Falling for Rex by Shayne Ford

13

LUNA RAE

Water dripsin the tub as I spin in front of the mirror and carefully peel off my dress. I keep the lights low, mainly because I’m afraid to take a look at my reflection.

“Damn it...” I mutter, unbuttoning my outfit and letting it fall.

It’s like sloughing off dead skin.

With slow motions, I collect my dress and toss it into the laundry hamper.

I freeze, ponder, and change my mind before fishing it out and putting it in the sink.

I let the water run while smoothing the fabric and checking it for blemishes.

The back is soaked with cum–– I must remember to clean my car seat in the morning–– and then the collar has a few rusty marks. It’s dried blood from my neck.

My neck...

Trembling, I lean closer and check myself in the mirror. The sink is filled with water, so I turn the faucet off before shifting my focus back to my reflection.

Oh... my... God.

A large reddish-black mark sprawls down my neck. How am I supposed to hide this?

The root of my neck is red and covered with blotches too.

My touch is as soft as it can be as I run my fingertips across the mark.

If anyone could see me now... If Olivia could see me, or even Frankie.

How can I explain this? How can I explain Kian?

I didn’t even tell Rex about his brother. Not the whole story, anyway. Not the most important part. Not about him touching me. Not about his threats.

Is he crazy? Am I?

Or is it something wrong with these two brothers?

So many thoughts swirl in my head right now. It’s too much coming too fast. Too new.

My phone rings in the other room.

“Shit...”

I jolt back to reality, throw a robe on me, and sprint to the living room. Although I don’t remember leaving them on or turning them on when I came back, the lights glow brightly outside.

Pushing to my toes, I check the patio and the backyard as if expecting to spot someone out there.

My eyes go to the light flashing across my phone screen.

“Hey,” I say, sounding relieved.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” Frankie asks.

“Mmm... Yes. Why do you ask?” I mutter with suspicion, heading to the patio doors.

“Where are you?” I toss at her before she has the chance to respond. “Have you been home by any chance?”

“No. Why?”

“Uh... No reason.”

“Are you okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

With a shaky hand, I turn the doorknob, crack the door open, and sweep the backyard with a worried gaze.

Everything looks fine. I see the neighbors' windows and hear a bunch of voices down the road.

Someone sits on their porch and talks to a child.

Initially, I plan to turn the lights off, but then I leave them on, retreat, and close the door.

I lock it too.

I don’t know why, but I do.

Maybe because my skin prickles on the back of my neck, invisible hairs standing on end. It’s a crazy feeling. I’m so happy I’m on the phone with Frankie.

Shaken, I turn around and scan the place. Things are in order. I don’t see anything unusual.

It may be my mind, inventing things, and my outrageous thoughts having a hard time reconciling the reality with the mayhem in my head.

It’s strange.

“I didn’t realize you had left until moments ago,” she says.

“Uh... Yeah. That.”

I sound disjointed, unfocused as I step toward the kitchen before heading to the main door—my gaze pins on the lock as I take a few strides in that direction.

I check the door.

It’s locked.

“Thank God,” I breathe out, relieved.

“What?” Frankie asks, puzzled.

“Huh?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I say curtly, rushing around the house and checking every window, every door.

This strange sensation doesn’t leave me. It feels as if someone else is in the house.

It’s pure nonsense. Everything is locked, closed, and in perfect order. I need to put some music on. Make myself a cup of coffee. Eat something.

I need to be sane again.

“Everything is fine,” I say in a cheerful voice.

My mood shifts again, seeming peculiar as I try to act normally.

“I was just making sure the wind didn’t open the patio door.”

“Is it windy?” she asks, baffled.

“It was a moment ago. So where are you?”

“On my way home.”

“What?? Why? What happened?”

My questions shoot out fast.

“Carlos has to be somewhere in the morning,” she says.

It registers with me that she’s in his ride.

“I just wanted to make sure you got home. And I wanted to know if I should bring some food.”

“Uh... No. You know what? I’ll make some soup. It will be ready by the time you get here. How far away are you?”

“Don’t worry,” she says in a flat voice. “We’ll figure something out when I get home.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the shower.”

I hang up and set my phone on the coffee table before looking around one last time and heading to the bathroom.

I have to clean myself up and put something on before she gets home. Hurriedly, I enter the bathroom, shed my robe, toss it on the vanity, and turn to the sink.

