The Edge of the World

Chapter Eighteen

He scented her the moment he stepped into her parent's home late in the afternoon. The house was quiet, the brass and glass of the nineteen eighties decor shimmered in the sunlight spilling through the windows. He strolled lazily from the living room, through the kitchen, not bothering to cast any attention to the photos lining the papered walls. He didn't need to look at her transcendence from infant to woman frozen in time, for he'd known her since she was a toddler, only a year younger than him.

They'd grown up together, and he'd been forced to watch her live without him being anything other than her friend and next-door neighbor.

It was his fault, of course. His shyness was, at times, debilitating, but it was all in how he was raised. He didn't ponder too hard on it, for he knew as long as they were apart, neither of them would be happy.

Now, she was eighteen, and all these years he'd caught her staring at him while holding hands with other boys, forced to stay quiet as she allowed them to touch her while he waited for the bravery to replace the cravenness, and guide him forth, to her, where he belonged.

And today was that day. As he'd observed her parents depart the property, he decided right then, now was the time to act. He would no longer watch from the sidelines, but instead, show her how lovers were supposed to be. He would succumb to the dark need implanted inside him to draw her under him, claim her in all the ways he knew she craved.

It was up to him to please her, for he was the only one who could...

He turned right, moving soundlessly down the hall, trailing his long fingers along the wall before stopping to face the bathroom door he knew she lingered behind. He heard the shower turn off, the ginger-scented steam spreading from beneath the door, teasing him... tempting him to enter and confiscate what was his.

What had always been his.

Lifting his gaze from the doorknob, he stared at the white painted wood, and with teeth clenched with determination, he gripped the metal and turned.

The door opened wide; the sound causing the brunette within to gasp and spin, her surprised, glacier blue eyes focusing on his face as she clasped the beach towel to her naked, shower wet flesh.

His cock rose, and every muscle in his body locked as he took her in, drinking her visually as he was certain he'd be drinking from her pussy soon enough.

"Michael," she whispered, her lips parting as she allowed her eyes to travel over his jean- clad form, her want rising to her breast, causing her breaths to escape in an irregular rhythm. He didn't respond right away, his throat thick with emotion as he forced himself to move towards her.

"Happy birthday, Amelia," he replied before shutting the door behind him with a quick flick of his wrist...

Ian shot up in bed, the sounds of her cries still surrounding him, an eerie sound seeming unusually loud in the cabin's stillness. He'd fucked her in her pink princess room, moving her body from virginal cheerleader to the wanton woman he knew she was. She mewed, pleaded, writhed, and scratched...

She came, laying on her stomach, his hand pressing the side of her face to her pink bedspread as he shattered her from behind.

Just as she begged for him to.

Thinking back on the dream, he felt like a predator. Had she not been the one to drop her towel and press her hot, wet body to him, Ian wouldn't have been certain it was a voluntary coupling.

Either way, it wasn't something he was into. He was a slow, methodical lover. But both memories of taking Beth and Amelia had been savage, and he wanted that with Tatum. He wanted her dirty, wet, and clawing...