Dalton
Cold water cascades from my hands. The water flows down the sink in crimson ribbons.
Out the kitchen window, night has fallen. Lightning flashes in the distance, but tonight’s storm passes the house without much drama. Rain showers over the landscaped backyard in gentle sheets of silver illuminated by the porch light.
I shake my wet hands in the sink, reaching for a towel. My brushes are laid out on the counter, all of them clean and glistening in the light coming from a lamp near the kitchen table.
I gather my brushes and turn, the glint of metal catching my eye.
A butcher knife rests in the dish rack, freshly sharpened.
It’s the only thing in the dish rack. Both Bailey and Layla keep the kitchen spotless and would have noticed a knife being left out. I reach for it and pull it off the rack just as Layla walks into the kitchen.
Dressed in pale blue scrubs with her hair pulled back, I can see every bruise and scrape on her arms and neck. Her neck is a ghoulish yellow color which makes fury rear its ugly head inside of me again, and her eyes are nearly the same color blue as her scrubs but lined with red from crying. She refuses to look at me as she edges toward the sink, her eyes locked on the butcher knife.
She goes to drop a mug in the otherwise empty sink and stops when she sees the remaining ribbons of dark crimson still swirling toward the drain.
“It’s paint,” I remark dryly, putting the knife in its proper place–the drawer next to the dishwasher.
“What else would it be?” she asks rhetorically, turning the water back on to rinse her coffee mug. She glances at the clock on the microwave. It’s just after 9:00, but the dark circles under her eyes are already visible as she looks between the microwave, coffee maker, and the mug she just deposited in the sink.
“I can make another pot of coffee if you want. I’ll be up for a while, too. Could probably use the caffeine.”
She glances at me, her throat bobbing as she swallows. “Where have you been all day?”
I roll my brushes in the palm of my hand. “Painting.”
“Where?”
“The cigar room.”
“I went there earlier to try to talk to you, and you weren’t there.”
“I might have been in my studio then.”
Her eyes lock on mine. I arch my brow and lean my hip against the counter. “Did you want more coffee or not?”
“Did you leave me another rose?”
“No, I did not.”
“What kind of game is this, Dalton?”
She looks so exhausted. In fact, her entire body sags as her words fall between us. I watch her for a moment, debating whether or not it’s time to tell her the truth, but the less she knows, the better, especially now that she’s sleeping again and more clear headed than she’s been the past couple of weeks.
“I’m not playing a game,” I tell her, keeping my gaze locked on her face. “I didn’t leave you a rose. I didn’t leave you a rose the first time, either.”
“Then who did?”
“Maybe Bailey–”
“No,” she breathes, shaking her head.
I roll my lower lip between my teeth and shrug. “Your aunt, perhaps?”
A glimmer of frustration flashes behind her eyes. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s probable, though, isn’t it?”
“She’s barely lucid.”
“That’s going to change though, isn’t it?” She stares at me, realizing I know a lot more about Penny’s situation than I let on. “I want you to stay away from Vera this weekend.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t it obvious she’s up to something when it comes to your aunt?” I set my brushes down on the counter and cross my arms over my chest. “You promised you’d obey me. I’m forbidding you–”
“This is my job, Dalton! You can’t forbid me from doing anything, especially not conversing with a fellow nurse.”
I kick off the counter and cage her in on the other side of the kitchen, my hands resting on either side of her head against the upper cabinets, the green vinyl surface cool to the touch. “Do I need to remind you who I am and the deal we made last night?”
She sucks in her breath, the artery in her neck fluttering as her pulse quickens.
“Do as I say. Stay away from that woman.”
“Tell me why–”
“Do you think your aunt is the only person she fucks with while she’s in the house?” I snarl.
She narrows her eyes at me. I push off the cupboard and step away, my eyes still locked on hers. “Are you insinuating that she’s drugging me?”
“She could be.”
“What reason would she have to do that?”
“What reason does she have to keep your aunt in a stupor?”
Her throat bobs again, highlighting the bruises that make my blood boil. I hold my ground for another moment, waiting for Layla to say something, anything, but she tries to walk past me into the hallway. I grab her arm. “We’re not done here.”
“I’ve had a fucking awful day, Dalton,” she snaps, wrenching her arm from my grasp.
