Isolation: Book 2 of The Quarantine Series Page 4

  “You became her legal guardian because I asked you to take care of her,” Uncle John sighs. “You couldn’t be together even after your guardianship ended because there would have been too many allegations. All because Theressa and I were selfish parents.”

  It’s true. Their shit decisions took away the chance for us to have a normal start.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely. “I didn’t know how you two felt about each other. But I respect you for not crossing that boundary with her back then. Is that why Raven left New York so abruptly; she was upset that you two couldn’t be together?”

  The real reason why Raven moved to Paris without finishing her senior year is very different from the official story given to the parents.

  Raven told them that she got accepted to the International Fashion Academy of Paris for a remote internship for her senior year of high school. The adults raised their eyebrows, but since Theressa lived in Paris no one questioned it.

  I keep my expression neutral instead of giving him a response.

  “This is going to take some getting used to,” he sounds unconvinced. He also sounds… understanding. “You two are going to face a lot of scrutiny from everyone we know. But if you stick it out, then you will get through it together and come out stronger.”

  “You’re serious?” I am unable to keep the surprise out of my voice.

  “I’ll admit that I am still shocked,” he says slowly. “However, you are both adults and I know you are a good man, Milo. If you truly love my daughter, then I am not going to hold back my blessing. I just want her to be happy.”

  I have been so engrossed in Raven’s health that I haven’t considered what happens once she is fully conscious.

  I told everyone I love her. They haven’t questioned how Raven feels about me. If they ask whether she is happy, Raven is not going to keep up the ruse once she is lucid.

  The bright side is, our families are finally on board with us being together. If Raven still seeks approval from both of our parents like she used to, the transition might not be as difficult.

  I give Uncle John an appreciative nod, feeling more hopeful. He awkwardly hesitates again before speaking.

  “Umm…one more thing. Can you two sleep separately? You might be adults, but we are still your parents. I am very uncomfortable with this arrangement.”

  I smile agreeably, but I don’t verbally commit. Sure, he might consider it disrespectful to sleep in his daughter’s room. Both of our dads are religious. They don't approve of premarital sex.

  However, I pay the mortgage here. He is my guest. My house, my rules.

  After answering some more of my questions about Raven’s symptoms, he decides to join the others for dinner while I wake Raven up to give her the pills.

  Raven takes the pills and falls back onto the pillow. Her eyes are barely open, she looks like she is about to go back to sleep.

  I greedily stare at her. In her perplexity, mixed with the concussion and the painkillers, Raven has forgotten to hate me. She has been letting me take care of her and hold her while she sleeps.

  I lift the comforter and collect her in my arms. Every time I hold her, I stop breathing, expecting words of protest. But nothing. She stays put and then buries her head on my chest.

  Raven is fast asleep again with her head resting on my chest. She is letting me hold her close enough to let that smell of hers linger over me, lulling me into a lethargy of my own. She is still the only oxygen machine that truly works for me.

  I stare at Raven’s face on my chest. It’s covered with bruises, just like her hands and legs. Her upper lip is puffy. Her leg has to stay elevated on a pillow with a compressor around it.

  I can objectively state that her face busted open. Our family members cringed when they saw her after the fall.

  Yet, that very face can capture my attention like nothing else ever could. Even now, I could stare at her for so long that I’d forget to eat, drink, or sleep.

  She has the kind of face that you use words like magnificent and brilliant to describe like you would for an art piece. She defines the word aesthetic.

  I want her.

  I want her so fucking much.

  I want her with every fucking fiber of my being.

  She has an intoxicating hold on me that I can’t fight off. It’s the same as an addiction.

  A familiar gnawing under my skin is back. It’s itching to get out, itching to touch her. It’s hard to breathe till I can.

  I tell myself that I can’t. She is in no shape for my depravities. I know this is a terrible idea. Yet, I can only watch as my face moves down to her mouth.

  -----------

  Raven

  Right after moving to Paris, I hated being touched. But my curiosity over why people chase sex as the desired form of physical contact sparked my determination to get over it.

  I liked sex with Milo because it provided me with oblivion. Was everyone else also trying to reach oblivion? Is it just about a physical release, or is it about connecting with another human?

  I started exploring the physical realm, hoping that the same experience could exist with anyone, not just with Milo.

  Alas, it was never so mind-numbing or intense with anyone else.

  Your first sexual experience can define your later sexual preferences. In my case, that is definitely true.

  After going through a string of lovers, I finally gave up on sex completely. It’s been a couple of years since I have had sex.

  It just doesn’t interest me anymore.

  Until now. Now all of my senses are heightened, and every touch is driving me crazy. My body is buzzing and covered with goosebumps. I can’t help but make a small humming noise.

