Chapter 3: Octavia - Pack of Mine

The rays of early morning sunlight are barely poking through the gaps between the blackout curtains and my eyes are so squinted that I can hardly comprehend anything around me. I quickly cover my face with my hands, trying to block anything that could make this headache worse.

My head is fucking spinning – am I still drunk? How did I get home?

I jump out of bed and try to walk over to my bathroom, stumbling around everywhere and gripping the walls. Jesus Christ, my brain feels like it’s going to pop right out of my eyeballs.

But my eyes burst open wider when I realize I don’t recognize the rug under my feet… or the walls around me… or the shirt I’m wearing.

Where the fuck did I end up last night?

Memories start to flash back and I wince at the throbbing trying to break through my forehead.

I do remember coming home from work, already pissed off and getting into a fight with Connor. I touch my cheek, my fingers running over the exact place his hand landed on me. My eyes tear up, but I shake it off.

Fuck him.

I do remember drinking my feelings away and wandering around downtown, but everything after that is gone. It appears that I have ended up at some stranger’s house last night instead of my own.

To be totally honest, I’m just glad I didn’t wake up on a park bench somewhere covered in my own puke.

Still spinning, I look around the room and begin to dig through the nightstands and the bed, trying to find any sign of where I am or how I got here.

“Shit!” I grab the pillow in frustration and throw it back on the bed. How fucking trashed did I get last night?

My feet lightly thump on the floor as I walk into the bathroom connected to this room and rummage through every drawer. At this point, I don’t even know what I’m looking for. Maybe I can find some information about whose house this is or some cash for a taxi home.

I mean, it’s not that shabby of a place. It could always be worse, right? I could’ve ended up at a serial killer’s house tied up in their basement or something.

Never mind, don’t tempt me with a good time.

I spot my clothes crumpled up in the corner of the bathroom with a pair of men’s clothes on top of them.

Shit. Did I have sex last night? Why do I smell like soap? I took a fucking shower?

Jesus, I got fucked up. Maybe the last third of that handle wasn’t a good idea… or the half-smoked joint I found on the sidewalk and sparked up. Oops.

I shake my head at the thought and continue snooping around.

The bedroom is actually beautiful. It’s a mixture of a dark, robust masculine vibe with a modern twist. The giant glass windows almost touch the ceiling and come all the way down to the floor. Most of the walls are black, dark grey, or some form of stone or wood panels.

It’s kind of sexy, to be honest. Waking up in a stranger’s house doesn’t get much better than this.

The furniture is dark-stained wood and leather. A king-sized, or honestly, even larger, bed rests against a tall wall covered in interesting pieces of art that are hard to comprehend. They look close enough to real-life items, but when I focus on them more, I realize that they’re just random brush strokes. Trippy.

A black dresser is propped up against the opposite wall, with floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of it. An ashtray rests on top of it, full of cigarette butts and I crave a smoke more than ever at the sight.

This is definitely a man cave, but it’s done really well. There are signs of life here, too. I spot a small pile of dirty laundry and a couple of water cups spread throughout the bedroom and bathroom.

So if someone lives here, where are they now?

My feet are freezing against the cold wood floor and I shiver, but I slowly creep out of the bedroom and down the hallway to look around the house for a phone, the owner, or maybe a way home.

The second I step out, I’m in awe.

The living room is so grand. The windows are also floor-to-ceiling and look out to deep woods. Trees wrap all the way around the house – I have no idea where a car would park or drive in here due to the density. It’s green in every direction that you look.

The furniture out here is also dark and masculine, little metal accents on the edges of tables and the feet of couches shine through the sea of black and grey. A real fireplace surrounded by grey stone sits next to the front door. Old and new logs sit in it, accompanied by a pile of fresh firewood on the other side of it.

It’s a little creepy seeing it empty, but I find myself a little intrigued. It’s like someone took the fantasy I’ve had my whole life from my head and gave it to an architect. I didn’t even know Silver Lake had homes like this.

Whoever lives here makes insane money or inherited this place from some kind of mafia king grandfather. It’s absolutely nothing like my shitty apartment right outside of downtown.

