Page 37 of Splintered Desire

It takes all of my very minimal self-control to keep from going back, but even bleeding, I feel better than I have in days—no, weeks. The deep gash in my leg isn’t even enough to stop the pep in my step.

I can’t wait to tell my brothers what a fighter our little sister is and how fucking great she looked covered in my cum.

My cock jumps, and I have to adjust. This night will live in my spank bank for the rest of my life, but right now I need to clean up this little gift.

I move through my room, humming as I move into the bathroom and grab my first-aid kit. I’m not a novice when it comes to getting hurt; hell, I don’t even mind it most times, so dressing this won’t be hard, though I probably should shower first.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I let my eyes trail down to my leg and see what a mess I really am.

The thought of washing off the trace of her lips from my cock makes my chest feel tight. Instead, I simply shed my pants and wipe down my leg before wrapping it up and heading to bed.

It’s not until flat on my back in the middle of my bed, hand wrapped around my cock as I relive what just happened, that I realize that wasn’t the first time I saw that knife…

But where?

The window!

How could I have been so stupid to think a lock would be enough?

Slamming my window shut and locking it takes me longer than it should with the way my hands are shaking. I stand frozen, unable to look away from the window or drop the knife that I can feel digging into my fingers as I try to force myself to keep breathing. Panic sits heavy on my chest, and I know if I let it, I’ll fall into it head first, but I can’t afford that right now.

Not in a house with them, not when he could come back any moment.

After what feels like a lifetime, I pry my fingers open and let the knife drop to the ground before stumbling back to the bed to grab my phone.

The blood smears on my screen, and I have to punch in my code when it can’t read my fingerprint.

Shit, I let panic get the best of me; I’m better than that.

I need to wash up and treat this cut.

Moving to my bathroom, I scroll through my phone, unsure why I even grabbed it.

What am I going to do? It’s not like I have any friends, and even if I did, it’s not like I would drag them into…whatever the fuck this is.

The one person I want to talk to isn’t an option, and I curse myself as tears well in my eyes.

Promise to call if you need me. Reed’s words ring in my mind, and I know I shouldn’t; he’s their employee. For all I know, he could run right back to them.

Or worse, he might be on my side. I’m not stupid enough to know that would be dangerous for him. The last thing I want to do is pit him against them, employers or not.

I stand frozen in the bathroom, unsure what to do, my fingers frozen over the screen, a message to Reed blank but there.

Damn it.

Shaking my head, I slam my phone on the counter and turn my attention to the mirror.

I can’t bring him into this.

Shit.

I look terrible.

My face is a mix of blood and cum; it’s in my hair and on my shirt. It’s disgusting, but it doesn’t even come close to the way I feel. Knowing he was in my room, watching me…

I shiver thinking about all the things he could have done.

‘It could have been worse,’ I tell myself and force out a breath before moving to grab the first aid kit from under the sink.