  I don’t recall the last time I had a sex dream. They are not usually this vivid. The dreams stay inside my brain. They don’t transfer from my subconscious to my skin.

  Yet, this dream has. My mouth, cheek, my jaw, my neck; all of it is being kissed. The most sensitive part of my neck is being sucked on.

  An arm grips my waist tightly, and I feel my head hitting something soft. The kisses are now complemented with gentle nipping.

  I reach my arm around the warm neck to find support in a headful of hair. I moan loudly and feel a hand fall on my mouth, muffling my sounds.

  “Shhh… baby, we have to be quiet. Your Dad will retract his blessing if he hears us.”

  “Mmmm,” I hum, and the grip on my mouth loosen.

  Even if I don’t understand, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters as long as these sensations don’t stop.

  The hand travels south and inside my shorts. Within seconds, two fingers are inside of me, slowly circulating and then gently thrusting.

  I moan even louder, and this time, I hear a chuckle.

  “Fuck it. I don’t care. Be as loud as you want. Let them hear. Maybe they'll learn a thing or two from us.”

  Cool air hits my nipple. I think my breasts are exposed. Soon enough, there is something wet on it, moving my sensitive nipple around.

  I am focused yet lost. Every sensation on my skin is amazing. Every touch is heightened. Each kiss, each bite, each swipe of presumably a tongue is going deeper than it’s meant to go.

  These touches are nothing but a lump of receptors sending off euphoric signals to my brain. My toes are curling, and my head is knocking back on its own.

  It’s an unbearable feeling.

  Slowly, my eyes flutter open to see a hazy figure in front of me. I catch a flight of dark brown hair sucking on my nipple.

  My shorts are slowly peeled down. I can’t take it anymore. As I squirm to rush the movements, two hands grip my hips to halt my movements.

  “No, baby. I have to be careful with your leg.”

  I don’t understand this conversation. What leg? I have no leg. I have no body. I am just a concept floating around. Yet, I feel my lower body being slightly lifted.

  I look down, and it finally clicks.

  My leg is elevated on a pillow, with a compressor around it. Milo is slowly peeling my shorts down to my compressor. He takes my left leg out of my shorts, leaving it hanging around my right leg.

  My eyes widen as my vision sharpens. Something is wrong. Something is off. I know this feeling. I have experienced it before.

  I think I am high.

  I am definitely high.

  I am very high.

  I am high, but I am not dreaming. This is happening.

  “We can’t,” I mumble.

  My voice is barely audible.

  What the hell is going on?

  I don’t know how this is happening. I try pushing his shoulders, but my limp hands have no effect.

  I am motionless. There is nothing I can do except watch him do whatever he wants.

  I watch as Milo lifts one of my legs, he stretches out between my thighs, and slips his tongue inside me. It has the same effect as it always does.

  Mind-numbing. Thought erasing. Euphoric.

  More euphoric than ever before.

  I am about to formulate more words when I feel myself slipping away. I watch him use two fingers to run a line between my folds before going back to sucking my clit.

  Everything slows down. It’s like a slow-motion movie. My body wants to move. My hips want to buck forward to chase more friction, to increase the speed.

  He is working me torturously slow. As he continues to run his tongue and slip inside, I shudder.

  I am a mess. Numb yet sensitized. There are no thoughts other than the thought of the slow friction I am chasing. My body starts to shatter.

  I come so slowly that it feels never-ending.

  I haven’t finished coming down from this elation when I feel Milo pushing inside me. I’d know that feeling, the feel of him, anywhere. High or not.

  “Fuck,” Milo pants and lifts my non-injured leg to settle into the empty space. His eyes are radiating as his shallow breaths fan my cheek.

  “Milo, no. We can’t,” I groan.

  “We can,” he moans. “You want me. All I did was kiss you, and you reached for me.”

  Milo’s mouth comes crashing down on me. I try to grab his face and pull his mouth off me.

  He grabs my hands and entwines them with his own, pinning both of them on the mattress as he grinds. He starts to suck on my neck, and I start to ride this high out like there is no tomorrow.

  We come at the same time, with Milo holding me until I slip into the same oblivion I could never otherwise find.

  CHAPTER 2

  -----------

  Raven

  This. Is. A. Nightmare.

  It’s my actual fucking worst nightmare. It started days ago, and it will not end.

  First, I woke up with Milo draped over my body. That moment was followed by a revolving door of our family members pouring in and out of my room.

  Hazy realizations are coming together like puzzle pieces. Milo dragged me to his bedroom, we got caught, and I fell down the stairs.

  Since then, he has been keeping me high on painkillers. That fucker even had sex with me last night while I was doped out of my mind.

  He put my clothes back on, so I didn’t realize till foggy memories of our fuckfest came back later in the day. He forgot to give me another dose of Vicodin, which is why I am lucid right now.

