VENGEANCE IN HIS BED

THE DEVILS DOORSTEP

The rain wasn't just falling, it was trying to drown me. It lashed against my cracked windshield, and my wipers let out a pathetic, rhythmic wheeze as they struggled to clear the blur. Every few miles, the engine made a hollow coughing sound that sent a jolt of pure ice through my chest.

Not now, I prayed, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so hard that my knuckles began to turn white. Just five more miles. Don't you dare die on me now.

I glanced at the rearview mirror. In the backseat, tucked under a faded wool blanket, four-year-old Leo was fast asleep. His head was tilted to the side, his small mouth slightly open. Even in the dim light of the dashboard, I could see the damp curls plastered to his forehead. He reminded me so much about my sister, they looked so much alike. But the sharpness in his jaw, his grey eyes and hairy body, that didn't come from our side of the family.

It was the reason I was driving into the mouth of the beast and willing to risk it all. 

The GPS chirped, its cold, digital voice cutting through the silence of the car. "In five hundred yards, your destination is on the right."

I slowed down as the massive iron gates of the Vale estate loomed out of the fog. They weren't just gates, but a clear and concise warning. Ornate black iron topped with sharp spikes, guarded by stone pillars that looked like they had been there for centuries. A small intercom stood to the left, glowing with a faint, predatory blue light.

I rolled down my window, and the freezing rain immediately soaked my sleeve as I reached out and pressed the button.

"Yes?" A woman's voice came through. It was clipped, sharp, and completely devoid of warmth.

"Claire Collins," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I'm the new archival assistant. I was told to arrive before eight."

There was a long, agonizing silence. I held my breath, wondering if the anonymous contact who had set this up had lied to me. If this was all a cruel joke, I was dead. I had eighty-four dollars in my bank account and a half-tank of gas, there was no back home to go to.

Then, with a heavy, mechanical groan, the gates began to swing inward.

I drove up the winding path, my headlights cutting through the dark woods that lined the driveway. And then, the house appeared.

Wow!

It was a fortress of glass and dark stone, perched on the edge of a cliff like a vulture waiting for something to die. I pulled into the circular drive, killed the engine, and sat in the sudden, ringing silence. My heart was beating so hard I could feel it in my throat. I looked up at the house again, every window was dark except for one on the top floor, glowing like a watchful eye. 

I should have looked away or pressed the intercom and focused on why I was here. But my feet felt rooted to the gravel. Behind that single pane of amber light, a shadow moved. It was the silhouette of a man, tall and impossibly broad, his shoulders spanning the width of the frame. As he stepped closer to the glass, the light caught the rugged planes of a powerful chest and elongated cock. 

"Holy shit!" He was entirely, unapologetically naked.

My breath hitched and my throat felt like it had been swallowed by sand as I watched him. Even as a mere outline against the glow, he was magnificent, a predator in his private den. I doubt he could see me, or perhaps he didn't care. He threw his head back, a sharp, masculine line of his jaw visible in profile, and reached down.

I let out a shaky, silent gasp as his  hand closed around his cock that looked monstrous even from this  distance, heavy, thick, and pulsing with a life of its own. I watched, mesmerized and mortified, as he began to stroke himself. His movements were slow at first, deliberate and punishing, his massive frame tensing with every upward slide of his fist. I could almost feel the heat radiating from that room, the raw, carnal energy of a man taking exactly what he wanted.

He picked up the pace, his body arching slightly and my own heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. I found myself leaning forward, my eyes wide, my mouth drying as I watched the rhythmic, blurred motion of his hand. Then, with a sudden, violent shudder that shook his entire frame, he stiffened. I watched the arc of his release spray upward against the glass, the shadow of it trailing down like dark rain.

A small, traitorous moan escaped my lips, vibrating in the cold night air.

"Miss? What are you waiting for?" The woman's voice crackled through the intercom, sharp and mechanical. I jumped, my skin burning with a sudden, scorching heat.

I managed to comport myself as I turned to Leo. "We're here, Leo," I whispered, though he didn't stir.

I got out of the car, the wind nearly ripping the door from my hand. I scrambled to the back seat, unbuckling Leo and pulling him into my arms. He groaned, shifting his weight against my shoulder, his small hands clutching my jacket. He was getting heavy, but I didn't mind. He was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

I hiked my heavy bag over my shoulder, the one containing our few clothes and the secret file I'd spent years building and walked toward the massive front doors.

