squeezing around nothing. I want to feel him. Want him deep inside me as I choke on his fingers and whimper his name. I want to feel his skin on mine, just once. But I know that's not now. We're both clothed.

A slight rain dribbles from the sky. Almost as if every time we come together the sky cries. Damning us both from the very start.

He enters me, quick and swift, hitting what feels like my organs. My body doesn't need time to adjust this time. It's ready and wet for him. Aching to feel him. He thrusts, pulling on the belt, choking me until my back is pinned to his front. He grips my face, turning me over my shoulder and spearing his tongue into my mouth. He has a taste of tobacco and twisted fantasy. He kisses me as if he's trying to steal the very breath out of me. His hand slips, pushing the top of my shirt down and exposing my heavy, aching breast. He begins flicking my nipples, releasing my mouth to tighten his hold on the belt, causing my breathing to shallow as he pinches harder.

Stars explode behind my closed eyes as the rain beats on my heated body. I tremble and shake against him as I fight to breathe and try to take control of my body as I compulse around his engorged dick. He finally releases me from the belt, throwing it to the ground to cup both breasts in his big hands and it feels amazing to have his hands on me. His teeth in my neck as he takes me against the concrete bench. My knees scraping and getting burned from the friction. I consume the pain and pleasure he gives me.

And when he finally cums, a growl in my neck and his hands squeezing to the point of bruising my breast, I cum again. Just from the feel and noise he makes while cumming.

And this time when he pulls out of me and situates himself, he picks me up, carrying me into the house and down the west wing.

Into the beast’s chambers.

The room is every bitof whatIimagined. Huge anddrapedin black. Cold , but warm from thefire burning in the hearth. He strips me of my wet dress, his fingers trailing over my naked body as he sinks to his knees and starts kissing my pussy. "The fuck are you doing to me?" He groans as he tastes and teases me. Prolonging another orgasm. This one is sharp and quick. My body numb from cumming one too many times. I feel so drained, I don’t even fight him as he tucks me into his massive bed. My eyes shutting before my head hits the pillow.

I wake to heavy arms holding me to a warm body. No, wait. I sit up quickly, turning the light on and looking over to Atticus. He mutters incoherently as I place my hands on his head. Hot, not warm, to the touch. He’s burning up and he's so clammy. His natural tanned skin ashened.

"Atticus." I shake him, but it's like he can't hear me.

"No,Ma'am. Please, not the chamber. I'll be good." He whispers, tossing and turning.

My heart stops and I rise, running out of the room and dragging Francis down the hall. "He needs help." My voice shakes.

"Dad. I don't want to. I don't want to hurt her."

"Oh, dear," Francis mumbles, his hands reaching out to check his fever. "Let me go grab a sponge and some tepid water. Let's see if that will bring his fever down enough for the hallucinations will stop."

"He needs a doctor," I protest.

Francis shakes his head. "No one can come here. He doesn't want anyone to know where he lives. Just, trust me."

I shake my head, crawling back into bed. Unsure of what to do. He's shivering, burning himself under the covers. "I don't want to." He mumbles again.

Francis comes back and I take the water bucket and sponge from him, gently rubbing the sponge over Atticus face and neck. I need to get his chest but I dont think trying to remove his clothes is a great idea. Not with whatever hallucinations he's in. I trail the sponge over his arms, my eyes landing on the scars of tally marks there. There has to be at least twenty. "What is that?" I ask Francis as I dip the sponge back in the water.

"One day, miss. I believe he'll tell you everything. But it is not my place."

My brows furrow and I use my free hand to trace the scar on his face as I try and bring his fever down. "We need to get medicine in him. Can we crush it up and shove it in his mouth?"

Francis nods, "We can try."

He leaves, coming back quickly with a cap of crushed pills. "Better let me, miss. He can be violent."

I shake my head, 'I've got it from here, go back to bed. I'll call if I need you."

Francis looks as if he wants to argue but his face softens. "Okay, miss."

I set the sponge down in the bucket, straddling Atticus who immediately thrashes. "Atticus, I need to give you this medicine."

His eyes open slightly, and I use that chance to put the crushed pills in his mouth. He swallows them dry, his eyes panicked as he looks at me.

"Constance, no matter what you hear or what you see, you have to run. Run and never look back. I'll find you; I promise."

And then he passes out.

The words pull at something in my mind, but I can’t grasp it. I repeat the words in my head as I lay next to him, checking his fever until my eyes are so heavy I can't keep them open anymore.

I've heard those words and yet, I can’t remember where it's from.