The Intern Serials: Complete Box Set Page 10

  For the first time in my life, I feel vulnerable around someone else. Feeding the rage and passion wasn’t too much for her, rather she gave into it—she liked it. She willingly gave me just what I needed.

  “You can. I promise.”

  Chapter Two

  Cecilia

  THE SIGHT OF Bentley’s body towering over me sent me in panic mode. I was pretending to sleep, hoping he’d crawl in next to me, and we’d spoon until he fell back asleep. What I hadn’t counted on was Bentley catching me…or his games.

  I allow Bentley to use me until he’s satisfied I’m telling him the truth. I keep eye contact and never flinch at his abusive tone. I let his aggressive hold take control as he controls my body.

  I’m convincing in my lies—I told you I was a master manipulator. It’s not hard, considering every scenario he’s thinking about is wrong. I don’t work for anyone and technically, my name is Ceci—well, nickname. Too bad he never thought of a high school student turned makeshift college student would be out to attain information for personal gain—because that would be a bitch to explain. Or deny.

  I laugh to myself at the irony. When it’s said like that, it sounds ridiculous. What I’m doing is ridiculous. But I don’t care. If I don’t take the risk and at least try, I’ll never know. I already live with regrets. I didn’t want to live with the ‘what if’s.’

  There’s no denying that my body craves Bentley. I want everything he’s giving me…and more. I let him do everything to me because I want it. I love it. I don’t want him to treat me like a little girl that can’t handle it. I can.

  And I did.

  Bentley slams us into the wall—my bare back pressed against the cold drywall. It’s chilling on my overheated skin, but much welcomed. It feels good.

  “I want to, Ceci. I want to trust you so fucking badly,” he confesses. His forehead is pressed against mine, and I can feel his hot breath against my mouth. He’s battling with himself. He’s torn between letting me in and keeping me at a distance.

  I inhale the alcohol that he’s exhaling, a strong vodka aroma. I thought I had smelled it on him earlier, but now I know for sure he was drinking.

  * * *

  After my dad had died, my mom hid in her room a lot. Casey was left to cook and take care of me most of the time. She took advantage and watched mostly adult shows and movies on TV. I’d sit with her and ended up learning much more than I should have. By the time I was seventeen, I had lost my virginity. I was more curious than in love, but once I lost it, I didn’t feel the need to protect it. It was the only time I ever felt anything besides anger and sadness. It was the only time I didn’t think about my dad and how much I wished I had died right along with him that day. It was the only time I wasn’t numb to the pain.

  When I was seventeen, I met Jason. He was a year ahead of me, but we hooked up my entire junior year. He was never more than that for me—a hook up. After awhile, he wanted more. He wanted to start going on dates, holding hands, being a couple. I told him I couldn’t and that I wasn’t wired that way. I hadn’t felt that need to have that with him. I kept him at a distance, not wanting to let that part of my heart open for him. I didn’t want to be in love. I never felt like I deserved it. How could I allow myself to love when I was still mourning my dad’s death all these years later? I just knew I could never give him what he wanted.

  We stopped talking after he graduated. And my heart never skipped a beat in missing him. I always felt I was incapable of caring that much for someone, so much that I wanted to let them in. And this is how I knew Bentley was struggling with the same thing. Between letting me in, trusting me, and pushing me away. It was too late for the both of us. We were both way too far in, and now I had to cover my tracks before he found out the actual truth.

  * * *

  “You can trust me, Bentley,” I say again. Because it’s true. Besides the lies I’m forced to hide, my feelings are real. I’m ready to give Bentley anything he wants to prove it.

  He presses his hips into me, binding us together. He grabs my ankles and forces them on top of his shoulder so the only thing holding us against the wall is my ass and his hips. I’m literally folded in half between Bentley and the wall.

  He smirks as he sees how flawlessly I bend. “I told you I was in gymnastics.”

  He grins before saying, “At least I can believe that much.”

