Break Me (Brayshaw High #5)(65)

“This is so nice.” She scans the area as far as she can see.

I nod, pointing over to the far left peak. “Soon as school’s out, the swim team will start settin’ up rafting trips that’ll leave right back there and take you about four hours downstream.”

She nods. “I think my brother was invited once, I remember him mentioning something, but... he never learned to swim either. It was something we were supposed to do together.”

I study her profile, and the shadowy look that comes over it. I need it gone.

“Come up here.” I tap my foot along the top of the rock.

She looks to me. “Up there?”

I grin. “You afraid, Bishop?”

She scoffs a laugh, but nods. “Kind of, yeah.” She looks over the side, at the twenty-foot drop down into the deep, dark water beneath us. “What if I fall?”

“What if I said I won’t let you?”

Her eyes fly to mine and she opens her mouth to speak, but then lowers her smile to her feet. She licks her lips, peeking up through her long lashes.

Without a word, she walks closer, her hand reaching out for mine.

I don’t know what the fuck it is, but something that stirs like nerves builds behind my ribs, twisting and fucking tightening.

It ain’t nerves, though.

I’m not nervous.

But what am I?

I drop onto my ass and scoot toward her, take her outstretched hand and steal the other. Her chest inflates when I link our fingers together rather than tug on her open palms.

“Climb me, Tink.”

“Climb you?” she deadpans.

I grin. “Like your favorite, sexy tree.”

A laugh bursts from her, but she quickly swallows it, takes a deep breath, and climbs.

She ditched her shoes where I did, so she lifts her legs as high as she can, using the base of my feet as a steppingstone. Her left knee comes down then, first pressing into the muscle of my thigh but as she lifts the right, the other slides along the material of my shorts, widening her legs.

To keep her from scraping her kneecaps on the rock’s surface, I quickly tear my hands from her, lean back so she doesn’t fall back, and glide my palms underneath.

The move forces her to lean forward.

Her hands land on my shoulders, her chest pressing into mine, her cotton shorts right the fuck against my starving cock.

She wiggles, attempting to climb higher maybe, off hopefully, but neither of those things happen.

What happens is I twitch against her and fuck me, she feels it.

Her head’s fallen near my ear, and the gasp that breaks from her as she feels me jolt against her pussy, has me clenching my muscles.

She doesn’t play into the position like every single other girl I’ve ever fucking met would, but presses her knee into my palm firmer to get her balance. She quickly stands.

Brielle smirks down at me, standing over me all proud and cocky like.

She made it up the rock, all five-foot of her, and she’s damn happy about it, even if she needed help to make it happen in the end.

“Fair warning, little Bishop.”

She glances at me, confusion drawing creases along her forehead.

“Move, or I’m looking up the shorts.”

Her mouth drops open and she hops over with a laugh, but it turns into a sigh as she looks out, able to see beyond the blocking trees near the lower rock. “Wow.”

I nod and push to my feet, staring in the same direction.

“What’s this place called?” she wonders.

“Knight’s Ferry.”

She glances over, her lashes fluttering in full-on mocking motions. “Are you a knight?”

“I’m a soldier, a knight, a fuckin’ hoodlum.” I shrug.

Her head tilts and she pulls her lips in to fight a grin.

“What?”

She lifts a shoulder, her eyes following her hand as she trails it along an overhanging tree limb. “Figured you say something like I’m a king, little Bishop.”

“If I had, your smart-ass would throw back something like only in your dreams, Playboy.”

She giggles. “Do you want to be king? You know, your world’s kind of king?”

“Nah.” I look off, squinting at nothing. “Not the kind you’re thinking, anyway.”

“And what is it I’m thinking?” She shifts closer.

I frown at the hills before us. “Same shit as everyone else.”

Things they’re led to believe at my own hand. Based on the persona I’ve created and created well.

She nods, slipping in front of me, and waits for me to meet her eyes. “And what is that?”

I glare, running my tongue along the backs of my teeth. Everyone thinks it, no reason to keep my mouth shut about it, yeah? So I don’t.

“That I want or need to be the head, in charge or important, all eyes on me front line seen.”

Her lips twitch. “And you don’t?”

I shake my head.

“So, if that’s what me and everyone else assumes, like you said, then what do you mean by you want to be a king, but not the kind we are thinking?”

When I don’t open my mouth, her tone drops.

“What kind of king do you want to be, Royce Brayshaw?”

No.

Nope.

She withdraws, realizing she has no place to ask. That I have no reason to answer, and then she takes another step away and I don’t like it, the distance.