I was playing piano. House is virtually empty, as every handy-hand on deck is currently out working on my Christmas surprise and I'm about to be on Santa's naughty list as the Devil's warm hand slides around my throat. I hit a series of dramatic chords and he lifts my face up. Leaning over the piano bench from behind he kisses my mouth upside-down with a chuckle at my choice of musical accompaniment.
It's cool down here. Come up to my room and have a drink with me by the fire.
(Don't panic. Most of the dens in the various wings of the house have natural gas fired fireplaces. They are small but cozy and built into the big built-in bookcases.)
(Oh, you weren't panicking about that part. My bad.)
He pushes his index finger between my lips and I taste the sweet burn of the whiskey he just dipped into.
The low pop-thrumb of the flame igniting distracts me ever so briefly and the hesitation lobs doubt into the atmosphere between us.
My apologies, Neamhchiontach. Old habits. His face. Oh Jesus he looks completely defeated in a whole new way that I never get to see and I know it's bald-faced manipulation and I let it run unchecked. After all,
It's Christmas.
I nod and stand up and he holds out his hand, glass in the other. We go upstairs and down the long hall to his door and then inside. He closes but does not lock the door behind us. Once inside the fire grows before my eyes and he turns to pour my drink while I take off my earrings, leaving them in the little dish on the shelf. They were past their time to remove as it was but I got distracted when everyone headed out. No car keys or wallets so the surprise is home-based, at least.
He holds out my glass and clinks his against it.
Salut, he says with a smile that's gone in a flash.
Sláinte, I reply, taking a sip. Aw, it's my dearest Lagavulin and I can lick those gravestones to my heart's content.
No, he says abruplty to no one in particular and he rips the glass out of my hand, pulling me up with him. He pulls my face to his in a long, violent kiss and I am walked backwards down the hall to his bedroom, clothes being unbuttoned and left along the way. I am turned and shoved facedown on the blankets and his full weight keeps me there.
Christ, Cale. His hand covers my mouth. I squandered my brief shot at mercy like a goddamn newbie and now it's gone and while Caleb takes what he wants I go to the fair instead. His Christmas lights are the midway decorations to bring the village down at night and his onslaught fades into the background as I whip around the Ferris Wheel, my hair pulling against my backpack, where it was tucked inside the straps.
Oh, I think I might black out here. I turn to look at Lochlan in the cart beside me but he's gone and I hope he didn't fall out and then I am turned and the hand leaves my face. I take a huge gasp of air and Caleb stands up and is gone.
Another three minutes and the outer door of his wing closes. And he's gone. I get up shakily and walk down the hall, collecting my dress, my sweater. My tights. The bobby pins that I can find. I put my earrings back on and I put my glass in his bar sink. I dress as fast as I can and run out the door. He is sitting outside on floor outside the door, drinking his whiskey, staring at the wall.
You know, when you were young I decided I never wanted to try and have the level of responsibility that Lochlan has for you and I never wanted to get married until you needed someone there to take care of you and the good news is that I think I'm back to the former because the latter would be nothing but heartache.
That's our currency, Diabhal.
Indeed, Neamhchiontach.
Does that mean I can go?
You know the drill, Dollface. Run before I try and keep you nonetheless.