Before I could even knock, the door swung open.

A woman stood there, dressed in a charcoal-grey suit that was as stiff as her expression. Her hair was pulled back into a bun so tight it looked painful.

"You're late," she said, checking a watch on her wrist. "Mr. Vale does not like to be kept waiting. I am Mrs. Holloway, the house manager."

"The weather was..."

"Reasons are just excuses, Miss Collins." Mrs. Holloway's eyes flicked down to Leo. Her lip curled just a fraction of an inch. "And is this a child? You were told the living quarters are small and we do not have a nursery."

"He stays with me," I said, my voice hardening. I didn't care if I sounded defensive. "That was the deal. I work, he stays with me. He won't be a problem."

"We shall see." She stepped aside, gesturing into the foyer.

The inside of the house was even colder than the outside. It smelled of expensive wax, old books, and something sharp and metallic. The floors were polished black marble, reflecting the dim light like a dark, bottomless lake. It was absolutely rich and beautiful, but it felt dead.

"The archives are in the north wing, sub-level," Mrs. Holloway explained as she led me through the echoing halls. "You will begin your cataloging at 9:00 AM sharp every morning. Your meals will be sent to your quarters. You are not to wander the main house after dark. And you are strictly forbidden from entering the West Wing. Is that understood?"

"Crystal clear!" I murmured, adjusting Leo's weight.

We reached a small, hidden elevator at the end of a long corridor and we descended in silence. When the doors opened, my breath hitched. It was a library that stretched for what felt like miles, filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves and rolling ladders. Thousands of secrets, all waiting to be filed away.

"Your room is through that door," she pointed to a plain wooden door tucked behind a row of law books. "Get some sleep. Mr. Vale will likely want to inspect your progress tomorrow evening. Do not disappoint him."

Without another word, she turned and disappeared back into the elevator.

I walked into the small room. It was tiny with just a bed, a dresser, and a single window that looked out into the black rain. But at least, it was clean. I laid Leo down on the bed, peeling off his damp shoes and tucking the covers around him. He didn't even wake up.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, my head in my hands. I was in. I was finally inside the house of the man I hated more than anything in the world. 

I tried to focus on the mission, on the letters hidden in my bag, but my mind was a traitor. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that golden window. I saw the way his muscles had rippled, the way that massive weight had looked in his hand. I felt a low, thrumming ache start between my thighs, a pulse that matched the hasty beating of my heart.

I moved to the wardrobe to find something warm to change into, I picked out a simple old gown and began to undress from my wet clothes. But as my fingers brushed my naked body, they strayed. My hand drifted to my own breast, squeezing the soft flesh through my shirt. I closed my eyes, imagining those large hands replacing mine. I imagined the huge, heavy cock I'd seen in the shadow sliding into me, filling the emptiness that was currently screaming for attention.

A whimper broke from my throat and I reached down, my fingers trembling as they found the seam of my jeans, slipping inside to find the slick heat of my clit. I rubbed slowly at first, then faster, my breath coming in heavy hitches. God, he was so big and looked strong. I knew he would definitely ruin me. I grabbed both my breasts, pulling at the nipples as the tension coiled tighter and tighter in my gut.

Knock. Knock.

I froze. My hand flew out of my pants as if I'd been burned.

"Miss Claire? It's Holloway. Would you be needing dinner, or perhaps some tea?"

"No!" I answered, my voice an octave too high. I scrambled into my pajamas, my face purple with shame. I hurried to the door and cracked it open just an inch. "No, thank you. Leo is asleep, and we ate before we arrived."

She gave a single nod and left while I shut the door and leaned my forehead against the wood, my chest heaving. I couldn't stop. I needed a release or I was going to lose my mind tonight. I rushed to my bag, dumping the contents onto the bed, searching for the familiar weight of my vibrator.

"Where is it? Where is it?" I hissed, tears of frustration stinging my eyes. It wasn't there. I must have forgotten it in the rush to leave.

I sat back on my heels, looking at the mess of my life scattered on the bed. The reality of the cold, dark house crashed back into me. My sister was dead, my nephew needed me. But here I was, rubbing myself raw over a stranger in a window.

I raised my hand and slapped my own forehead, the sting sharp and grounding.

"Get a grip of yourself, you sex deprived bitch," I whispered into the dark. "You're here for blood, not a climax."