My dress, first. I wash it by hand, removing the smudges and Rex’s semen before going to the laundry room and hanging it to dry.

Quivering, I dash back.

The door remains open as I turn on the shower and step under the water. My ears are perked up–– I want to catch the sounds, especially if Frankie walks in.

Soft music plays in the living room when a thought spearheads through my head.

Shit. I left my phone there.

I oscillate between going back to the living room, collecting it, and bringing it here or just finishing washing my hair.

I opt for the latter, rinsing my hair and cleaning my skin.

Lukewarm water rolls the bubbles away, leaving my skin clean while spurring a burning sensation on my neck, between my legs, and even on my hips, where Rex grabbed me and secured my body against his to grind into me.

Rex... And Kian. What a strange night it has been.

I turn off the water when a soft noise travels to my ears. My heart slams against my chest wall.

“Frankie? Are you there?”

The house goes silent. Do I imagine things now?

I need to get to my phone and talk to her until she gets home, or I’ll lose my mind.

I step out of the shower, run a towel over my body, toss it to the side, and tiptoe to the middle of the living room.

Good thing, the drapes are closed, and the lights are low inside the house. No one can see me from outside.

I pick up my phone from the coffee table when something––a blur, a shadow, the figment of my imagination, maybe––catches the corner of my eye.

I straighten and flick my head to the side, my arms covered in goosebumps, the hair at the back of my neck standing on end.

Naked, I dash to the patio door and peer outside.

The wind sweeps the table, the plants swaying in the breeze, the lights beaming across the backyard, hanging from my neighbors’ rooftops.

I should open the door and check the road, but I refuse to let myself sucked into this stupid game of my imagination.

The image of that dark car that pulled not far from us this evening stuck with me. I couldn’t get it out of my head, despite Rex’s calmness and reassurance that no one watched us.

In all fairness, the car seemed abandoned, although neither of us had seen anyone walk out, or leave, or anything, yet I’m sure he was right.

Whoever was in that car must’ve left when we didn’t pay attention, and I just drove myself crazy thinking that someone looked at us all that time.

The car seemed empty when we left the area.

My headlights swept the vehicle. I couldn’t see inside, but it appeared to be empty.

Rex escorted me home. His car trailed mine until I entered my street. He wanted to make sure that I got home all right.

Once I parked my car in front of my place, he flicked his lights at me before I waved at him, and then he turned around and vanished around the corner.

It took me a while to gather myself and get out of my car.

I don’t remember noticing whether the lights were on outside at that point.

Like now, I was still under the impression of the evening. That explains my inability to concentrate, evaluate the situation, and make sense of all this.

It must’ve had to do with that.

I don't know how else I could explain feeling irrational danger. I panic for nothing.

Annoyed with myself, I snatch my phone and call Frankie. My call goes unanswered before a text message arrives.

Frankie: I’ll be home in a minute.

I notice a car pulling closer to the house, and I relax.

Carlos’ ride stops in the driveway, the engine still running, the lights on.

She doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get inside, so I walk to the walk-in-closet to put some clothes on.

I pick up a set of pajamas–– plush pink, rabbit pattern, long sleeves top, and long pants. It feels like hands of love against my skin.

A moment later, I clean the bathroom when a thought jabs at me. I look around. On the tiles, in the shower booth, on the sink.

My panties. Where are my panties?

I had my panties. My hand taps blindly across the vanity while I kneel and bend at the waist, looking down, sweeping every inch of tile with my gaze.

Where are my panties?

Did I have them on me? Oh, my God. Am I doing this now? I spring up and dash to the laundry room. I check my dress as if they could magically be hanging from a sleeve or something.

Did I have my panties on?

Is that even a question? I remember pulling them up, driving with them on me, and taking them off when I got home.

Where did I drop them? Lips dry and fingers cold, I move my gaze around. Where did I take them off?

Bathroom. It was in the bathroom. I go back, trying to find an explanation for the inexplicable. Where did they go?

If I peeled them off in the bathroom, they should be here. Have I just collected them and placed them, who knows where, thinking of something else? But where?

My hands slap my thighs as I growl with frustration.

They’re not in the bathroom, I conclude, after scanning all the surfaces. I even check the cabinets. This is ridiculous. The bathtub? No, they can’t be there.

I go back to the living room, giving up on finding an explanation. They’ll surface somehow. I’m sure.

It happened before with my tablet, a pair of slippers, and even a mug I lost around the house.