As I look around further at the room and decor, my jaw hangs wide open. Some of the items displayed around here look like they belong in a museum or an art exhibit or something.

My feet carry me throughout the grand living room until I stand in a very moody kitchen. The cabinets, the backsplash, the countertops – did the designer get their inspiration straight from my Pinterest board? This house is a fucking dream come true, I might have to consider killing or marrying the owner so I can live here, too.

I brush my fingertips across the dark marble countertops, cold and buttery smooth. Rubbing my skin together, I notice not a speck of dust either, which is strange considering I believe a man lives here and I know men are not the most hygienic creatures to walk Earth.

There are a few dirty dishes in the sink – it looks like someone was eating a late-night sandwich and some chips. I wouldn’t put it past me to snoop around someone else’s kitchen while blacked out and dig up something to eat.

A few of the smaller and skinnier cabinets are calling my name. Maybe I’ll find a phone so I can Uber home, or a little bit of cash so I can hitch a bus ride.

As I sift through a bunch of random drawers, I find a whole bunch of nothing. I see some random items like little trinkets and halfway used super glue, an old pack of birthday balloons, a couple of pencils and highlighters and such, but nothing that would help me. UGH!

“Good morning, pretty kitty.”

I jump about three feet in the air at the sound of a man entering the room. It takes me a second – I can blame the hangover – but I recognize that voice. It’s that brooding creep from my bar last night.

Is this his fucking house?

“I gotta go, my breakfast just woke up and she’s standing in my kitchen.” He smirks and hangs up the phone, then shoves it in the back pocket of his dark wash jeans.

The front door starts closing behind him and the sun blinds me just before it shuts, hiding his full appearance.

I hold a hand over my eyebrow to shield from the light and as he approaches me, I can see his face in full shape now. His jawline catches in the low lighting that makes me want to trace my fingers across it, his long brown hair hangs into his eyes and wow… those eyes. They look like a dark pit of nothingness. It’s chilling.

His whole 6’4 of height towers over me as his hand reaches down to brush the side of my face.

“How did my Kitten sleep in my bed last night?”

I shove his hand off and push into his chest, trying to walk straight past him.

“Stop calling me that,” I grunt out. “How did I get here? This is your house?”

Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought, but I still need to find my phone and get home. If I could just…

Before I can move any farther from him, he grabs my arm and pulls me back to face him eye to eye, inching closer to me until I have no more room to scooch away.

My ass hits the counter behind me and his giant body presses into mine. He towers over me, continuing to push forward and peers down, grabbing my chin with his right hand to force me to look up at dark eyes.

Evil swirls in them, and I get lost in them like I’m hypnotized. I could sit here for hours, staring into those alluring black irises.

His arms and hands are slightly hairy, but not enough to gross me out. He’s hot, grungy, and rough-around-the-edges. Tattoos of dark-shaded flowers and various animals cover his arms and his chest as far as I can see. He’s my type to a T, and if this creep didn’t freak me out, I’d probably be a little more turned on than I already am.

Oops, I mean, turned on at all.

He leans in, millimeters away from my face.

“You look oddly edible right now.”

Gulp.

He wraps his veiny hand around my throat and tilts my head back to expose my neck. His voice is but a whisper, but deep enough to make my pulse flutter.

“I bet you taste like a bad, bad girl.” He tilts down and scrapes his teeth on my earlobe, sending chills all the way down to my bare feet. “I want to know what this bad girl tastes like.”

His scent engulfs me and I can smell a hint of cigarettes on his breath. This man is everything I fantasized about in high school, getting lost in my romance novels. I think I let out a small moan, and if I did, I definitely didn’t hide it from him.

“Are you gonna let me have my way with you willingly, or do I need to bend you over this marble counter…”

His mouth is so close to my ear that his voice is vibrating the hairs on my neck. I try my best to hold my composure, but I’m crumbling apart like an old, forgotten building.

“…have my brothers hold you down and rip your clothes to shreds…”

Brothers?

He moves his left hand to my pantless torso, working its way slowly to the bottom of the oversized T-shirt I’m still wearing and places it right where I was praying he did.

