Gripping her hips, Griff pumped into her. With each thrust, his muscled ass cheeks squeezed and his balls slapped against the crack of her ass.
Alright now, donut fucker. I see you.
The bed rocked.
“Yes, papi.” Pandora’s breasts bobbed. “Fuck me harder.”
“Harder, huh?” Griff picked up the pace.
“Oh, papi! Oh!”
“Fuck!” Griff threw his head back. “Oh no.”
Make it last, man. Don’t tap out yet.
“Fuck!!” Griff shuddered.
Suddenly, West appeared out of nowhere and quietly shut the door. “Would you like some popcorn for the show?”
“It’s not like I opened the door. It was already—”
“That means you look inside?”
“You steal money and help your brothers kidnap women.” I walked off with my books. “So keep your moral judgements to yourself.”
“Eh.”
I stopped and turned to him. “What?”
West closed the distance. “When you ran off, I thought I would lose my brother forever. To say the least, he was not okay.”
I tilted my head to the side. “But you do understand why I left? Right?”
“Of course I do.” West lowered his voice. “I just want you to promise me something.”
“What?”
“Try to love him. If you do. . .”
“What?”
“If you love him. If you really give Cole a chance. . .” West sighed. “You’ll have no regrets. He’ll be everything you need and more. And he absolutely won’t hurt you. He’ll protect and meet all your needs.”
I stood there speechless.
“That’s it.” West left.
Hmmm.
I headed back to the master suite, entered, and set the books on the bed. I sat by the stack but didn’t pick one up. West’s thoughts repeated over and over in my head.
Could West be right?
I’d been with a man that was extremely sick and obsessed.
At least Cain is not like Chris. That motherfucker was sadistic every second of the day. There was no turn off switch.
Chris loved to be cruel to me. Back then, I was so young and lost. Chris took advantage of my immature mind, constantly playing mental games. Once he woke me up in the middle of the night with a gun to my head. It took an hour for him to move it away. Once he did, he laughed and showed me that the gun was empty. I ended up slapping him over and over, and he just took it, laughing and crying the whole time.
Another night, Chris shoved me out of bed and claimed that he was going to kill himself because he didn’t think that I loved him enough. Then, he put the gun in his mouth. Crying, I told him that I loved him and tried to grab the gun from him. Then, he laughed and hit me with the barrel, telling me I was stupid to think he would ever commit suicide.
The last night, he woke me up and forced himself on me. I let him have his way, the whole time the gun was in my face. As soon as he finished, he laughed and put the gun on the night stand and I picked it up and shot him. The only person that laughed that night was Quin as we buried him.
I trembled at the memory.
Cain isn’t Chris.
My hands shook.
But is Cain better?
They both were psycho, just different. I didn’t believe Chris had ever experienced love in his life. Both of his parents tormented and abused him when he was a kid. He’d been a runaway just like me. He never had the luck like me to meet someone like Quin. Instead, he spent most of his years alone and depressed. So, when we met, he loved me in his way—like his parents—dark, cruel, and abusive.
Meanwhile, Cain used to be Cole. And Cole had good parents with a few flaws here and there, but they didn’t sound that bad. While they did push him to go to seminary that was better than if they’d abandoned and abused him.
Had his mother not passed, his father would be here, and. . .
I would have never met Cain.
He would have remained Cole and been in someone’s church, praying over the lost and desperate. Or in some country sharing God’s gospel to little poor kids.
The door opened.
Cain stepped through and kicked off his boots.
Rattled, I picked up the first book and placed it on my lap, needing something to do. It took a lot to push away all those dark memories from the past.
Cain walked around to the other side of the bed and lay down.
Nervous, I opened the first page.
His deep voice rose in the room. “What are you reading?”
I looked at the title. “Moby Dick.”
“Have you ever read it?”
“No. Have you?”
“Yeah.”
Chris didn’t read shit either. He was stupid as fuck.
I cleared my throat.
Stop thinking about him.
I slipped my fingers along the page. “What is Moby Dick about?”
“I would be spoiling it, if I tell you.”
I looked down at him. “Tell me anyway.”
He rested his hands under the back of his head and stared at the ceiling. “Captain Ahab is the hero. And he symbolizes the very idea of obsession.”