59. Bay
FIFTY-NINE
bay
I need to stop allowing this to happen.
I have to put my foot down and demand that he listen, because if he doesn’t, we’re going to spiral down the same path we’re on, and I hate it.
It’s rocky and rough, the terrain hurts, and the whiplash from how quickly his loathing for me turns to sheer lust.
And I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped my fucking head off yet.
However, the brush of his lips against the column of my throat pries all the taut stress out of my body. The firm grip on my hip that’s currently kneading the flesh there through the thin material of my dress only makes my skin grow hotter.
I can’t find the right words to tell him to stop. Or the tingling sensation of goosebumps prickling at my skin with each lash of his tongue against my flesh to cease. My lungs aren’t getting enough oxygen because my body wants this. It wishes for a time before. It craves a moment of utter peace and silence while I continue to stand pressed up against a wall in a secluded room, only making this harder on myself when reality comes crashing back in and slaps me in the face.
“Reeve,” I croak out, balling my hands into fists around his neck because all my fingers want to do is reach down between us and stroke his hard cock through his dress pants. “We need to stop.”
“We need to come,” he mutters back, giving the column of my throat one long and devious little suck to coax me into forgetting the fact that, when this is all over, he’s going to go straight back to hating me.
“You just bitched at me last week about staying away from you.”
He hums his agreement or regret but doesn’t confirm which it is.
Which only leads me to be more confused than I was before. If he’s coming back around or if we can mend this back to being friends.
Fuck being friends.
Yet, I’ll take what I can get because the darker side of Reeve isn’t my favorite, and I’m over being the villain in his story.
Even though I am.
“Reeve, please,” I beg, needing my thoughts about me and for one of us to be sensible.
“I hate when you beg,” he divulges plainly, as if we’re having a normal conversation while his lips are tasting and driving me into a comatose state. “I love that you just take without any fucks given. That you secure the bag when it’s something you want.”
“I just want you to listen to me.”
“I am.” The tip of his nose glides up to my ear as his warm breath skims across it. “I answered you, didn’t I, McQueen?”
“You know what I want.”
“I’ve heard you, and it changes nothing. I can’t fall back into you.” His tongue lashes out again against my flesh. and a soft moan leaves my lips. “I’m stuck awake at night thinking about you when I’m not high enough to obliterate you away. And sometimes…” His teeth softly sink into my lobe, drawing downward and scraping torturously across my skin. He’s deflecting, and I’m feeling, which means I’m the weakest link here. “I wanna stay up and not dream of you. Of what we could’ve been together.”
“You don’t have to like me anymore, Reevie, but—” His palm slams into the drywall next to my head and shuts me the fuck up.
“ Don’t call me that and stop trying to fix this. Leave me be, McQueen.” His words hiss through his teeth, all but warning me that our ride is over, and I need to stop trying to jump the damn battery to bring it back to life.
“No.”
Okay, so not even I listen to myself.
I’m not good at second-guessing or thinking if I should just fuck off completely and permit Reeve to do whatever he wants.
Instead, I’m pretty fucking adamant about him coming back to me.
With a husband.
And how one of his brothers hates me like that’s not gonna be a problem.
A strangled laugh penetrates my ears as Reeve presses one more long and lingering kiss to my cheek before straightening his spine and aligning those beautiful hazel eyes down at me.
“You don’t know when to leave well enough alone, do you, McQueen? How to accept defeat or the fucking fact that I don’t want to start over with you. You have Cairo protecting you, Ozzy doing the same, so what the fuck do you need me for?”
“Because I lo—” His abrupt semi-glower cuts me off.
He doesn’t want to hear it.
He doesn’t wish to accept or give a shit about it.
“Your best bet is to stop.”
My heart plummets into a deep and dark part of my gut as Reeve continues to stare at me with zero emotion. A strand of sandy blonde hair grabs my attention, taunting me to push it aside and past his eyes.
For once, I don’t.
For once, I heed what he’s saying and demand my fucking heart just pay attention.
“What will it take?” I ask wholeheartedly. “For you to be well again?”
“Nothing,” he immediately replies, his hazel eyes blank. “There’s nothing you can do.”
