Delicious - Page 50

“I know,” I gasp, one of my hands curling in his hair as I match his grin with my own. “Don’t you know how much I love it, too?”

His eyes widen, and his movements falter for only a second, before he picks up his pace with a snarl; it’s like my words havespurred something deeper in him to action. It takes only another minute or so for him to come, and somehow he drags another orgasm out of me as well, just as he slams into me and comes, face buried in my throat.

“Don’t worry about getting up.” Jed laughs, when I start to shift and release my death grip on his shoulders. “I’ve got you, Saylor. I’m not letting you go anywhere, I promise.”

Chapter

Twenty-Three

When I’m the first one awake, I can’t help but be surprised. Jed snores the entire time I get dressed, though I can’t stop myself from glancing back in his direction every once in a while to make sure he’s actually sleeping, and not just faking it.

But he isn’t. Clearly last night tired him out more than I would’ve thought possible, and I have to admit to myself that seeing him while he sleeps is…nice. He looks sweet. Cute, with his eyelashes brushing his cheekbones and his face smoothed out in absolute innocence.

It makes sense how he gets away with so much, when he has a perfectly innocent, believable face whenever he wants to use it.

Silently, I grin, shaking my head before pulling on my light hoodie from the night before. I have no intention of really going anywhere, but while he’s sleeping is a perfect time to take my camera and go outside around the cabin to see what I can find to take pictures of.

If I’m not always looking, my thoughts wander into less productive avenues. And god, I hate less productive avenues ofthought. Especially with three missed calls and two voice mails from Brenda on my phone. I’d checked one of them last night, just to make sure Dad is okay, and when I realized it was mostly her bitching me out for my rudeness, I’d shaken my head and put my phone on silent.

I don’t regret it, though I know I probably will in a few more hours or days. She always finds a way to make me regret ignoring her calls, no matter how much I want nothing to do with her. But that’s less than important right now. And I won’t let her ruin my day, when it’s off to a really great start. Though, maybe that’s just my body talking and how absolutely satisfied I am by how Jed had worked me over multiple times during the night.

Dinner hadn’t been bad either. I’m glad I stalked Wren to his work, and as I pad down the stairs to look for my shoes, I give myself a small pat on the back for not chickening out, like I almost had. Six times.

“Good for you, Saylor,” I mutter, pulling on my sneakers. My next step is the door, and I open it wide only for the foggy expanse of the forest to greet me heartily; pushing itself against me like a cloud trying to seek escape from itself.

Sure, the fog isn’t perfect for most kinds of photography, but I really like the weird stuff. And around here, there’s a ton of weird stuff to take eerie pictures of.

With one last look up toward the loft to make sure Jed isn’t up yet, I give a quick grin and then head outside, camera in hand and ready.

Warming up is essential, if a little bit boring. So I find small things, like stones or flowers in his landscaping, to snap a photo of before viewing it and messing with the settings on my camera. The fog makes things different, though not quite difficult, and I spend a good twenty minutes just playing with my settings until I feel better about moving onto the things I’d rather focus on.

Which, admittedly, probably aren’t that interesting to most people. Most of my following shots are of trees, or the spaces between them. I almost want to walk in the fog to the bridge where I’d first kissed Jed, a thought that makes my toes curl in my sneakers, but I don’t want to be gone that long.

Especially since I definitely remember him saying something about homemade French toast last night, between two episodes of him pinning me down and making me see stars. Yeah, I definitely don’t want to miss out on French toast.

Instead, my steps take me wandering around the side of the cabin, and I take a few random photos of items or landscaping that pique my interest for all of a few seconds. It’s not so much that things have to be super interesting for me to care. But this is my hobby, and I love having the opportunity to practice in the fog.

But when the slaughter shed comes into view, barely visible even though it’s only about ten feet in front of me, I know that I’ve hit photography gold. The way the shed sits tucked between the trees is perfect. Especially now, with the trees cradling it on either side, while wisps of fog barely curl around the dilapidated boards. I don’t have the guts to open it, nor would I particularly want to see body parts in my photos. I’m notthatkind of photographer, and I worry that would infringe on snuff film territory. Especially if I were to print them. Snuff photography, maybe? Perhaps it would be a new subgenre.

Still, though, not one I’m willing to be known for. I walk all around the shed, my footsteps silent on the grass, and take as many outside pictures of the creepy building as I can without moving close enough for the smell to creep up on me. I know one whiff of it will make me vomit, and I don’t think Jed would find that very attractive if I were to come back inside heaving my guts out just in time for breakfast.

“I guess that’s about all I can do,” I tell myself in a soft voice, clicking through the photos on my camera to see if there’s anything I’ve missed. I’ll be able to judge them better once I can actually see them on my laptop. And I’m excited to edit them enough to make them seem a little less flat than they do in the fog. From what I can see, actually, they have quite a bit of potential. But maybe that’s just my narcissism for my own work talking.

When I turn, ready to go back inside and blinking away the fuzziness from the fog that threatens to make me go cross-eyed, I pause. A figure stands further out in the mist, their features obscured by the white mist, though I can see that it’s a man with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.

For a moment, I’m sure it’s Jed. After all, who else could be all the way out here, except for him and his friends? But as the fog shifts just slightly, I can see from the way the man stands, and the way he’s hunched over, that something is wrong.

He’s too short to be Jed. And a little too stocky, if I’m seeing things right. But that means he can’t be Wren either, and I don’t know who else just shows up here. When had he gotten here? I certainly hadn’t heard anything, but the fog does more than make my vision iffy. Sound is also muffled in the clearing around the cabin, to the point where I can barely hear any of the sounds I expect coming from the woods.

“Hello?” I ask finally, squinting hard to no avail. “Are you, umm…lost?” That’s the only thing I can think of when I have no idea who’s standing there awkwardly in the fog.

“I’d hope you are.” The voice is familiar enough that I should be able to place it, but it’s not until the man steps forward, finally close enough so the fog doesn’t obscure his face, that my heart plummets and I swallow my gasp of surprise.

It’s Tyson Miller’s brother.

“I followed him last night,” the man tells me, one black eye not making him look any better. Neither does his split lip, or the nose that’s probably broken. “I thought maybe he’d kidnapped you. Who the fuck would just go with him? But you were at that restaurant too.” He shakes his head. “Do you have any idea who he is?”

“Uh, yeah,” I reply, clutching my camera in my fingers more tightly than I should. “He’s my boyfriend. Are you jealous? I’d get you his number, but I don’t think you’re his type.” I flash him a nervous smile, and wonder if I can make it back to the cabin if I take off now.