After a stubborn moment, her feet shifted apart.
He caressed the crease between her thigh and cheek, thrilling in the responsive quiver. “How did you get them?”
“I bought them on Ebay. I like the stories. And the sentimental signatures. The little notes for other people. Normal people.”
Ah. “But you don’t know them. They may very well be more fucked up than you and me combined.” He slid two fingers between her now slightly less tense cheeks, exposed the sweet little pucker of her anus, and swabbed.
Enough time had lapsed between preparing the test swabs, reading the instructions, and collecting the cultures. The color should be set. He patted her hip and stood. “Jump in the shower and rinse your hair while I package up the samples.”
Still pressed against the wall, she looked over her shoulder at him with a strange expression on her face. Dark shadows bruised her eyes, her posture slumping. No doubt she was exhausted, hungry, and still working through her shock of the last couple hours.
He turned toward the vanity and listened to her footsteps shuffle to the shower.
Thirty minutes later, he stood behind her as she stared into the mirror. He’d used the hairdryer on her hair and let her keep the towel tied around her chest. Rich deep brown fell like a waterfall around her shoulders and curled damned near to her waist over the white terrycloth. The color highlighted the dark lashes fringing her eyes and illuminated the glow of her honey skin tone.
She was even more beautiful than his mother. Mesmerized, he couldn’t look away. “What do you think?”
She glanced at his eyes reflected in the mirror, her fists clenched around the top edge of the towel. “What do you—?”
“No.” He gripped the counter’s edge beside her hips and pressed his chest against her back, glaring at her. “I asked what you thought of it.”
A noise squeaked in her throat, and she took a long moment to study her reflection. “It’s...me.”
His chest pinched. “And you outshine any ideal you try to cover yourself with.” Her jaw tightened but he didn’t miss the catch in her breath. He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “Let’s go eat.”
“Where’s my robe?” Her hands flew between her legs, covering the gap in the towel with a fan of trembling fingers. “Dammit, Van. Eyes up here.” She bent forward, trying to further hide her cunt.
He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was such bullshit. Obviously, he wasn’t getting through to her. Fine. He would just force her to show him what the problem was. He dug beneath the sink, removed a large handheld mirror and set it on the wide space of counter beside the sink. Then he patted the oval of reflective glass. “Hop up. Legs spread. Knees that way.” He pointed at the mirrored wall behind the vanity.
Her head instantly started shaking side to side.
He grabbed her jaw, cupping her cheeks and stilling her. “If you don’t hop when I say hop, we’re going for a walk.” He jerked his head toward the door and the windows beyond. “Out there.”
When he released her, she climbed onto the vanity, her limbs shaking and the cords taut in her neck. With her ass on the handheld mirror and her legs spread, her bent knees pressed against the wall mirror. It was an awkward position, but she’d just have to deal with it. He yanked away the towel and tossed it behind him.
Her hands started to move to her pussy, but she caught herself and clutched her knees instead. Good girl.
Leaning against her back, he trailed his fingers around her ribs, beneath her tits, crossed his arms around her waist, and hugged her to him. “How long have you been a shut in?”
“Two years, three months, and five days.” She peeked at him from beneath her lashes.
He scraped his stubble against her cheek. “What happened?”
Her finger tapped restlessly on her knee. “I got scared.”
“More scared than you are now?”
She nodded, swiftly and passionately.
Damn. He was no psychiatrist. But he knew how to manipulate to get what he wanted. “Does this” —he cupped her pussy— “have something to do with it?”
Her breaths quickened, and her face contorted in pain. Fuck, if she had a meltdown, he’d get nowhere. He moved his hand, placing it over her breastbone, and touched his lips to her ear. “I won’t touch your pussy, but I want you to look at it and tell me what you see.”
“Why?” Her eyes roamed his face in the mirror, pleading. “What are we doing?”
He was digging too deep, too fast, but he wasn’t a patient man. “Let’s call it an exorcism. I’m not officially trained, but I’m well-versed in demons.”
She watched him, maybe hoping he’d change his mind. Or stalling. But she was a smart girl. She’d make the right choice.
Slowly, her eyes shifted, wandering the room. Then breath by breath, they lowered. Down, down, a little hitch in her chest brought them up before they lowered all the way.
He didn’t prompt her, didn’t move. He simply took in the splendor of the view between her legs.
Swollen, juicy lips formed a deep crevice of dark flesh, hiding the opening that had felt so fucking tight around his cock. Heat rushed to his groin, hardening him against his jeans and tightening his balls. The hood of her clit was still a beautiful shade of red from his teeth. He wanted to keep it that way.
Her voice shattered his reflective thoughts. “It’s grotesque.”
What the fuck? He bit down on his tongue to keep his roar from escaping. After a few deep inhales, he asked softly, “Who told you that?”
Her lips pressed together, and her body turned to shivering stone in his arms. After another battle of glares in the mirror, she looked at her hands where they were fisted on her knees. “Lots of people.”
“I want names.” Blood rushed outward from his core, heated and violent, hardening his muscles around her. “Start with the first fucker who fed you
