8. Stay
STAY
KITTY
I rouse with a start, sensing someone entering my room.
“Cutter?” He looks different in a hat and what looks like a hoodie, no leather in sight. A blond strand streaked in blood hangs loosely from the black fabric covering his head.
The rise of my breasts as I inhale captivates his attention. My eyes widen, matching his in intensity. “Is everything okay?” I ask, getting to my feet, acutely aware I’m only wearing panties and a bra that’s to protect my new piercings so I don’t catch them on the bedding.
Ripping his beanie off, he tosses it to my chair in the corner of the room. A patch of red coats his hair, turning my stomach. Maybe the cops did that. Are they gone ?
He grips the hood of his sweatshirt at the back of his neck and pulls it over his head, dropping it to the floor, leaving his naked torso on display.
He inches closer, until our skin brushes, the intimacy new for us. Cutter likes to fuck me hard, punishing, and I crave that from him. But this tenderness is equally as electrifying, dousing me with a false sense of ownership.
His rough-tipped fingers grasp me under my chin, drawing my face to his. “Let me be with you one more time.” His voice is so haunted.
My aching heart flurries like the wings of a caged hummingbird. Warm tears blur my vision. I don’t want this to be the last time. There will never be an end for us. My heart belongs to him, whether he wants it or not.
He slides his hands beneath my arms and tosses me on the bed before prowling toward me.
“I need you,” he whispers in a frantic tone I’ve never heard from him before.
Shadows dance over his form. Slivers of silver light creep in through the cracks in my drapes.
For months, I’ve gone to him in the night with an uncontrollable hunger we both find difficult to tame. He’s never come to me.
“Cutter…”
“Please, Kit.” My heart stutters, the walls coming down and there I go again, falling.
I’ve tried so fucking hard not to love him. For years and years. But I just fall over and over.
He leans forward and grips the hem of my panties, slipping them down my legs. Holding the fabric to his nose, he inhales, then exhales a ragged breath. “Do you know how fucking sexy you are—how hard you make me all the damn time?”
My stomach quivers, ravenous need taking hold at my core. “What’s that?” he breathes, noticing my tattoo. He brushes his fingers beneath it, and I gasp.
“My first tattoo.”
A look akin to awe washes over his features. “It suits you.” I don’t need his approval, but it brings a smile to my lips all the same.
He throws my panties aside, curls his arms around my thighs, and lowers his muscular body between my legs.
His skillful tongue swipes through my folds, hot strokes teasing in slow, deliberate laps, exploring, until every part of me comes alive with pleasure.
His hot mouth takes control, kissing, sucking, fucking me in ways that ignite all my senses.
My hands grip his hair as I lift my hips into him, begging for more, chasing the intensity, the high. A moan erupts from my lips, my body quaking and trembling beneath him for what feels like an eternity. Lifting his head, he grins up at me, my arousal painting a slick glaze over his lips.
Popping the buttons on his jeans, he shoves them down his legs and creeps over me, his cock settling between my thighs. His chest brushes against the smooth texture of my tits, teasing my nipples beneath the bra. I stay controlled, resisting the urge to grip his ass and force him inside me.
“You taste like heaven and bad decisions,” he confesses, crushing his lips to mine, forcing my flavor to burst over my tongue. The words swirl in my head until they evaporate, replaced with a haze of lust as he bites my bottom lip, sparking a sharp sting.
His gaze pierces me with a promise I never want him to break.
“You’ll always be mine, Kit,” he says, stealing the air from my lungs.
The warmth of his words floods through me, settling into every crevice inside me.
He inhales me, as if I’m the oxygen that allows him existence.
And then he’s inside me, moving with powerful thrusts.
His brow puckers, watching me so intently, mapping my face like it’s the last time he’ll ever see it.
I feel him everywhere; flesh, lips, tongues, hands.
We’re so deeply rooted in one another, it’s like our souls are intertwined, dancing in the chaos of our love.
My breaths become heavy as light shudders take over.
His thrusts grow harder and faster with an undeniable urgency.
Each plunge feels like tearing my heart out and piecing it back together.
Tears run down my cheeks, conflicting between pleasure, happiness, and sorrow.
We both yearn for release yet linger in this moment, holding on, until it becomes too much.
A wave erupts within me, pulling me under to depths undiscovered.
I’ll never feel this way with anyone but him.
He grasps my cheeks as he floods me with his hot seed, his mouth slightly parted, eyes burning blue like the hottest part of a flame. “I’m no good for you.” Closing his eyes, he slips out of me, a heavy sigh blowing from his lips as he collapses on the mattress beside me.
“Stay with me a little longer,” I beg. A quiver of helplessness runs through me when he remains silent, thoughts warring in his eyes. “Can you just hold me? Give us this?”
