Fables & Other Lies - Claire Contreras Page 0,29

that be?” he asked again.

“I don’t know.” My voice was shaky, breathless.

If I thought my admission would make him ease up, I was wrong. He brought his head closer to me. My heart stopped. My lips parted. He didn’t kiss me though, he ducked his head and licked the nipple he’d touched once, twice, three times, closing his mouth around it as his fingers continued to move slowly between my folds. I cried out, threw my head back, and shouted something, I couldn’t be sure what. Something inside of me snapped and when he moved his mouth to my other nipple and continued to move his fingers, I felt myself grow impossibly wet between my legs and cried out his name in a chant.

River.

River.

River.

I was still panting, eyes closed, when I came to, but when I opened my eyes I wasn’t in my little white cottage, but a dark bedroom. I gasped, sitting up in bed, holding the sheets to my chest. I looked around, but saw nothing. When I looked beside me, I saw River lying there, fast asleep. He wasn’t naked. I could see that much. I held a hand over my heart and willed it to calm down. Nothing had happened. It was a dream. A very, very vivid dream. As I lay back down on my pillow, River stirred.

“You’re entirely too wound up, little witch,” he mumbled.

“Stop calling me that,” I said, despite my quickening pulse.

“We have a long day ahead of us.” He shifted in bed and turned to face me, his face incredibly close to mine. His lips turned up slightly. “You should get some rest.”

I swallowed, nodding, and turned over to face the other way. I couldn’t be sure, but he looked like he knew what I’d just imagined, dreamt. That was impossible, right? I forced myself to breathe normally. It was impossible.

Chapter Eleven

There was a loud knock on the door. That was how I woke up a second time. I quickly looked beside me to find River was no longer there. Somehow, that made me breathe a little easier. The dream was still replaying in my mind, not just the dream though, it was everything. My body seemed to be on fire from it. My breasts, between my legs. Everything felt as though it had happened. Had it? The knock on the door came again. I cleared my throat, but before I could invite them in, the door swung open and Gustavo appeared, rolling a large brown designer trunk behind him. He let it fall with a thump and looked up at me. Even in the daylight, he looked menacing, with an oversized frame that made him look like he was wearing shoulder pads underneath his suit.

“Good morning, ma’am.” He nodded. “Mr. Caliban asked me to bring this to you. I apologize that it took this long, but I trust the clothes are in your size.”

“How would . . . did you just guess my size?”

“Size six. Is that suitable?” he asked, but before I could respond, he looked down at the trunk, which had a paper tucked into the side that said 4/6. He looked at me. “There are also size 4 pieces inside.”

“That should be fine,” I said, my voice coming out slower than I intended. “I won’t be needing all of it.” I studied Gustavo, who seemed to have no reaction to this. “Do you just keep trunks of different sized clothes here just in case a woman stays over?”

“I assure you, Mr. Caliban does his due diligence when it comes to his guests, as he likes to make sure they are well taken care of. Will you be needing anything else?”

“No. That should be fine.” I licked my lips. “Where is River?”

“Mr. Caliban is busy in the study. Once you are ready, you may head downstairs. I’m told you will be taking photographs of the house today.”

“That’s correct.”

“Oh. Before I forget.” He walked outside again and was carrying two large canvas bags when he stepped back inside. He deposited them beside the trunk. “These are toiletries.”

“Thank you.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yes. I think you’ve covered it.” I smiled gratefully.

He didn’t.

He left the room and shut the door behind him without another word. I scrambled out of bed and walked over to the trunk, setting my hand over the leather. My mother had a similar trunk. It had been a gift from Papi from one of his many trips to Paris. Growing up, I could never be quite sure why