A lump forms in my throat as guilt—thick and acidic—runs across my tongue. “I want you.”
“I’m right here.” He leans forward, his lips only a breath away from sending me to oblivion where I can forget for a few minutes. Where we can just be, somewhat, what we used to be. “Tell me how hard or soft you want me to fuck you, McQueen. You tell me everything you want, and I’ll give it to you, baby.”
I force myself not to chase his mouth. To silence us both from taking one side or the other.
Mine being that I need him to be himself again.
And his to use sex as a tonic for erasing his memories.
Memories of us.
The ones he mentioned of what we could be and what I’m still tightly clutching onto for dear life.
“I want you to be better,” I mutter. “I want you to come back home.”
“I am home.”
I rock my head back and forth because his mother’s house is not his home. “You need to stop this before you overdose and get yourself killed. I can’t deal with that. I cannot handle the thought of you not being here, walking this Earth with me.’
“You’ll be fine.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Shut up, McQueen.”
“Please, Reeve.” I grip onto the front of his shirt. “Don’t do this for me. Do it for Cairo and Ozzy and fuckin’ Torin?—”
“I said shut up .”
“You have to get—” He rips himself from my hold and glowers at me as though he can’t stand being next to me for another second.
“Since you can’t just shut up the fuck up and allow me some tranquility with you, I know a blonde who will just take my cock and not want to talk about the past or any feelings she may be experiencing right now.” Reeve puts some distance between us and gives me a shitty little smirk. “Enjoy my mother’s party, McQueen. She’s a shark, so watch out.”
I watch him leave the drawing room, the only thing keeping me company here is a large wooden desk that appears like it hasn’t been used in a long time, but the room is still filled with fresh flowers and smells floral.
The space is toward the back of the house, abandoned from use, and it gives me a few minutes to gather myself together before having to go back out to the party and make it look like I give a shit about Elaine and whatever it is she has to say.
Pushing off the wall, I stride across the room, finding myself pacing a large brownish-gold rug a few seconds later because I can’t get my mind off the hamster wheel of these past couple of weeks.
I’m about to sit on a Titan seat and appear like I know what the hell I’m doing. A power position that can seriously kiss my entire ass. All because of Penn Northcott—that idiot. Why the hell he decided to create this shit with several other towns is beyond me. I get the community aspect behind it, but dude, eventually some asshole was going to get greedy and want more.
And it just had to be my sperm donor.
It had to come with four other dudes and my best friend getting caught up in this shit, too. A vicious cycle that’s on its second trip around a generation where it’s not getting any easier and the lines of truth are getting blurrier.
I bit off a little more than I can chew.
The wooden floor underneath me whines at a certain spot at the far side of the wall where a bunch of books sit forsaken on a bookshelf. I didn’t notice the picture frames sitting there, a family of four—mom, dad, and two kids, a boy and a girl—looking happily at the person who took the photo in front of a giant house.
This house.
Picking up the brass-colored frame, I examine the two children, both fair-haired and they’re…twins.
A boy and girl, each with one parent’s hand on their shoulders as they stand shoulder to shoulder with each other.
Reeve…and Rosalie.
Glancing up at the door where he just disappeared minutes ago, so many questions filter through my brain when a loud bang suddenly sounds from behind me, jolting me forward before whipping around to see what the hell just crashed behind me.
Everything is still in place.
No hanging pictures have fallen, all the books are still sandwiched in between each other, but it sounds like something hit the wall.
I’ve had nothing to drink tonight. I haven’t even smoked a blunt or taken a happy pill.
I know I heard something.
“Hello?”
Yeah, now you’re talking to yourself.
Taking a cautious step back toward the bookshelf as if it’s going to grow arms and latch on to me, I carefully listen for something else to show me it’s not my imagination.
I hear nothing.
Placing the picture frame back in its appropriate spot, I’m about to leave the room when I hear a faint knock along the back of the wall again.
I’m not imagining things.
“Hello?”
Another knock.
Shit.
Pivoting, I sprint from the room to find Cairo or Ozzy. I’m not sure what fucking freakshow this house is, but I’ve seen horror movies and hidden rooms, staircases and shit.
Someone is behind that bookshelf.
