Twisted Little Games Read online

  I bend and trace a line of kisses from her inner thigh to where her panties are soaked through. Blowing out a puff of air, I hear her whimper. Her bottom muscles tense; her thighs shudder, and I force myself not to groan in blissful agony with the knowledge I evoke that reaction with a simple breath. I pull back, and with surprising speed and very little effort, I snap her knees together just enough to rip her panties down and off her legs, and quickly re-position my body at her apex. Spreading her legs wide, my grin is wider.

  I swipe her silky folds with my tongue, set to drink in her wetness. She gasps and wriggles so much I have to grip her arse cheeks with strong hands, fixing her firmly to my face.

  “Oh, Oh, Cass!” she cries out, and her hands instantly grasp fistfuls of my hair. Her grip matches mine, the pain a mild distraction to the agonising ball ache in my pants.

  I work my tongue along her core, sucking and pulling, searching for the spots that will drive her over the edge. The tip on my tongue laves her swollen clit, and her whole body jolts. It’s the sexiest fucking thing ever. I sink two fingers inside her heat and close my eyes as my own body reacts to the tightness and quivering muscles I just know would feel fucking perfect wrapped around my cock. I start to pump and twist, searching for the spot just inside I’ve read so much about. I may not have had full intercourse, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t studied. Any idiot can stick their dick into a girl; giving pleasure is an entirely different ballgame, and learning Tia’s body is my very favourite sport.

  “Cass, please!” Her body arches and she presses down against my face. My tongue works circles around her clit, and I turn my fingers and press a sensual deep rhythm inside. She so damn responsive I know she’s just seconds away from falling. I freeze all movement, and her body does the same, suspended on the pinnacle of pleasure, her climax literally at my very fingertips. The second must feel like a lifetime, but the reward will be worth it. Just before I lose her and she loses her climax, my mouth covers her clit, and I begin to suck and swirl my tongue, pressing my fingers on her sensitive flesh deep inside. My other hand presses her tummy flat, holding her firm as her inner muscles explode around me, and a riot of spasms and contractions seize her inside and out. Her body locks, her thighs clamped like a vice around my head, and her hands must be white knuckle gripping my hair. I barely move a muscle; I daren’t.

  Her thighs twitch and relax, and I slowly release the breath I’ve held. The only part of my body I feel safe enough to move is my tongue as I continue to lap her release, bringing her down with a gentle glide until her whole body is lax.

  “I’ll give you a minute before we do that again.” I suck her essence from my lips and snicker at her breathy reply.

  “Again?” Her mouth twists with a mix of shock and suspicion.

  “I said I wanted to devour you, Tia; that was just the appetizer”

  “You tasted so good,” I say out loud, near silence and barely audible breathing my only replies. “I’m not sure I can make this right, princess.” I lift one hand free and secure the handcuff around her wrist and lift it nearer to the iron bed-frame. Once I check the space between the metal cuff and her skin for circulation, I lean down and kiss her hair. Abruptly standing, I turn away from memory lane, the weight of the present making me restless. I reach the door and cast a quick glance back at Tia’s sleeping form. Her body looks tiny in that massive wrought iron bed.

  How much does she know?

  I close the door behind me and make my way to my grandfather’s library. I always thought Grandfather and I were close, believed it in my bones. He raised me like his son for most of my life. I can’t suppress the searing pain of his betrayal.

  He should’ve told me the truth, the whole fucking truth.

  Squares of light fall on the stone floor of the long corridor, where the high windows on one side let the sunlight in. The dust particles dance in the bright beams as I stride through, disturbing the air with each step I take. The library door is open from my earlier visit, and this time, I don’t take a pensive turn around the room, reminiscing with a mess of mixed emotions. This time, I have a very particular target.

  I make my way over to the oil painting of Tartarus Hall, which hangs high on the wall opposite the large open fireplace. Lifting it from the wall, I’m acutely aware that the thick layer of dust balanced on the edge of the frame has been displaced in several places. The wall behind has yellowing sunlight damage around the frame; however, the large steel family safe is exactly as it always was. My fingers hover over the dial, and I wonder, not for the first time, whether Oskar took all his secrets to the grave.

  Have I just flipped a one-eighty on this? I don’t know. All I know is, with my sister in the mix, Tia is in danger, and I will have to do the unthinkable to ensure her safety. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her. I didn’t sleep at all last night. My mind is a fucked up mess of limited choices and impossible obstacles.

  I stand abruptly, sending the kitchen chair skidding across the flagstone floor. I grab my coffee, and with determination in my stride, I head back toward my office. I don’t need to scour my hard drive or contact list to track her down. I open the junk email folder I set up specifically when I got the very first message from her when she was released. I don’t know why I thought she would want to hide from me. Even with the threats I made, she’s crazy enough not to care, obsessed enough to want only one thing, at any cost. I guess it was wishful thinking on my part. The daily messages from her are dumped in that folder, unread and unanswered. And unfortunately, never forgotten. She signs them Ghost, as if changing her name would somehow make her a different person. I don’t know, and I don’t care.

