He ground his hips onto her core and tightened his grip both on her neck and her thigh. "They're not going to find out. Like how no one's going to find out about us. Are they?" He growled into her ear.
Courtney rubbed the hand that was around her ne...
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(Four months ago)
"RESEARCH HAS SHOWN A SPIKE IN SUICIDE RATES. IN THE LAST YEAR, FIGURES HAVE MORE THAN DOUBLED AND ARE ON THE PATH TO TREBLE IN THE UPCOMING MONTHS. THE BEAUCHAMP'S ARE NOW A FAMILY OF TWO FOLLOWING THE MURDER OF ESTELLE DE BEAUCHAMP. SHE LEAVES BEHIND A HUSBAND AND DAUGHTER, ALTHOUGH IF THINGS KEEP GOING AS THEY HAVE BEEN, I'M SURE THEY'LL BE JOING HER SOON..."
The radio drowned on in Courtney's bathroom as the water trickled down her body. The steaming hot water left no place untouched as she lathered the soapy, strawberry scent on her limbs.
Another pair of hands came from behind and cupped her core. Courtney gasped and turned around in fright. "You're a dickhead."
"No, I'm a Fedorov. Clearly," he gestured to himself. She was blocking the waterfall from dampening his clothes and she was trying to hide her body. "Courtney, I've seen all of you and you've seen all of me."
Courtney pushed him back, leaving her handprints on his white shirt. "True, but I don't want you to see all of me right now," she shooed him away. Courtney was confident in her body, in her own skin, but that didn't mean she wanted to show it all of the time.
"So, I'll be waiting on your bed," he stepped out of the shower and dried his shoes on the mat.
"Don't be getting any ideas, Ivan!" She called out to him and cut her shower short. Courtney grabbed a towel to dry the droplets off her body. She wrapped herself and her hair in a towel, concealing herself from Ivan.
Courtney entered her room wearing a lacey maroon bra and black jeans. Ivan was laid out on her bed, arms behind his head. "I'm guessing that you're going to tell me why you're here?"
Ivan placed his feet on the ground and leaned forward on his knees, "I'm not allowed to come to see you?"
"Not when you haven't arranged anything."
"I think you're going to want to see this," he pulled out his phone and showed her his screen that spelt out a named. "Every different account led back to him. Kid must have had a lot of time on his filthy rich hands. There were twenty-five different accounts, Courtney."
Courtney's eyes widened when she read the name, "Are you sure it's him?" Ivan nodded. "I slept with him," she shuddered.
"What did he do?" Courtney hadn't told Ivan why she wanted him to investigate the accounts. He was clueless but he didn't need to know the reason why. It was a favour after all.
Courtney sat down on her bed and began to brush her hair. "You'll find out soon enough. I just need to wait for a little baby to pop out."
+++
(Now)
Beckett Windsor was the son of opera star, Gerard Windsor. The rich would normally congregate at the Opera at least twice a month and everyone knew the teen. Each time, he would have the same design of suit but a different girl on his arm whose name would only be remembered for the night and then forgotten.