Why can’t he wrap me in his arms and claim me, bring us out of the dark and let the consequences be what they are? Whatever happens, he’ll still have me.
I’ve been stupid enough to think it would be enough if I surrounded him with my love. But when he gets to his feet and drags his clothes on, I know I’m a fool.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and my heart lodges in my throat, gaping and bloody.
“I hate you.”
“I hate you too. So fucking much.” And then he’s gone. The empty space flays me down to the bone, until all that remains are the charred pages of our unfinished story.
Booting the door to my brother’s room only gains me a sore toe. I ram my palm against the wood instead, smacking it with more enthusiasm than needed. A whoosh lifts my hair as the door flies open and Callan bares down on me, his towering frame dwarfing mine.
“What the fuck is your problem?” he growls, exposing teeth.
“Why is your door locked?” I attempt to look around him to see if he’s got someone in there.
He doesn’t take club sluts to bed like the rest of the assholes who live here but I know he isn’t a saint.
Frowning at me, he widens the door so I can see the full layout of his space, the bed’s a mess but there’s no one in it.
“I was sleeping and didn’t want to be disturbed.” His hair is a mess of dark waves lying haphazardly on his head. Standing barefoot with no shirt and open jeans that look liked he put them on in a hurry makes me inclined to believe him.
“Thanks for leaving me in my room all night and not coming to tell me it was safe to come out.” I scold, slapping his chest.
Dropping his eyes to the red handprint on his chest and then slowly raising them, his jaw ticks. Rubbing a hand down his mouth he strokes his chin. “Cutter was supposed to tell you.”
Shit .
“He said he was going to on the way to his room.”
“I must not have heard him.” I lie to easily.
The deep frown is back, drawing lines across his forehead, “We done here?”
“No, tell me what the hell happened last night, you and dad scared the shit out of me.”
“Nothing, it was club business.”
“Really? You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope.”
“What about Nicolas?”
A thunder cloud morphs his features. “What about him?”
“Did you get him to leave?”
“Yeah. He took a cab to some poker game. Listen, Kit, that kid was never here, you understand me?”
“Yes, I understand.” I exhale. I wish I’d never met him in the first place.
“Good. We done now?”
“Yeah.”
As his door closes, the soft clicking of Dad’s door opening gains my attention. Claire peers out, looking like she hasn’t slept in a week. Dad never lets her stay the night in his room.
“Hey,” I say, checking the hallway before meeting her gaze. Her blonde hair lays in clumps around her shoulders. Her eyes are swollen with blossoming bruises. She’s wearing one of Dad’s t-shirts and nothing else.
“Oh, hey. I was going to ask you if I could borrow some clothes.”
Ew . She wants to borrow my clothes? If my dad rips them off her later, I’ll barf. “Everything okay?” I motion to my own eyes with two fingers.
“Oh.” She chuckles, but it’s strained. “I bumped into Cutter last night. He got the brunt of the collision.” She waves a nonchalant hand. “He fell and hurt his head.”
His bloody hair.
“You don’t usually stay over,” I point out.
“That’s why I need to borrow some clothes. I feel silly asking.”
“It’s fine. I’ll bring you something.” It’s not fine, but I’d look petty if I told her no.
Pacing back to my room, I throw the door open and avoid looking at the bed.
After Cutter left, sleep evaded me. I ended up curled in the chair, wishing I’d had the strength to tell him to fuck off and not give him my body again.
One day, he won’t hold this power over me.
I’ll pry him from my brain and fill it with someone new.
Dragging my dresser open, I rummage through my clothes.
Claire is taller than me. Whatever I give her won’t reach her ankles.
“Sweats,” I declare, yanking out a pair tangled with jeans.
My dresser is a mess. All my shit got scooped up and dropped in with hope and a prayer the drawer would close afterward.
Moving to the closet, I find the sweater I stole from Callan last week. It’s nothing like the clothes Claire wore, but it’s the best I’m willing to do—and there’s no way I’m giving her underwear.
Callan’s door is open when I get back to Dad’s room, and Cutter’s voice mumbles from inside. Goosebumps raise over my skin. I hate the reaction my body has to him. Tapping my knuckles on dad’s door, I wait, worrying my lip with my teeth, my gaze darting to Callan’s room every two seconds.
“Kitty?” Dad’s voice startles me as he creaks his door open. Freshly showered and dressed, he stands there, looking surprised to see me.
I shove the clothes at him. “Give these to Claire.”
I take a few steps to Callan’s doorway and peer inside, my chest tightening at the sight of Cutter standing by the door talking to Callan’s back while Callan pulls on his boots.
Blue ocean eyes lift to mine, then he reaches for the door and swings it shut, shattering the last threads of my tattered heart.