  I tried to reach out to her at the time she was arrested, but she was no longer my sister. I didn’t know the stranger sitting in that cell. It’s not that she didn’t care what she’d done; she did care, and she believed she’d done the right thing. Her one and only confession, however, was to me as I tried to wake my parents, frantic and screaming for her to call for help. She just stood there, smiling, telling me we could be together now, nothing would come between us again. She told me again that she loved me and would protect me, and I told her if I ever saw her again, I’d kill her.

  I hover over the email received today and bile washes up my throat and fills my mouth. I lurch over to the wastebasket and spit out the burning mixture of acid and Jack Daniels. I cough until my lungs are clear, and I don’t feel so damn sick. This is exactly the same feeling I used to get when I neared the damn front door, and now it’s in my office. The irony isn’t lost on me that I had actually started to make progress with this irrational fear that’s kept me prisoner all this time.

  After my parents’ funeral, I chose not to leave the house. It was my decision, and I was fine with it. Somewhere along the line, that changed, and the mild feeling of nausea I experienced at the thought of leaving my home escalated into full-blown panic attacks. It wasn’t worth it. Nothing held enough interest to put myself through that, not until Tia.

  This last year, I decided I’d had enough. Tia had offered to help, but I needed to do this myself, for me but also for us. I’ve been working through some on-line therapy techniques to help break down the barriers I have, over the years, made insurmountable. I even stepped up my sessions when she moved in with Atticus. I haven’t attempted to leave, but I’ve certainly made it to the front door and pulled it open without incident.

  It’s only a matter of time.

  I just need more time, and now it seems contacting my sister is the trigger to set me back to ground fucking zero. Fuck, I didn’t think it was possible to hate my sister any more but every day’s a school day. I pick up my phone and punch in her number. I know in my gut this is going to cost, and I just have to hope that, this time, the right person pays.

  “You called me!” Her shock gives her voice a shaky edge. Still, I can hear the joy loud and clear. I fight the urge to hang up as a sick, clawing feeling thickens my blood and makes me f
eel the weight of the tragedy all over again.

  “Why, Lilith, why did you send Tia to me?” I force the words out as I try and focus on what I need and only on what I need: information.

  “She looks a little like me, don’t you think?”

  “She looks nothing like you. She is nothing like you.” I growl and I can feel the rage building too fast to temper down. I puff out a calming breath and crack my neck, free of the instant tension.

  “You like her?” Her tone is eerily impassive, and I curse my slip. Even if my tone was full of anger, I could hear the softness in the way I phrased the accusation. I need to kill this now.

  “I fucking hate her, almost as much as I hate you.” The chill in my response feels all wrong, even if it is necessary.

  “And you’re calling me now because you suddenly needed to tell me this,” she goads, and I can almost see the satisfied smile creep across her face.

  “I hate loose ends, and I hate being played. I want to know why you sent Tia here, and I want to know what she’s up to.”

  “You care about her?” Her response is quick, and my stomach twists at the implication that she’s not buying my faux indifference.

  “Are you deaf? I said I hate loose ends. Answer the damn question, Lilith!” My lack of patience is testing my temper to its limits.

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll hang up.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she retorts with a quaver in her voice, which is music to my ears. She needs this conversation, regardless of the content, and that is all I need to know.

  “Just try me.” I hear her breath catch, and I’m just about to make good on my threat when she speaks.

  “She needed access to your computers.”

  “And?”

  “And I wanted…” She checks herself.

  “What, what did you want, Lilith?” Lucky for me my frustration sounds a good deal like aggressive impatience.

  “Call me Ghost.” Her pleading voice has a hard edge.

  “What?”

  “Lilith died. I’m Ghost. Call me Ghost.”

  “I don’t have time for this.” I drag my hand through my hair and grab the back of my neck. This whole conversation is fucking insane.

  “Really? Because you’re in such a hurry to go somewhere?” Her sickeningly sweet delivery is filled with malice, and I’m running on reserves just keeping this line live. I close my eyes and mentally count to ten before I exhale slowly and ask.

  “What did you want, Ghost?”

  “I wanted to talk to you. I missed you, and I thought if you took her in because she does look like me a little, and I thought…” She rushes the words like I’ve just opened a six-year floodgate, and I have to jump in before we both drown in the crazy.

  “Lil-Ghost, you need to get help.” I try and keep my voice soft, even if compassion is the last thing she deserves. I need answers, and at this point, I don’t care who I have to fool to get them.

  “I need you,” she pleads.

  “What is she up to with Kraus?” I deflect and, thank the devil on my shoulder, she answers.

  “She’s up to her neck, but why do you care?” Her insecurity is flashing big fuck-off warning signs, but all I can do is keep repeating the same response.

  “I don’t. I just don’t want this blowing back on me. So, if she’s in danger, I’d like to know about it,” I calmly state, and she snorts.

  “Oh there’s no if about it; she’s in danger.”

  “So, help her; she’s your friend.” The fingers of my free hand are curled in an unyielding fist, ready to punch the living shit out of something, anything, and her casual regard for Tia’s safety has me wishing for the first time that this was a social call not a phone call.

