Her eyes widen in surprise. I thought she at least suspected that was actually my room, but obviously not.
I get off the bed, find a pair of boxers in one of the drawers, and walk back and slide them up her legs.
“Leighton, I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll forget about everything but me inside you,” I say, meeting her gaze.
She swallows hard. “Is that a threat?”
“A promise,” I say casually, picking up the sweatpants and sliding them up her legs as well, then pulling on the drawstring around her waist to secure them cause otherwise they'd probably fall off. I fold the waistband over for good measure.
She stands up, still on shaky legs, and smiles. She leans down and rolls each leg up three times over until her feet come out. It looks ridiculous and kinda hot at the same time, to see her practically swallowed in my clothes. I throw two socks at her and she smirks, putting each on.
“There's a warm jacket somewhere in that pile of clothes.” I point to the pile in question, trying to hide a sheepish smile.
She walks over to the chair it's all thrown on, and starts rummaging through the clothes, her back to me. She pauses for a second.
“Never took you to be so messy,” she says, her voice slightly louder as she shuffles some of my clothes around. She turns around after shrugging my jacket on, her hands in the pockets, and sniffs the collar. “Can I keep this?” she asks.
“Sure,” I say, though I was going to buy her some warmer clothes, jacket included. But I like her wanting to keep mine. Like she wants me with her even when I'm not.
“You forgot your jacket in . . . wow, your room?”
“Yeah,” I say, unbuttoning the rest of my shirt and pulling a sweatshirt of my own on. “But that's okay.” I adjust myself again deliberately, and she smiles. “I could use the cold.”
LEIGHTON
It's times like these that I forget. I forget that I’m essentially a prisoner, and that the man I love is probably going to be the last thing I see before I die. He makes me forget everything. Walking down the path behind the house, hand in hand with Devon, the only thing I can think of is him. The now. This very moment. His hand is gripping mine tightly, as if he’s afraid to let go. I return the gesture, but what I'm afraid of is the moment he does exactly that.
I know I have an expiration date. Now I just need to find out how much time I have.
“You okay?” Devon asks me, a puff of frozen breath leaving his mouth as he speaks.
Truth be told, my legs are still a little shaky from the orgasm he gave me, but there’s no way I’m going to voice a complaint about that. We walk toward a bench under a bare tree and Devon gestures for me to sit. I pull the jacket around me, trying to protect myself from the harsh cold and sit down slowly.
“Thanks for this, I needed it.”
“Please don’t thank me,” he says, lowering his voice. He sits next to me, putting his hands in the hoodie pockets.
I sigh, and stare at the house in front of us, searching for the sole window of the room I'm in. It's a huge three-story house, with stone walls and a large deck. It’s a mansion, really. There’s a smaller house to the side of it, probably a garage or something. I guess nothing sets it apart from the other houses in this area. It's not hard to locate the window of the room I’m in. After a while I realize there is only one with wrought iron bars.
I look at him curiously, and open my mouth to ask him what the deal is with the bars, but then I close it. Neither one of us says anything.
I close my eyes and inhale the fresh air I've so foolishly taken for granted before. The wind, the smells. . . It hits me, right then. I’m not willing to give this up. I’m not ready to leave this world.
And who is this person I’ve turned into, that I was letting myself become accustomed to this fate? I open my eyes and tilt my head to study the handsome man next to me. His eyes are closed, too, as if he's enjoying this moment of freedom with me.
My love for Devon is my greatest weakness. It has me confused, blinded. Determined to become a martyr for a crime committed by my family.
Weak. This is not who I am.
Did I think, in the end, that he would love me enough to spare me, and my family? If I’m being honest with myself, I guess, maybe I did. I realize bitterly that’s exactly what I was holding onto. A small slither of hope that all would work out in the end. Maybe I read too many books, too many unrealistic happy endings.
If Devon loves me even a quarter of the amount I do him, by this point he should know that he can’t kill me. He should know and realize that a love like this shouldn’t be sacrificed for anything—even revenge.
More death won’t bring back his family. Maybe the death of my family would be fair justice in his book. But my own death? How is he going to come out from that? Not unscathed, that’s for damn sure.
“You’re thinking too much,” he says, his eyes wide open, and back on me.
“Is that not a quality you want in a woman?” I tease, my lips twitching.
He smiles, standing up and offering me his hand.
“We have to go back already?” I whine, not wanting to leave.
“Not yet, come on,” he says, taking my hand in his and pulling me up off the bench. I suppress a squeal when he picks me up and holds me like a bride, one hand on my butt and one arm around my shoulder. I pull the jacket harder around me, making sure my torso isn't pressed up against him. He carries me through the dead, frozen grass behind the tree where we just sat, until we reach a small playground with a swing set.
I grin playfully. “A swing?”
He smiles again, showing off his white teeth, and wordlessly sets me on it, my legs dangling. He stands behind me and starts to push me.
“I can push myself you know,” I point out, brushing my hair out of my face.
“What’s the fun in that?” he says, pushing me once more with a hand on the small of my back. The wind blows in my face as I swing over and over again, so many times I lose count. I almost have the urge to jump off the swing and jump into the grass, like I used to do when I was a kid. The swing comes to a halt, and Devon pulls my back against his warm front. I lift my head up to look at him smiling down at me.
“Your face is all flushed,” he says, leaning down to kiss my dry lips.
“Do we have to go back now?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Yeah, we better. Come on."
I get off the swing, and busy myself, brushing off my ass in case there's anything on there from the swing. In reality, I don't want him to see my eyes tearing up, but I could blame it on the wind.
“We’ll come out again, all right?” he says when I finally face him, playing with a lock of my hair. “Besides, I think you have something to take care of as soon as we get back inside,” he adds, taking a step forward, a devilish glint in his eye.
I take a step back and he frowns. Before he has the time to think it over, I take his hand in mine and squeeze it, averting his attention. “Is that right?" I ask as we retrace our steps toward the house.
My prison. But not for much longer.
“Why did you push me on the swing?” I ask, shaking that thought off.
“I remember as a kid, it used to make me feel free.” That's all he says, and he doesn’t need to explain anymore. He wanted me to feel free, even for a moment. Even if it was an illusion.
What he doesn’t know is I intend to be free once again.
On our way back to the house, we spot a figure by the parked car in front. I can tell by their build it's a man, gesturing wildly with his hands as he yells into the phone, pacing back and forth next to the vehicle. Devon and I look at each other, the same question on his face that I'm sure mine shows. My hand flies into the jacket's inner pocket and grips the gun I found in Devon's room, its coldness shocking my fingers. I relax them, mentally scolding myself for almost giving it away, and pull my hand out, careful not to catch his attention. Devon crouches behind the low stone wall near the backyard entrance gate and gestures for me to do the same. I follow him down and press my back against the wall.