eyes shot open. Their eyes met and then he shut them again, gripped her hips and thrust until he collapsed onto her chest with satisfied panting.
âYouâre a cheap date, sweetheart.â His breath was hot on her ear.
âWhy?â
âJust one chocolate. And we didnât even get to the wine.â He rolled to her side and circled her nipples, one then the other.
âMmm, I guess youâre right.â She leant in for a quick kiss. âBut the night is still young.â
Chapter Eleven
Nox found Zanobiâs bedroom. He knew it was his room because on the wooden cupboard doors hung a light grey suit coat, buttoned up the middle, as if it had been just plucked from the cupboard. Nox could vividly recall Zanobi wearing it, as he had done at every Sunday night dinner that everyone had to attend. Heâd despised the smugness plastered on Zanobiâs face as heâd poured his discriminating gaze over the hundred or so boys sharing the meal with him.
The fact that the jacket was still there was a testament to the speed with which the building had been vacated. So much was left behind. Once again, Nox pondered the fact that the building hadnât been vandalised and the remaining pieces of furniture and clothing taken. With the amount of horrors that went on here, maybe nobody had wanted to come back.
The double bed was still made up with a blue and white checked duvet curved over the sides and up over the pillow. The powerful urge to lie flat on a real bed gripped him. He sat on the mattress and was surprised when it didnât creak. Without any regard for the decades of neglect disgracing the covers he flopped back, and a cloud of debris bounced into the air. Closing his eyes to ignore the dust cloud, he allowed the tension strangling the muscles up his back to gradually unravel.
Nox hadnât slept on anything comfortable since heâd raced out of Opheliaâs place after nearly strangling her. Opheliaâs chubby rose-coloured cheeks came back to him now. He missed her smile. He missed her motherly concern. He missed her cooking. He missed everything about his beautiful Ophelia. She was the only woman in his life whoâd ever shown him compassion. Maybe, when all this was over, and heâd used his wealth to fix his teeth, buy some fancy clothes, and shown the world who he really was, he could return to her. Would she accept him back after what he did?
He cast the futile thinking aside, sat up and scanned the rest of the room. A stack of wood was piled in the fireplace, as if someone were about to light it. On the mantel stood a statue of Jesus. Nox strode to it, yanked it off the marble shelf and pegged it out the broken window. He watched it bounce off the jagged rocks below and disappear over the cliff.
âArghh!â His scream teetered between outrage and insanity.
He gripped onto the windowsill until his momentary lapse of self-control faded. After inhaling a couple of deep salt-laced breaths, he turned back to the room with fresh eyes. Nox walked calmly towards the grey jacket, plucked it off the hanger and tossed that out the window, too. It fluttered gracefully, caught in the breeze, and landed on a small patch of luscious green grass at the top of the cliff.
Nox huffed, turned back to the room and strode to the cupboard once again. The doors resisted opening before something gave, and they creaked towards him. The clothes inside had been sealed for thirty years and looked clean and ready to be worn. Nox slipped a shirt off a hanger and sniffed the fabric. It smelt stale and dusty, but other than that, it was a hundred times better than what he was wearing now. Nox stripped off the clothes Ophelia had given him and paused open-mouthed when he caught sight of himself in the grime-covered mirror inside the cupboard door.
He turned slowly, barely recognising the man in the reflection. His hair was long and his body was thin. He ran his fingers over
âYouâre a cheap date, sweetheart.â His breath was hot on her ear.
âWhy?â
âJust one chocolate. And we didnât even get to the wine.â He rolled to her side and circled her nipples, one then the other.
âMmm, I guess youâre right.â She leant in for a quick kiss. âBut the night is still young.â
Chapter Eleven
Nox found Zanobiâs bedroom. He knew it was his room because on the wooden cupboard doors hung a light grey suit coat, buttoned up the middle, as if it had been just plucked from the cupboard. Nox could vividly recall Zanobi wearing it, as he had done at every Sunday night dinner that everyone had to attend. Heâd despised the smugness plastered on Zanobiâs face as heâd poured his discriminating gaze over the hundred or so boys sharing the meal with him.
The fact that the jacket was still there was a testament to the speed with which the building had been vacated. So much was left behind. Once again, Nox pondered the fact that the building hadnât been vandalised and the remaining pieces of furniture and clothing taken. With the amount of horrors that went on here, maybe nobody had wanted to come back.
The double bed was still made up with a blue and white checked duvet curved over the sides and up over the pillow. The powerful urge to lie flat on a real bed gripped him. He sat on the mattress and was surprised when it didnât creak. Without any regard for the decades of neglect disgracing the covers he flopped back, and a cloud of debris bounced into the air. Closing his eyes to ignore the dust cloud, he allowed the tension strangling the muscles up his back to gradually unravel.
Nox hadnât slept on anything comfortable since heâd raced out of Opheliaâs place after nearly strangling her. Opheliaâs chubby rose-coloured cheeks came back to him now. He missed her smile. He missed her motherly concern. He missed her cooking. He missed everything about his beautiful Ophelia. She was the only woman in his life whoâd ever shown him compassion. Maybe, when all this was over, and heâd used his wealth to fix his teeth, buy some fancy clothes, and shown the world who he really was, he could return to her. Would she accept him back after what he did?
He cast the futile thinking aside, sat up and scanned the rest of the room. A stack of wood was piled in the fireplace, as if someone were about to light it. On the mantel stood a statue of Jesus. Nox strode to it, yanked it off the marble shelf and pegged it out the broken window. He watched it bounce off the jagged rocks below and disappear over the cliff.
âArghh!â His scream teetered between outrage and insanity.
He gripped onto the windowsill until his momentary lapse of self-control faded. After inhaling a couple of deep salt-laced breaths, he turned back to the room with fresh eyes. Nox walked calmly towards the grey jacket, plucked it off the hanger and tossed that out the window, too. It fluttered gracefully, caught in the breeze, and landed on a small patch of luscious green grass at the top of the cliff.
Nox huffed, turned back to the room and strode to the cupboard once again. The doors resisted opening before something gave, and they creaked towards him. The clothes inside had been sealed for thirty years and looked clean and ready to be worn. Nox slipped a shirt off a hanger and sniffed the fabric. It smelt stale and dusty, but other than that, it was a hundred times better than what he was wearing now. Nox stripped off the clothes Ophelia had given him and paused open-mouthed when he caught sight of himself in the grime-covered mirror inside the cupboard door.
He turned slowly, barely recognising the man in the reflection. His hair was long and his body was thin. He ran his fingers over
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