  He thrusts inside me deeper. My head falls back against the wall as my body opens up willingly for him. He’s completely hard and thick, stretching me out farther than I’ve ever been before.

  The tight sensation is intense. I can feel every thick inch of him—the way he grinds into me makes everything go away. I don’t feel numb anymore. I don’t think about the dangerous territory I’ve gotten myself into—it’s just him and me.

  He’s moans and pants into my neck as he continues rocking into me. I feel his hot breath against my blistering skin. My head can’t concentrate on anything but the deep pleasure he’s giving me, the connection between us, and how good it feels to be with him.

  “God, Ceci…your body…I can’t ever get enough.” He breathes against my skin. “I could never get enough of you.” He bites the raw flesh of my earlobe, sending shivers down my body.

  He presses deeper inside me, his hands clenching my ankles to him. His mouth wanders up and down my neck, ear, and jaw. His tongue traces my jawline igniting the raw, but real, feelings I have toward him.

  I wasn’t even looking for someone when I padded into that boardroom. It was the farthest thing from my mind, but now that I’m here with him, I don’t want to let go. I don’t want to let go of this feeling—alive, invincible, real.

  I couldn’t tell him the truth now. It’d destroy him. Destroy us.

  “Bentley, god…you’re amazing,” I confess, unable to keep the feelings from spilling out of me. “So damn amazing.”

  His head backs up and makes eye contact with me. He slows his torture-pleasing rhythm and looks deep into me—through me.

  “I hope you mean that, Ceci. God, I really hope, because this isn’t easy for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve let someone in…and I want to let you in. I crave letting you in.” He leans his forehead against mine. His breathing slows matching our rhythm.

  “I do,” I whisper, a tinge of guilt leaves my throat. I hope he doesn’t notice, but I can’t help it. My heart and mind are in the middle of world war three, and there’s nothing I can do about it because I already know my heart will win. I won’t be able to say no to him, nor do I want to. But I can’t lose focus on what I really want—what I’m really after.

  He releases my ankles, but they stay placed on his shoulders. His hands wrap my face, cupping my cheeks as he crushes our mouths together. I immediately submit to his lips and tongue wanting everything he’s willing to give me.

  He speeds back up, rocking his hips forcefully against mine. I take in his moans and panting in my mouth as I release my own. I can feel the sweat between us, the lust releasing out of our skin as he rides out my intense orgasm.

  “Bentley…ahh, yes…” I mumble against his lips. My head falls back on its own accord as his mouth drops to my neck. He licks a path from my collarbone to my ear as I scream out his name one more time until I come down.

  “Sweetheart, as much as I want to fuck you hard against this wall and release everything I have in you, I’m not wearing a condom.” I can hear the slight agony in his tone. He’s disappointed but knows it’s the right thing to do.

  “Drop me,” I demand.

  “What?”

  “Put me down.”

  He slowly releases each leg off his shoulder. I submit to my knees immediately and take him into my mouth.

  “Sweetheart, what are you doing?” His fingers flock to my head, clenching his hands in fistfuls of my hair.

  I release him and say, “I doubt I need to spell it out for you.” I smirk up at him once before grabbing him and wrapping my lips around him again.

  �
��Oh, god, baby,” he growls and I can feel him leaning back, pushing deeper inside my mouth. “You look fucking amazing like this.”

  I use my hand to stroke him as I continue sucking him off. I use my other hand to keep his legs wide, giving just enough room for my knees to bend in between him.

  “Yes…oh, god…baby, I-I—”

  I want him to release inside me, so I stroke and suck even harder. “Ceci…god, yes…” I continue working him until he’s completely filled my throat. I close my eyes and take it willingly, wanting every part of him.

  He begins to come down and loosens his grip on my head. “Jesus Christ,” he growls.

  I back up and let him grab my arms to lift me up. I lick my lips and smile up at him.

  His stare is intense as he says, “Bed.”