  I have a splitting headache—a full-on migraine. But everyone keeps on talking, going on, and on.

  My parents came by earlier today to give me their blessing over Milo and me being an official couple. Now the Sinclairs are here. Kill me now.

  “... now you really get to be our daughter. Truly a part of this family. We are so happy you two made it official,” Tessa has been going on for five minutes.

  “Come on, Tessa! Raven has always been our daughter,” Uncle Reese pipes in.

  “Of course, she has,” Tessa agrees. “But now it’s official.”

  This situation is getting worse. They are talking like we are about to get married. I have to get out of this mess, but how?

  I have already moved out of my place. I am broke. My parents are broke. My brain is foggy. I am immobile. My right leg is injured, and it has to stay elevated.

  They caught Milo and me right after we had sex. There is no way for me to deny the labels they are throwing without looking like a giant slut. This is not something I can easily come back from, especially with Milo’s declarations of love.

  I am cornered, and Milo knows it. He is just sitting on the bed with an amused look, playing the role of the perfect “boyfriend.”

  “Well, should we break out the good champagne to celebrate?” Uncle Reese suggests.

  I need a plan, but it’s so hard to think with all of their irritating cheerfulness. It’s causing my analytical skills to slip, and it's being replaced by this irritability that I cannot explain.

  “No,” I say curtly and in a very harsh tone.

  Everyone turns to me in shock. Even I am shocked by my tone. I might speak to Milo that way, but I have never spoken to Uncle Reese or Tessa that way. It’s not in my DNA.

  However, I feel paranoid. None of them should be okay with Milo and I being together. We know too many people in this city, and dating your ex-legal guardian is a scandal of an epic proportion.

  There is only one reason why they would be okay with this. The whole family depends on Milo. He is the primary breadwinner now.

  I can’t shake the suspicions that they are all trying to manipulate me. Are they letting him have me as a consolation prize for his years of service to this family?

  I can't even fight back. No one speaks up against Milo, except for one person, the only person I need to see right now. But every time I ask for Reid, they keep changing the subject. Why?

  Mia, who has been quiet this whole time, comes to my rescue. “Guys, I think Rave is still tired. We should let her rest. Let’s go to the split-level and put on a movie on the big screen.”

  “Umm. Yes, yes, of course,” Tessa fusses.

  “Of course, dear. I am sorry,” Uncle Reese joins in, clearly bewildered by my rude tone.

  I open my mouth to apologize, but Uncle Reese puts up a hand.

  “It’s the concussion, dear,” he softly explains. “It causes irritation and disorientation. All this talk is going to bother you and test your patience. You just need some rest and privacy.”

  He turns to Milo and goes into doctor mode, firing off instructions as Milo writes it down on his phone.

  The Sinclairs are already out of the room when I realize that Milo is staying behind. Now that I know he is not going to change, our proximity in an enclosed space is cause for critical alarm.

  Milo shuts the door before I can call them to come back. Then he shuts down his laptop that’s sitting on my desk.

  “I missed you today.” He turns his attention to me. “I feel like I haven’t had you alone for a single second.”

  I turn to find Milo’s eyes fixated on my mouth. My eyes dart back to the door.

  Milo shouldn’t be allowed here this late in the evening. In the Sinclair home, couples don’t sleep together unless they are married.

  We used to get away with it because of our absentee parents. I might have been conceived out of wedlock, but our dads were both raised in the church.

  How has Milo been getting away with sleeping in my room with both of our dads living in this house?

  I turn back to him when the mattress dips under Milo’s weight as he bends his knee on it.

  “You know, we have the all-clear from the doctor if you want to—”

  My eyes widen in mortification. “You asked my father if you could have sex with me?”

  “No. I asked my father if we should refrain from being physical. I wanted to know if there could be any complications before we had sex again.”

  “Uncle Reese would never…” I waiver when I remember once again that this family does not deny Milo.

  Instead, I ask the question that’s been lingering on my tongue all day. “Did you orchestrate the whole thing so our families would catch us together?”

  I hold my breath for his answer.

  Even Milo wouldn’t stoop low enough to allow my religious father to catch us naked together and to put Reid through that trauma. There has to be some sort of decency left in him.

  “You have a vivid imagination,” he replies dryly.

  That’s not a yes or a no.

  “Enough, Milo. Even if you didn’t stage it, you are still telling our families that we are together. I know you are trying to manipulate me through them. Fuck you!”

  “That’s what I am trying to get you to do.”

  I close my eyes and take a long breath. My migraine is coming back with full force, and I have no idea how to deal with Milo.

  By the time I open my eyes again, Milo is standing by the nightstand. “Dad prescribed pain meds and anti-inflammatory pills for your leg. You don’t need to take them after tonight.”