37. Hope
CHAPTER 37
Hope
A s curious as I might’ve been about Braxton’s past, even going so far as having Ivy dig into it for me, I know I was just a witness to something I shouldn’t have seen. He shuts the door on his mother and then turns around to face me. She was at the door begging for his help, but I could tell from the tense set of his shoulders that he couldn’t stand her.
I’d read that he’d come from rough beginnings. I don’t judge it because Ford and Hawke had a similar background, but I feel like I was privy to something he hasn’t fully dealt with. We all have our own demons to face.
“No, you should stay,” he says as he stalks toward me. I take a step back, landing on the bed as his imposing size towers over me. He’s mad. Not at me, though. But that aggressive thing within him calls to my own, and I hate the fact that I want to exploit it, to have him fuck me into oblivion with that hatred if it’ll make him feel better for even a single moment. My body is more than capable of handling it. In fact, it thrives off it. And that’s the terrifying part of me. Aren’t I a terrible person for getting off on that?
He grabs my ankles and drags me across the bed, so I’m closer to him.
“I should leave. It looks like you have something you need to deal with,” I say.
He releases my ankles, and before I can say another word, his pants are gone, and he’s on his knees, spreading my legs and lowering his mouth directly between my thighs. A moan slips from my lips as I dig my fingers through his curly hair, focusing solely on the skill of his tongue. It’s as if he’s a man possessed as his finger slips inside me, and he grips my waist to pin me into place. I know I’m going to have bruises there.
I like it.
I want him to bruise me. I want him to hurt me.
And I want to hurt him in return.
My hand covers his and I whisper, “Harder.”
At first, it’s his tongue that works harder. And while that’s nice, it’s not what I want. So I grab his hand at my waist and slide it up my body to my neck. He doesn’t need me to tell him what to do from here. He wraps his hand around my throat and squeezes. I can feel a small part of him trying to restrain himself as if he’s scared to unleash that coiled anger and pain. But I want him to feed it into me.
His hand tightens around my throat, and when my head tilts back, hitting the mattress, he pulls away completely.
“You want it rough, Shortcake?” he growls. I bite my bottom lip and nod once.
He leans forward and removes my glasses. When he places them on the bedside table, he brings back his cuffs. “How rough?” he asks. “How messy?”
“Rough. Destroy me, Braxton.”
The grin he gifts me could have been stolen from the devil’s own lips. He wraps my legs around his waist and pulls me even closer until I can feel him at the entrance of my already bruised pussy.
“Rough,” he muses.
I keep my legs wrapped around his waist as he palms my breast and then pinches my nipple before sliding his hand back up to my neck. He squeezes my throat at the same time as he takes my nipple into his mouth. He presses just the tip of his cock inside me, sliding in and then back out, rotating it around my entrance, careful not to give it all to me. He’s taunting me because he knows I’ll go feral once I have all of him.
My hand covers his where it’s still around my neck, and he applies more pressure. Then he bites down on my nipple as he thrusts into me. My nipple is on fire, but, fuck, it feels good. When he’s fully seated, he releases my nipple. and his tongue darts out to take a lick. All the while, he’s still choking me.
His hips start to move, and his hand grips me tighter. Fuck . What is he doing to me? And why do I want it and like it so much?
He moves to my other nipple, and without warning he bites that one as well. He fucks me, his hips rocking into mine, and I moan. And that’s all the encouragement he needs to start biting me all over. I know when this is done, my upper body is going to be covered, but I don’t care. I welcome it.
Because of the release and rush that it provides.
It’s like flying high.
He stops biting and releases my throat, but he continues to fuck me.
I arch my back just as I feel the orgasm coming close, but then he pulls out of me and backs up. “What the fuck?” I demand, my eyes bursting open. He drops the handcuffs between us, and I smirk.
“Have you ever been cuffed?” I ask curiously as I move to my knees and crawl over to him, picking them up. I start stroking his cock, enjoying the feel of my juices all over his hard shaft. I want to impale myself on him all over again, that buzzing hum from my pleasure-high not yet subsiding.
“Do you want to cuff me, little devil?” he says. I like the way he calls me that, acknowledging this part of me that I share only with him.
“I want to see you scared,” I reply as I step off the bed and drag over a chair from his dining table. “Sit.” I motion to it with the handcuffs.