  Chapter Three

  Cecilia

  I WALK INTO school Friday morning with a smile on my face and a limp in my step—a constant reminder of being sexually tortured the night before—not that I argued.

  My mind is spinning on last night’s events. Almost being caught. Bentley’s darker, more dominant side. A side I should’ve expected.

  I was sure he had passed out for good. I hadn’t expected him to see me, and I especially hadn’t expected him to react the way he did—aggressive and vulnerable. Two very different emotions, but I knew it was what drove him, and I willingly gave him anything he asked for.

  “You look like death,” Simon says casually as he leant against the locker next to me.

  I’m sore, exhausted, and not in the mood for his shit. “Thanks, asshole. You always know how to make a girl feel good.”

  He narrows his eyebrow at me. “Would you prefer I tell you or some jackass that you hate?”

  “I prefer you say nothing at all.”

  He puts his hands up in surrender. “So, where the hell have you been lately? Every time I call you, it goes straight to voice mail.”

  “Oh, my bad. Just shit going on at home. You know... the usual.” I shrug nonchalantly so he doesn’t question me. He’s well aware of the love-hate relationship I have with my mom, but I don’t meet his stare just in case he tries to break me of the truth.

  “Have you seen Cora?”

  “She’s in the locker room las—” He clears his throat as his face turns an interesting shade of red. “She’s probably in the gym or something.”

  I examine his disheveled look—messy, tousled locks, red scratches on his biceps, wrinkled shirt—all the signs of a heated make out session.

  I smirk as I gaze down his body and back up to meet his suspicious eyes.

  I take a mental note to drill Cora for details later. She’ll never admit it was Simon, but she’ll at least tell me about some guy she hooked up with—even if she lies about who it was.

  “Okay, I’ll just catch up with her later then.” I grab my pre-calculus book and slam my locker shut. “Let’s hang out next week, okay?”

  He nods in agreement as we walk to our next class. I hate deceiving Simon, but I have no choice if I want to keep this secret a secret.

  * * *

  After school, I dig through my closet for something to wear at my internship tomorrow. I have to keep up my appearance for the other journalists that are also there, yet I want to look nice for Bentley.

  Butterflies rise in my stomach as I think about him. A queasy combination of anxiety and fear build up as I think about being at work with him all day. Would we go back to boss and intern or would he treat me differently now?

  However, as much as I want him, I want the truth about my dad more.

  I shuffle through my closet and come across an old sweater I had forgotten was stashed in here—a purple one. It’s been my favorite color ever since I was a kid. I don’t even know why I still have it. It hasn’t fit me in years. It brings me back to my dad immediately. Soon, the tears well in my eyes as I rub my thumb and forefinger over the fabric.

  “How’s it going, Princess?” my dad asked. I was sitting on my bed with my knees pressed against my chest, my head dug into the gap, as the tears streamed out.

  He sat down next to me and rubbed my back until I calmed down enough to speak.

  I wiped the tears off my cheeks and cleared my throat before speaking. “Today was the third grade spelling bee,” I choked.

  He sensed my disappointment immediately and wrapped his arms around me.

  “What happened?”

  “I was doing really good,” I started to explain. “But then I guess I got nervous and froze up. I spelled a really easy word wrong and lost.”

  It might not have been a big deal to most kids my age, but I had studied day and night on that list of words. I was prepared.

  “I even wore my lucky sweater.” I look down at my favorite purple sweater.

  I could feel my dad’s body tense around me. He wasn’t sure what to say to console me. I wasn’t the easiest person to console.

  “You’re smart, Cecilia,” he began. I turned and looked up at him. His eyes lit up and a smile crept on his face. And soon, I was smiling with him. “You’re the smartest girl I know. Don’t let one mistake keep you from taking on the world.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so.” He leaned in and kissed my forehead. I smiled. He always knew what to say to make me feel better. “So what was the word?” He leaned back and asked.

  I sighed. “Honesty.”

  Thoughts of my dad surface randomly since his passing. A smell, a shirt, a color—all types of things will bring the memories back.