  “I don’t have friends.”

  “Fuck, Lilith, you’re a piece of work.” My bitter laugh echoes down the line.

  “I’ll help her if you’ll let me come home. I know you’ll never leave the house again, but just let me come and see you.” The certainty of that taunt spurs my determination to prove her wrong, a counter to her original trigger and just one more reason fuelling my desire to overcome my phobia.

  “Never gonna happen, Sis.” I spit but feel the need to clarify. “I can’t do that even if I wanted to, and trust me, the last thing I want is be in a room with you. I meant what I said last time I saw you Lilith. I’ll kill you.”

  “You think I’m afraid of dying? Interesting.” She hums lightly and an unearthly chill runs the length of my spine.

  “You need help. Get some fucking help, Lilith. You have the money; why don’t you get some help?”

  “Logan, my love, it’s not me that’s in danger.” She laughs, and I swallow hard at the sound. “The only thing that is going to save the Kraus Corporation is cashing in the life insurance policy on the one and only heir.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?”

  “Invite me round and I’ll tell you,” she replies with a satisfied sneer to her tone. I take a moment to think and have to curse my sloppiness.

  “You hacked my cameras?”

  “I did. The funny thing about this juicy revelation is the grandfather actually told Tia, but she didn’t believe him. Thought it was the ramblings of a dying man.” She snickers with detached amusement.

  “She told you that?”

  “She told me lots of things, Logan. We were cellmates, and there’s not much more you can do other than talk…and plan.”

  “The video wouldn’t give you life insurance information. You’re bluffing.” I’m beyond irritated at myself. Even so, I have to know.

  “Because that’s what I’m good at: pretending.”

  “I’m not buying this bullshit. No, you don’t pretend. You do exactly what you want, regardless of whose lives you destroy. You’d do anything to get what you want, which included feeding me information about bogus life insurance policies. You’re not that good a hacker,” I goad and can’t help smiling when my email pings with an incoming message, a scanned file attached with a copy of the very document in question.

  “I never lied to you.”

  “You sent Tia here. I consider that lying.” I snap the truth through gritted teeth.

  “She was my in. Two birds, one stone.” She sing-songs her reply like she’s won some great prize. My hackles are up, and I’m just about done.

  “It makes no sense you would send any woman to me.” I regret I couldn’t keep this thought in my head.

  “She lied to you. You don’t like liars. Do you, Logan?” Her explanation is simple, and her warning tone is serious. I told her often enough when she refused to confess.

  “No, I don’t.” I don’t bother to add, Tia obviously didn’t have a choice, trusted the wrong psycho. I also neglect to say that I didn’t know she was a liar when I fell in love. “How was she your ‘in’ exactly?”

  “We’re talking now aren’t we? You let her in because she looked like me. It gave me hope, and I knew you could never love her, never want her like that. She was raped; she can never have children. It’s not her fault she’s not pure and barren, but I knew.” Her words sound like mad ramblings, terrifyingly deluded ramblings, which make me numb. “And you had your whores, so why would you want more with Tia when you could have me? You were waiting for me.” I swallow down the sickness in my mouth, too ill to speak. “Besides, she owed me,” she mutters dismissively, and that’s not like her. Her tone holds something more, and it takes a second for my brain to catch up with stored and pertinent information. Tia’s attackers were poisoned.

  “She…you…you and those women. They were poisoned, just like Mum and Dad,” I stutter.

  “I believe the recorded cause of death was inconclusive in the case of the Mother and Father. However the women who attacked Tia justly died of belladonna in the blueberry muffins. I’m not a complete monster, Logan,” she offers, and I know what she’s hoping for with this revelation. Despite what I’d said at the time about wanting to shake the hand of t
he person that killed Tia’s rapists, Lilith is sick, and I’m not remotely torn.

  “No Lilith, you’re just mostly a monster, and I will never trust you, ever. Goodbye.” I lift the phone away from my ear and cut the call, barely hearing her cries.

  “No! Logan, don’t go! Please don’t—” I press the end call button so hard the screen cracks. I drop the phone like it’s too hot for my fingers and rest my shaking hands on the desk, grounding myself before I figure out how the fuck I’m going to do what I have to do.

  I’ve been standing at the front door for I’m not sure how long. It could be minutes or days. All I do know is my feet are like lead fucking weights, and no matter how much I will my muscles to move me forward, nothing fucking happens. I made it easily past my safe distance marker, yet now I can feel rivers of sweat trickling down the hollow of my spine from my neck all the way to the crack in my arse. The waistband of my jeans seems to be soaking up my fear, preventing the stream from reaching its final destination.

  That’s what this is: pure, unadulterated terror.

  No, not terror, crippling uncertainty, and I will conquer it. I can feel my stomach roll, and I swallow down the watery taste of sickness, fighting the urge to throw up. I guess that’s one thing. I haven’t thrown up…yet. I draw in a deep, steadying breath and sweep my damp hair from my face for the hundredth time. I focus all my attention on lifting my damn foot from the ground. I have to do this.