“You will never scare me, Shortcake,” he says with a smirk as he stretches to his full height.
“Sit your ass down,” I order, and his eyebrows raise, but he does as he’s told. When he’s seated, I grab the gun.
“I draw a line at you shoving that up my ass.”
Now it’s my turn to smirk as I close one end of the cuffs around his wrist and the other to the chair. “Then find a creative, safe word that makes me want to stop.” I raise a brow at him as I straddle his lap and hover over his cock. Then I point the gun at his temple.
A delicious and intoxicating tension runs between us. “Will fucking you always be like Russian roulette?” he asks, trying to lean forward to kiss me. I pull back, my hand pressing against his shoulder. I like this power. I like the idea of all the times I’ve imagined his untimely death and how I see red bleeding out of him.
“Fucking me is like nothing you’ve ever had before,” I tell him as I lower myself onto his cock, knocking my own breath away.
“Fuck, Shortcake,” he growls. “You’re so fucking perfect for me.”
I ride his cock, intoxicated by the way he watches me and the power that thrums through me at holding the gun to his head. I could do it now. Who would be the wiser? Sure, there would be evidence of our coupling, but I could call for the body to be removed. I could kill him right now.
I grab his hair, pulling his head back so I can bite his neck. Mark him like he’s done to me.
“Use me,” he growls. “Fucking milk me.” He moans, and it floods wetness to my core.
I never knew sex could be this good. Incomprehensible and make no fucking sense but feel right all at the same time.
I bite his shoulder, drawing blood, and he groans. I press the gun harder against his temple, silently telling him to be quiet.
I want to take everything from him when I’ve already given him so much of myself. Loving this man will be torture; the lines blurring between hate, desire, wanting to kill him, and wanting him to live for me.
All of these emotions swirl in my stomach as I ride his cock, feeding my own depravity as I take and take, moaning and crying at my own bursts of pleasure. Using and feeding off him.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever known, and I feel myself lighting up from the inside and, for the first time, not forsaking my inner demon but embracing it.
My eyes shoot open, and I stare into his crystal blues, taking him with me. Taking us to a place neither of us could have ever imagined we’d go four years ago.
“Do you want to shoot me?” he grits.
“Always,” I whisper breathlessly.
“It’d be easy. Just pull the trigger.”
“Oh fuck,” I curse, my pussy flooding at the thought. “This is sick.”
“Yes, we’re fucked up together,” he says as he pants, not able to look away from me. “Take it all. My life is yours, Shortcake.”
The orgasm is blinding when it hits, and I scream and shake, the intensity tearing me in two. He groans, and I catch his lips, kissing him as he spills into me. I continue rocking my hips, taking every drop he’s willing to give to me as he curses me with unfavorable names. I eat every single one up.
This is twisted and fucked up.
But it’s everything right now.
I rub my fingers over his mouth, my eyes darting back and forth over his beautiful face as I contemplate pulling the trigger.
“Take it all. My life is yours, Shortcake.”
My heart pounds, terrified of those words. He doesn’t know what he’s saying, right? He was just in the moment.
He tries to kiss me again, but I pull back and stand.
Fuck .
What have I done?
I cross the room, my mind racing as I consider taking my chance to kill him now. The gun is in my hand, so why the fuck am I walking in the opposite direction to get my clothes?
I catch a glimpse of my reflection. I’m covered in bite marks, and my skin is smeared with blood, and I don’t even know if it’s his or mine.
I glance back at Braxton, who is now relaxed back in the chair, even though he’s still cuffed to it. “So you’re just going to run away?”
“It was fun, but I have to go now,” I say, sliding on my underwear. I search for my shirt and find it poking out from under the bed.
“You liked that as much as I did,” he states.
I reach under the bed to grab my shirt, and that’s when I see the box with all of my statues in it. My heart skips a beat at knowing he kept them, and it only riles this wild thing that’s trying to free the room.
“I did.” I try to sound unaffected as I pull my clothes on. Because, like, is an understatement. In that moment, my suspicions became a reality. I don’t hate Braxton. I don’t like Braxton. I’m in love with Braxton. And this type of love is not made to last.
“You know neither of us can run away from this, Shortcake. You’re acting like a coward.”
I turn, swinging the gun in his direction. That’s when I see he’s no longer cuffed to the chair.
