Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High #4)(75)
His fingers slip beyond my shorts and underwear, slowly sliding into my pussy with no hesitation. He pumps torturously slow, nipping at my chest as he pants against it.
I reach for him, but he presses his upper body into mine more, locking my hands against the mattress, his fingers interlacing and squeezing me tight as my walls clench around him.
He groans, whispering words I can’t make out into my skin, and I break out in goosebumps.
His fingers hook inside me, and he drags his lips to my ear. Suddenly his thumb is swirling along my clit and my back arches right as he whispers, “Come.”
I do.
My body quakes against his, my fingers trying to suck him in farther.
He waits for me to ride it out, for my breathing to settle and then he sighs, shifting us both so once again we’re on our sides.
Within minutes his eyes begin to close, and only then do I realize his hold on my hair never wavered, never loosened or let go, instead burying deeper as he falls asleep at my side.
I try not to wonder what it means, but sleep becomes the enemy.
And in the back of my mind, I know it won’t be the only one.
Chapter 24
Captain
We needed a day away after how last weekend played out. My mind has been so heavy I could hardly focus in school, let alone at night when all I had was time to think.
This morning was the first I felt calm, and I knew instantly what I wanted to do.
I needed another chance at a first with my daughter, since our first Easter, unbeknownst to her, was tainted.
So, we ditched school and loaded up in my SUV and came to our family cabin in the woods.
It’s decades old but has been kept fresh and refurbished on the inside.
It sits high in the mountains, other mounds of rock and hillside surrounding it with a creek running through.
There are several others surrounding it, all owned by other students at Brayshaw High, and even a few from Graven from back when they weren’t the enemy, way before our time.
It’s a fun party spot for all the teenagers to come and get away from the city, but on weekends like this, when no one else is around, it’s peaceful, nothing but the sound of birds and water against rocks to be heard.
That and the echoes of Zoey’s laughter as Maddoc helps her try and climb a tree.
“Daddy look at me!” She smiles, waving. “I’m waaaay up!”
Maddoc is holding her up completely, she only has a foot and single hand touching the oak but to her, she’s climbed a tree.
I smile, opening the lid to the barbecue. “Dang, Zo, watch out for chipmunks way up there!” I tease her.
She turns her attention back to Maddoc as Raven steps up beside me, eyeing the hot links on the grill.
“I’m so starved.” She eyes them.
“You’re always starved.”
She laughs, bumping my shoulder, but then she grows quiet a moment. “Not to cloud your happy mood, but... do you ever wonder what it was like for her?”
She doesn’t say her name, but we both know she means Mallory.
I frown at the food in front of me, flipping over the meat. “Might make me shitty to admit, but I hadn’t. Not once until I saw some things change in you.”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “Shitty you couldn’t be a part of it in some way. I hate her for you, but I imagine your hate isn’t so simple.”
She looks up at me, but it takes me a second to meet her eyes, allowing her to witness the struggle in my own.
“Nah, Raven. It’s not.”
“’Sup, RaeRae.” Royce is suddenly beside her, throwing an arm over her shoulder as he shouts. “Wanna go play at the Graven cabin again, Madman?”
Maddoc’s head snaps our way, and he mouths ‘fuck you’ while flipping him off.
Royce laughs, kisses her temple, and walks away. “Going to find that blonde who ran off the second we got out here.”
“She went up the hill!” Raven shouts.
And off he goes.
To find my blonde.
A heavy sense of unease fills my veins at the thought.
Damn it.
Victoria
With a deep breath, I close my eyes and wrap my palm around the spiked greenery, exhaling when warm liquid glides along my skin, dripping down my forearms in slow, heated trails.
“The fuck!” is shouted and my eyes fly open to find Royce a few feet in front of me, his eyes wide, yet somehow still he scowls.
“I’m fine.”
“Let go.”
“I will.”
“Now!” he snaps.
My hands tighten, driving the thorns deeper before I finally let go, looking to the heavy strips of red coating my tan skin.
He grips my wrists, pulling each hand to his face to inspect the damage, but all he gets are smears of the mess I made.
“It’s just a little paint.”
“Paint?” he deadpans, dropping my hands, and his eyes fly to mine. “Are you for real some secret psycho?”
A laugh flies from me, and I shake my head.
He already knows blood is a wicked tool meant to paint a picture of pain, revenge and hate, of death.
I, for one, have never been a fan of art.
Royce tugs the shirt over his head, patting at my hands until the tiny holes are visible.