I’m sweating in anticipation. My nipples could practically cut through this fabric, and my hips push forward into his hand.

“…just so I can know what Miss Octavia tastes like?”

He shoves his long fingers into me and I’m already soaked for this stranger. I let out a soft moan, this one I didn’t try to hide at all.

Who the fuck is this guy?

He pulls out of me and I find myself whimpering with disappointment. Finger me again, strange man, and better yet, don’t tell me your name. It’s hotter that way.

His right hand moves from my throat to my cheeks and he grips them tightly to force me to face him directly.

I trace his black eyes after piercing into my soul and his left hand comes up to his mouth. He sticks his fingers, now covered in me, between his lips, sucking them hard enough to hollow his cheeks.

Those pits of nothing close, he tilts his head back and he pushes his tight jeans into my stomach. I can feel the outline of his thick cock begging to burst out.

Holy fuck, it’s huge. Did we fuck last night?

I watch him in disbelief – he looks straight out of one of my late-night secret fantasies as he slowly pulls his fingers out of his mouth, his tongue still licking them and stares back at me.

“Mmmm. What a perfect meal to start my day. I’d love seconds.”

His hand releases his grip on my cheeks, he smirks and steps back from me.

I suddenly remember that I’m not dreaming and I’m standing in a stranger’s – undeniably sexy, but still creepy – home and I have no way of getting out of here.

Snap out of the lustful daze, Octavia.

“Wait a second, you’re that freak from the bar last night! Did we have sex?”

Taking another step backwards, he leans into the cabinet behind him, swallowing and wiping his wet mouth with the back of his hand.

Actually, based on what I felt going on underneath his jeans, I think if we fucked last night I’d for sure be feeling it. Right?

“Answer me.”

He lightly laughs, brushes his brown hair out of his eyes again and looks me up and down like he’ll be having me for dinner later.

Mr. Nobody’s aura is full of an undeniable chaotic energy, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks – I can feel that he doesn’t care about anything but his own interests.

It seems like he’d light the world on fire, watch it burn and roast marshmallows on it.

His malicious grin sends ants crawling around my shirt, he tilts his head slightly sideways like a dog that hears his favorite word and says, “Do you want to go home already? We were just getting started.”

As much as I desire a taste of him as well and I hate to admit it, I feel an eagerness to see what happened with Connor. I’m worried he might’ve gone back to my apartment, maybe let himself in and trashed the place or burned it down. He was always a little unpredictable and struggled with some anger issues.

Connor pretended that he loved to indulge in my taboo kinks with me, but after a few months of dating, it wore off. Our sex became more vanilla and more repetitive. I spent most of my time with my vibrator in a dark room, playing out my twisted daydreams behind my eyelids.

Unfortunately, this beautiful hunk of a man standing in front of me right now looks like he came straight out of one of those daydreams. It’s like God watched me touch myself enough times and decided to finally do something about it.

I hear my mother’s disapproving voice in the back of my head, even though she’s dead. She’d take one look at this man and tell me, “Octavia, absolutely not.” But guess who’s not around anymore to stop me?

Honestly, as much as it turns me on to think about it, I can’t fuck a guy who kidnapped me and did God knows what last night. My memory is totally black after chugging tequila out of my fridge. What if he took advantage of me, and… why do my thighs clench at that thought?

But… I find myself hoping that he did, and that it won’t be the last time.

Damn, I’m fucked up.

He continues to stand there waiting for my reply and I get lost in his depravity. It’s dark, it’s sexy – I want him to put even more than just his fingers back inside me, bend me over like he threatened to and have his brothers take turns with me.

I bite my lip and remember what he said.

He has brothers. Someone else lives here – are they as hot as he is? Are they nearby and watching this interaction?

My thighs rub together and I try to peek around, looking for any shadows roaming around the dark corners.

I don’t want him to know that I like the thought of him sharing me and passing me around like an object. I don’t want him to know that I’ve grinded on my vibrator to this exact situation countless times in my head, pretending it was actually happening.

But I have a feeling he can already tell, and I might be playing this morning out with another toy when I get home.