I’m immediately in the midst of a heavy throng of people once I get down the hallway as I search to find the two men as quickly as possible.
Ozzy would be in a corner somewhere, so I start there, walking around the edge of the room that’s more like a palace ballroom than a living space. I hit all four corners before giving up and looking for Cairo.
But instead, I find Torin with a redhead pressed into his side as she whispers something in his bad ear.
He doesn’t react, but he’s already looking at something else, causing me to follow his gaze.
It’s just a bunch of people dressed up, so I bite back on my pride for his help and purposely fall within his line of sight.
His golden eyes fall down the length of my silver dress before his focus licks back up to my face, void of all emotion as I close the distance between us.
“Where’s Cairo?”
Torin just continues to stare at me, ignoring the woman at his side. “Busy.”
“I need him.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“ Now .”
His brow lifts, that strong jawline full of stubble only making me want to punch it for everything he’s done to me. “You don’t order me, Wildfire. You’re not my queen.”
“Then change your fucking address out of The Landings because I own you when I sit on that chair.” A vein in his temple twitches, and he pries away from his party guest, that famous glower now locked and loaded on me. “I’m not here to listen to your bullshit. I just need directions.”
“You must want to be stoned to death before stepping up, princess, because I’ll bury you.”
“Where’s Cairo?” I repeat because if I keep at him, he’ll keep throwing.
“I told you he was busy.”
My whole face skews in pure frustration that he can’t just answer a simple fucking question. “I need him, dickwad. Where the fuck is he?”
His eyes intently study my face before prompting, “What’s wrong?”
“Fuck you. Like I’d trust you—” His hand flies up so swiftly that I don’t catch up until his fingers are tightly and impatiently squeezing my throat and heaving me closer.
Our chests—now a panting mess—enunciate how much we affect each other’s temperaments as his attention darkens on me.
“I asked you what was wrong, Your Majesty. Since you want to own me, you might want to give me some fucking respect so I follow you.”
“Torin…what are you doing?” I hear the redhead ask at his side, but we both ignore her because we have better things to do.
Like glower at each other incessantly.
My nails dig into the sides of his fingers, but I know he’s not going to let go. It doesn’t matter that we’re at a party filled with people, we’re the same.
And, right now, Pretty Boy wants to make his point nice and clear for me.
“Get off me, Torin.”
“What do you need?”
I clench down on my teeth, but I give in to him anyway because time is of the essence here. “There’s someone in one of the studies. They were banging on the back of the wall.” He just gapes at me for a second, and I know I’m not making any sense. “I think someone is hurt. It’s not extremely loud…but…”
“But what?” I notice his grip loosen a bit while he waits for me to answer him.
“Torin, there’s someone in that room.” His golden orbs remain locked onto mine, and I’m not sure what else to say. “It needs to be checked out.”
“Fuck off, Mindy,” Torin clips out, still keeping me in his view and grasp.
“But Torin?—”
“He said fuck off,” I repeat, flicking my irritated attention to her. She’s got me hella fucked up if she thinks she’s going to stand here while I have a conversation with Pretty Boy.
This asshole may have tried to kill me. But this asshole won’t be fucking anyone in the same room as me.
Ever.
“Bitch,” she mutters, finally stomping away like the desperate little cunt she is before I return my focus to fuckhead.
“Where did you hear the sounds?” he asks me, not waiting for me to say anything more.
“Behind the bookcase…I’m not sure which office upstairs, but it was loud enough to scare the shit out of me.”
“How much did you drink tonight?”
I sigh and attempt to pry his hand off my throat. “Let go.”
Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.
Reeve.
“You guys said you were looking for Reeve’s dad,” I utter absentmindedly. “Horror movies, crime shows with people getting kidnapped and being locked away for years?—”
“Grab Cairo.” His hand drops as he scans the crowd forthe man he just asked me to find.
“Where is he?”
“Upstairs.” I’m rounding Torin’s frame as I make my way toward the massive marble staircase before Torin’s hand clutches my bicep. “Which office?”
“All the way down the hall.” I point to it. “On the right. It has blue walls and a brownish gold rug.”
“I know the one.”
And he’s off, squeezing through the crowd to handle the mission I was supposed to be on when I run up the stairs to find the only sane man among us.