I crash onto the couch, my eyes on the patio and Carlos’ car in the driveway.

I wonder whether they’re fighting over some stupid thing or making out. For a second, I try to relax, drawing air in, while thinking of nothing.

Still, the pestering thought keeps bugging me.

Where are my panties?

I had them when I walked into the house. No, this is not the tablet or the mug. There was not enough time to lose them. I took them off in the shower.

Never mind.

My hand hits the armrest hard. Enough of driving myself crazy. Hopefully, I’ll find them before Frankie does... But with my luck, I wouldn’t be surprised if Carlos finds them if she ever invites him in the house again.

I just have to have an explanation ready when Frankie stumbles upon them and comes to me with questions.

They were soaked in cum.

Rex...

My mind drifts away as I slump back into the couch and let the flashbacks of this evening come back to me.

Everything is very much fuzzy. The things are far from being set in–– from being clear and making sense.

What kind of twisted thing is this?

Wrapped in plush, I relish the warmth soothing my skin. How is it even possible that this is the same body that craved roughness and harshness, painful touching and teasing, and pain?

I don’t recognize that girl.

Was it a girl? No way. I don’t know who that is. Who was there with him?

And talking about him...

Frankie told me a little bit about men. How they are in bed and stuff. Some let it all out, but they’re often rushed, selfish, linear, not knowing much about a woman’s body.

Others have skills.

They know how to do it, how to seduce you, make you come, make you beg, make you regret them.

She says those like to fuck your heart, your time, and sleep. They like to score. They never stay. They never care. They never show what they feel.

They don’t feel.

Others are lost and need directions, yet all of them have something in common. They never let you know you have the slightest power over them.

That’s their entire game.

They never give that to you.

They don’t want you to know how much they need to be inside your body. How deeply their longings run. They don’t let their bodies do the talking either, and yet he did.

Rex did.

He broke the rules and did all that.

My gaze tips down as I check the street again to see if Frankie comes in or not when something pinkish-white snags my eyes.

What?

I leap up, landing on my feet.

“What?” I mutter, dashing to the patio door.

Crumpled on the floor as if they’ve been there the entire evening, my panties look as if someone just dropped them.

And it wasn’t me.

Shocked, I lift them and check them.

“What the hell...?”

I lift my gaze.

Carlos’s car is there. Frankie is there. Everything is where it’s supposed to be except this. At speed light, the film of the evening plays in my head again.

I got home. I had my panties on. The bathroom. My dress... Took them off. Washed the dress. Where did I leave them?

Oh, no... No, no... They were in the bathroom, on the edge of the sink. They weren’t on the floor in the living room, next to the patio door. No way. I checked the patio, the door. There was nothing here.

No one.

I was looking for someone, God only knows who, and now things are no longer clear.

Where they ever?

My heart sinks, my thoughts spinning. No, no. It’s not possible.

It can’t be.

The thought scares me. It has frightened me the entire evening.

Rex and I haven’t been watched, and no one was in the house or in the bathroom when I took a shower.

There must be an explanation. A logical explanation.

Something other than this. Maybe I snagged them, caught them, drag them here, and didn’t realize it. I want to believe anything but this.

Besides, it’s not possible.

The doors were closed. And the windows were closed too. And yet, the noise... The shadow? Was it my crazy imagination?

Terrified, I lower myself and pick them off the floor. I hold them in my hand. They’re warm, as if someone else just held them in their hand.

Slowly I bring them to my nose because something smells differently. They’re warm and damp.

As if I just took them off.

They smell like Rex. His warm release, and me. My wet arousal... And then they have a foreign scent that sends a thunderbolt of fear through me.

I’m shaking from my fingers to my shoulders and my knees.

It can’t be him.

It can’t be.

Horror grows in me, stronger than anything I’ve ever felt and a dreading feeling that this... Whatever this is, it will not end well.

It can’t.

His scent transfers to my hand, like a serpent of flavor. Masculine, intoxicating. His cologne. I tasted it tonight. I had it in my nostrils and on my neck.

It tasted like him, brutal, suffocating, a bad omen, an ominous sign.

Kian Jackson.

I still can't believe it. It must be in my head. It has to. This is so far removed from reality. There is no way... No way.

My thoughts are still stripped of common sense when I hear the key in the lock, and the door pulls open, Frankie looming in the doorway.

At the same time, Carlos’s car rolls down the road, away from our place.

Furtively, I hide my panties inside my sleeve.