His expression is smug as he removes the cuff from around his wrist. “Do you really think I don’t know how to remove my own cuffs?” he scoffs as he saunters toward me. “Now, let’s talk about this like adults.” He steps in close enough that the muzzle of the gun presses directly over his heart.
“There’s nothing to discuss. If I’m gone for too long, my family will notice.”
He chuckles. “How much longer do you plan on hiding?”
“Excuse me?”
“I know all of your secrets, Shortcake. I know who you are as much as I know myself.”
“Sounds pretty fucked up, then.”
His smile twists. “Oh, it is. We are.”
Again, he tries to soothe my inner depraved self. But I know it’s wrong. Even if he does see me, it doesn’t make it right.
His hand slowly curls around the barrel of the gun, and I squeeze the trigger ever so slightly as I imagine blood bursting across the dining table. It’d be magnificent. But, instead, I let him take the gun from me. The moment it’s gone, he reaches for me, but I step back.
“T-this was the l-last time, okay?” I stammer, then run for the door.
“Shortcake, we’re not done here!” he shouts, but my fingers are already on the doorknob.
“Bye.” I yank the door open, glancing back over my shoulder briefly. His blue eyes are locked on me, like a predator’s, his jaw clenched as he lowers the gun to his side. Giving him a small wave, I slam the door behind me and call my driver. I run down the stairs as fast as my legs will take me, terrified he might chase after me.
I’m sick. I’m sick, right? There’s something wrong with me?
It’s not love. It’s just a sickness. I’ve been brainwashed. That has to be it!
As I exit the building, I catch sight of the woman who was at his door almost an hour ago. His mother looks like the picture I saw of her in the files, just a little more run down. Quickly averting my gaze, I stand close to the curb, impatiently waiting for my driver to answer. Maybe I should walk up a few blocks so no one knows I came from Braxton’s house. I decide on that as I drop a pin for my driver.
“You were in his apartment,” she says desperately from behind me. I glance over my shoulder and step away from her outstretched hand. She looks me over from head to toe.
“Sorry?” I’m already uncomfortable. I don’t want to be speaking to her right now. This has nothing to do with me.
“You know my son. You have to tell him to help me.” She reaches for me again, but I move out of her range. I take in what she’s wearing and wonder how she’s not freezing in this frigid weather. She rubs her arms, but I don’t think it has anything to do with the chill of the early morning and everything to do with the track marks marring her skin. “I’ll give you anything you want, tell you anything you want about him.”
Wow, okay. That’s weird and desperate.
“Anything,” she whispers insistently.
As curious as I might be about Braxton, I want no version of him that she’s created a narrative for. It’s obvious to me that she has no idea who her son is. It’s sad, really.
“I don’t think you even know your son,” I bite back.
Her mouth drops open. “How dare you speak to me like that. He’s poisoned your mind, too, hasn’t he? He does that. He?—”
“When is your son’s birthday?” I ask, cutting her off.
She looks away as if genuinely thinking about it, and I scoff. Braxton is much better without a woman like this in his life. She’s a parasite. I stiffen at the harshness of my judgment. I don’t know this woman, and yet… I’m being protective on Braxton’s behalf.
Fuck . What has he done to me?
I look up at his apartment window and notice him peering down from the second floor, watching us.
“He’s bad, that one. Always has been,” she whispers. “Only cares for himself. He can’t give you what you want.”
“You have no idea what I want,” I say, irritated.
“Well, you obviously love my son.”
It startles me, but only for a moment. I turn to her with a grin. I’m certain it’s deranged and wild. I’m letting the mask slip for someone else to see part of my true nature, that for so long I’ve tried to hide. “I’d actually very much like to kill your son.”
Stunned, she stumbles back two steps before her ass hits the pavement. I shouldn’t feel powerful for intimidating someone like her, but this part of me feeds off fear.
Is this how my father has felt all of these years?
Maybe it’s time I consider having a conversation with my aunt. Am I really that far gone? Am I really unable to hide it anymore?
I turn and head in the direction I gave my driver.
Everything feels like it doesn’t make sense anymore, and it’s crumbling around me. But I don’t think I’m ready for that conversation with Anya. Maybe if I cut out Braxton for good, this part of me won’t resurface. Maybe he’s the catalyst that’s ruined me. But deep down, I know that’s a lie because these invasive thoughts and impulses started long before he entered my life.