ᴀᴘʜʀᴏᴅɪᴛᴇ // $ᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇʙᴏʏ$

Chapter Twenty Seven

SCOTT

I had to use every ounce of self-control I had to not continue my motions and reach my own climax. The sex wasn't about me and my release. It was about Aphrodite, and her rescuing herself from oblivion.

I imagined pulling at all that hair again, using that mouth for other things except driving me crazy with all her guttural sounds. Making her bite back at her screams of pleasure as I held her neck and pounded away at her pussy.

But not tonight, I had somewhere to be.

The black clouds hovering above in the night sky separated from the bright moon completely and light beamed down. I heard the sirens of police cars wailing in the distance, getting closer and closer. Someone must have called them.

I pulled the pistol out of my waistband and shot Ryan Humphrey between the eyes.

Jerry waved at me from the driver's side in the black truck. I hopped in, he pressed the pedal to the floor, and off we went. Jerry handed me a shotgun and then I aimed it out the window, setting my scope on the tires of the nearest cop car chasing after us. The cop car swiveled off into the closest ditch from the lack of aired tires.

The colors of flashing red and blue illuminated the inside of the truck, the sirens screaming behind us in hot pursuit. I tried to ignore the annoying pains in my neck and the wound on the side of my face and continued firing out the window.

◇◇◇

"Tell her I want her to clean my wound." I commanded Tommy to go get Aphrodite.

I sat in the office chair in my new storage space room, the light warm, the draft chilly, and I waited.

Once we finally made it back to the warehouse without a police tail, I stripped from my musky clothes and showered, and noticed that the wound on my face had started bleeding again because I hadn't had the time to properly tend to it.

I sat in the chair in black shorts and a grey t-shirt. I heard the sound of footsteps on the concrete and watched as Aphrodite walked in the entrance of my space. I saw her raise her brows at the side of my bleeding face and approached closer so she could take care of it.

I stared at her. She had on a pair of tight black leggings, and even with the chill she'd slipped on a somewhat flowing white crop top that ended at her belly button, flowing around the band of skin I could see around her middle. I looked at the long blonde waves that fell down her back, no longer confined to an elastic band during the worst of her depression. My eyes then landed on her lips, and the deep shade of red she painted them. She looked like herself, like the woman before the worst had taken over.

And as she stood in front of me, assessing the damage with her maternal green eyes, I remembered the warmth of her body and the moans on her lips.

"Where were you for the last two days?" She asked me, and softly touched my shoulder.

I forced myself to remove my gaze from her lips and onto her eyes. "I was running from the police."

She frowned as she looked at the side of my face and went to get the same first aid supplies I used on her when she cut her leg. She set everything on my desk and began cleaning the wound. Silence consumed the room, except for the soft scruff of her shoes every time she moved, and my intakes of breath through my nose when my face stung. I remained quiet and still as she cleaned away the old, crusted blood from my skin, and the fresh blood, dabbing me here and there with disinfectant.

I started to feel irritation, and I didn't really understand why. The flowery scent of her was bothering me. The feel of her fingers along my skin was making me want to cringe. Did she not remember anything that happened two days ago? Was she trying to ignore it so she could feel better about her decision? She was calm as she mended me. She was quiet as she cleaned the dirty wound and soothed it with ointment. She moved around, patching me up without a sound because I told her to. She stood between my legs so she could reach my face easier, not seeming to care at all that we had been a lot closer only forty-eight hours earlier. My irritation rose, and suddenly I couldn't stand the silence anymore.