  As I stand in the doorway of my closet, I think about the words my dad said to me that day.

  Don’t let one mistake keep you from taking on the world.

  It’s the most powerful thing I’ve ever heard and up until now, I hadn’t realized just how powerful. He’s right. Absolutely right. I shouldn’t let one incident keep me from doing what I plan on doing—finding justice for my dad.

  I walk to my mom’s bedroom, peeking in before I plow right in. She should be working, but just in case, I double check.

  She must have something in here. Some files, information, documentation on my dad. She always told me she got rid of everything, got rid of the memories, but something inside me knows she has to have something. There has to be a reason she wanted to get rid of everything so fast.

  I dig around her vanity, dresser, and closet.

  Nothing.

  I look under her bed, moving around all the old shoes and water bottles that must’ve slipped under there.

  Again, nothing.

  I sit on the floor and think for a moment as I slowly take a look around.

  Nathan barrels through with no consideration that I’m sitting in the middle of the floor, almost knocking me over.

  “Whatcha doing?” he asks, spontaneously jumping on top of the bed.

  “None of your damn business,” I snap, irritated that he’s made me lose my concentration.

  “Mom said you can’t say that to me. She said you had to be nice to me!” he taunts.

  “Mom’s not here. So deal with it.”

  He’s laughing, jumping up and down on the bed trying to touch the ceiling. “You’re going to break your damn neck. Get down,” I scowl.

  “Make me.”

  “One punch to your shin and you’re going down. You really want to test me?” I stand up showing how serious I am.

  “Na-na-na-na-na,” he sings. God. I can’t stand him sometimes. I know he’s begging for attention, but right now, I can’t deal with his shenanigans.

  I watch as he jumps, arm straight up as he aims for the ceiling. He almost touches it. I watch annoyed as he jumps deeper into the bed making one last attempt to touch it.

  It’s like slow motion—his knees bend, his lips curve up into a smile as his arm slowly reaches up until his body can’t go any higher. And then finally, his hand touches the pale-colored ceiling.

  It’s not until he lands back down shouting out in victory that it hits me.
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  It’s not under the bed.

  If my mom were hiding something significant about my dad, she would hide it somewhere people wouldn’t think to look.

  “Nathan, off,” I demand. I snap my fingers at him to get off the bed, and he finally listens. “Go tell Casey to start dinner. I’ll be right down.”

  He skips happily out of our mom’s room, finally, and I begin ripping the sheet off. I feel around the mattress for a slit or opening. I round the corner and still don’t feel anything. Frustrated, I finally lift the mattress up as high as I can. Adrenaline and determination feed my strength to flip the entire thing over, and then I see it—a white envelope taped to the bottom of the mattress.

  I run over and grab it, ripping the tape off with it. It’s sealed shut with nothing written on the outside. I rub my fingers over it, wondering if it’ll give me any information that I’ve been craving.

  I rip the envelope open and spot a small piece of folded paper. I pull it out and hold it firmly in between two fingers.

  My breathing quickens as I unfold it, delicately as if it’ll break. I unfold it once more before it’s completely open, exposed.

  Samuel Anderson.

  42-19-36

  No. 6

  I stare at it and realize it’s some kind of lock box code. Number 6 and this was the lock combination. But for what? And where? And who the hell is Samuel Anderson?

  “Cecilia!” I hear my sister shout up the stairs. “Get your ass down here!”

  “Hold on, I’ll be right there!” I shout back unhappily.

  I clench the piece of paper in my fist as I push the mattress back on top of the box spring. I quickly put the sheets and pillows back on before leaving the room.

  As I walk down the stairs, I think about the secrets my mom must be hiding—hiding for my dad. Were we always unsafe?

  After dinner, I go on a Google hunt for a Samuel Anderson. I have no idea what I’m looking for, and considering it’s an extremely common name, I end up with thousands of Google links. But if it’s important enough for my mom to hide, it has to link to my dad somehow. I can feel it.