“The doctor has something coming for him, Layla.”
She freezes, glancing up at me. “What are you going to do?”
I turn to face her, resting a hand on the doorway to prevent her from escaping down the hallway. “Nothing,” I whisper, leaning to brush the word over her cheek. “Not me.”
She sucks in a breath as my lips graze her cheek then that spot below her ear that makes her tremble. She lets her breath out in a shaky moan then snaps her back to her senses, and she shoves me away. Her eyes blaze with heat and anger as she looks up at me. “What do you want from me right now, Dalton?”
“I want you on your knees,” I rasp and pull her toward me to kiss her again. “I want to touch you everywhere that vile man dared touch. I want to wash his taste out of your mouth and remind you who you belong to.”
She melts into my touch. I cage her against the counter. I continue, “I warned you what would happen if anyone else touched you. I made it clear who you belong to, and that’s me. It’ll only ever be me.” I kiss her hard, my tongue sweeping over her lower lip before plunging inside her mouth–tasting, teasing, flicking over her teeth. She arches her neck back, and I trail kisses over each bruise left by the doctor’s fingers, my hands roaming under her scrub top until I reach her bra. I squeeze her breasts, loving how full and heavy they are in my hands. “You’re mine. Mine. I want to hear you say it. I need to know that you understand who you belong to.”
She’s panting, her eyes pinched closed as I kneel in front of her.
“Say it, Angel,” I repeat more firmly then press a kiss to her stomach, my thumbs hooking into her waistband and pulling her pants and panties down to her knees.
My answer is a sharp intake of breath as I drive two fingers into her soaking wet pussy, hooking them to meet that spot I know sends her head spinning. She clutches the edge of the counter, leaning her back against it as her legs tremble.
“Say it,” I demand against her clit, my breath brushing over the swollen, sensitive parts of her I’d love to bury my cock into right now, but she hasn’t earned it yet.
“I’m yours,” she whimpers, throwing her head back.
“That’s my good girl.” I growl then slide my tongue over her clit and through her folds.
She tastes like paradise, sweet and heady, and hot to the touch. I devour her like I’m starving, each swipe of my tongue and thrust of my fingers making her even wetter. She drips down my fingers onto her panties. I graze my teeth over her clit, and she lets go of the counter and grabs my hair, tangling her fingers in it and pulls.
I growl against her inner thigh. “Easy, Angel.”
But she’s already on the edge of coming completely undone. I can’t have that. I only want her coming on my cock from now on.
I bite her inner thigh and pump my fingers inside her a few more times, loving the way she writhes against my hand, then I’m back on my feet unzipping my jeans. I pull her panties back up–a little black thong. I’d love to bind her wrists together with it while I fuck her from behind, but I don’t have time to mess with that now.
I flip her around and press her down against the counter, one hand on her upper back to keep her still, then hold her thong to the side. I nudge her legs apart, which gives me a glimpse of her beautiful, wet pussy. I drag the head of my dick over her entrance once, twice, then slam into her. She jerks, whimpering from the impact. She tries to press her hands against the counter to push herself upright, but I gather her wrists and hold them against the small of her back while pumping into her.
The slapping of our bodies merges with the steady thumps of the rain hitting the porch roof.
“Please, Dalton!” she cries out, her pussy tightening around my cock.
“That’s it, Angel.” I moan, closing my eyes and losing myself to the way she feels with each thrust. “I know you love it.” She’s so tight, so unaccustomed to a cock my size, but she takes all of me without a fight. “You’re doing so good.”
She cries out, her pussy spasming as her climax echoes through her body. I let my head fall back. This is ecstasy, but I pull out at the last second and grab her thong, coming all over her panties.
She looks at me over her shoulder with an arched brow, her skin flushed pink. “Did you just–”
“You’ll wear them until I come find you again later tonight.”
“Why?”
“To remind you that I am in control, Angel.” I let go of her wrists and zip my jeans, watching as she adjusts her panties and pulls up her scrub pants, a fiery blush staining her cheeks.
When she looks up at me again with those doe eyes, I tap the underside of her chin.
“Do not walk around in the dark tonight,” I command, my eyes locked on hers. “Or there will be repercussions.”