39. Montana
39
Montana
I didn’t sign up to help cook. I barely know how to throw together a sandwich properly due to surviving on whatever scraps I could as a child. In fact, the only time I remember my mother using the kitchen stove was the time she tried to make her own meth. Yet, somehow, here I am, mashing up potatoes with some sort of grinder under the ruse of another put-together family dinner with Phil’s new wife, Kathy, and my loving stepbrother, Shane.
I’ve yet to see him since the night of the party. It's been days. A chill sweeps across my arms, goosebumps blanketing my skin when I think of the incident at the mansion. I’m just beginning to wonder if he’ll even show up for this family soiree at all when I hear the front door slam into the wall and heavy steps follow down the hallway.
“What happened to you?!” Kathy says in the other room. “Shane!”
“Where is she?” His voice sounds rough and gravelly, and the desperation in his tone makes my blood run cold.
“Who, Shane? Honey, what happened to your hands?”
“Where’s Montana?” he yells, and I straighten near the stove.
The sound of footsteps grows closer to the kitchen, and I quickly clear my throat, taking a deep breath to calm myself. What does he know?
Bursting through the kitchen door, his reddened eyes find mine immediately. His shirt is stretched at the collar, and there are traces of blood all over it. I peer down at his fists, the knuckles split and bleeding down onto his jeans. In fact, crusted blood trails from the wounds all the way to his wrists and down his fingers. But even with all that, it’s his eyes that alarm me most.
Dark circles carve haunting divots in his face, and his cheeks look more hollow than ever. His eyes are glossy, but the veins protruding from them are bright red, matching the blood he’s coated in. Is it even his blood? His lips look swollen with a slippery sheen, and the piercings steal my thoughts entirely.
He looks like a man being hung out on a string, the cord tightly wrapped around his neck, ready to snap at any given chance. I shouldn’t find this attractive, the fucked-up nature of his entire look, but I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t say that those hungry eyes on mine have my heart skipping beats and my insides yearning to own his sole attention.
“What did she do?” Kathy asks, and without thought, I shoot her a glare.
“Nothing,” he responds immediately, chest heaving. Staring at me like an addict would their next hit, he steals my attention back. “I just need to talk to her.”
“Phil!” Kathy calls out behind her, searching for him.
“I just need to talk to her,” he mutters again, even though Kathy isn’t even in the room anymore.
It’s like he’s stuck in a trance, coming undone piece by piece. He’s breaking before me but doesn’t know how to fall apart. He’s holding his pieces, needing me, the only one who’s ever known who he truly is, to show him how to drop them ever so violently, one by shattered one.
“Where were you?” My voice comes out in a whisper.
He doesn’t respond.
Thoughts circulate through my head. That look in his eyes when we left the mansion…he looked like a man so lost to himself and the things he could never change. Where did he go to find his reprieve? The bloody knuckles signify he found his remedy in someone’s skull. The thought not only terrifies me, but excites my foolish heart.
The masher falls from my hands into the sink, and I grip the counter behind me to stabilize myself. Shane steps forward slowly, studying my movements, almost assessing me like prey that bites back, ready and awaiting the sting. I get a whiff of alcohol on his breath, which makes his overall appearance make sense. He’s been drinking, probably out on a bender, which would also explain his absence. My breath catches as he reaches out, but he simply grabs my hand and pulls me to follow him.
We walk down the hall, where I hear Kathy and Phil talking. Phil’s telling her some bullshit about Shane probably just needing some advice from his sister when I get shoved by my shoulders into a spare bedroom turned office.
I turn to face him. “Shane, what—”
His hands instinctively slip through my hair, cradling my head before his body presses against mine. He pushes me backward, and I stumble, bumping into a wooden desk with the back of my legs. My body ignites with need at the feral way he’s gazing at me. His half-lidded glare studies my mouth and the curve of my nose before finally landing on my eyes. It looks as if he’s been drunk off me the last few days. A soft moan slips from my lips as he dips his chin, his mouth so desperately seeking mine.
Our lips crash together, tongues craving the other’s taste. His bloodied hands drag down my cheeks, thumbs pressing firmly into my temples while his other fingers grip my skull. He holds me like I’ll disappear before him. Like I’m a fever dream that he fears waking from instead of the nightmare I’ve held him captive within.
His tongue glides the length of mine, and his hard body seals to my front. One hand slides down to encase the side of my neck, and the other flits down my body to cradle my ass, helping me up and onto the desk. Our mouths mimic one another’s, seeking, obtaining, and searching. We explore ourselves in this kiss, finding our own hunger, our passion, our insatiable toxin that pumps through us, keeping us morbidly whole.
He sucks on my bottom lip, humming out a desperate moan when I do the same to him, holding the piercings of his bottom lip captive with a little bite. I release him, and he straightens, his hand cupping the side of my face again before uttering words I never expected to hear. Especially not from a man like Shane, whose hatred has planted itself so deep that there’s no hope for light.
“Bury me, Venom. Bury me so deep I can breathe again.”
His eyes search mine, needing everything I once was to him in what feels like another lifetime. I don’t know why he needs me now. I don’t dare ask. I simply absorb his words with my silence, then nod, giving him some form of reassurance. This is the man I lost myself to. The one who loved with everything he had in him, hoped for the future of being together, yearned for the day I’d finally take away the memories of his past and replace them with the ones I’d always promised. This is the boy I fell for amidst my darkness. The one I’d always promised to come back to.
Gripping the chain that always hangs around his neck, I wrap it around my fingers, finally pulling his lips back home to mine. I taste the whiskey and cigarettes on his breath, the toxic elements used to forget me—to forget himself.
It’s rushed, our need for connection, but some part of me knows it’s healing something within him, as well as morphing something within me. Our mouths never part, toying and teasing with tongues and stolen kisses. He reaches between us to undo his pants. I pull down my shorts, kicking them from my feet as I work to remove my panties. He stalls me, though, humming into my mouth.
“No,” he mumbles, slanting his lips to brush along mine. “No time.”
He sets me at the edge of the desk, spreading my thighs. He takes a knee before me, pulling my underwear to the side after suggesting there was no time to remove them, and his jaw flexes, nostrils flaring before his lashes flutter. But we’re in a time-crunch, and if we’re going to fuck, we better get on with it.
“Shane,” I whisper, pulling his firm arm to make him stand. “No time.”
He grips my wrist, throwing my arm to the side.
“There’s always time to taste my favorite cunt.”
The vulgar language practically liquifies my body, and my thighs fall to the sides, my back arching for him. He breathes me in, savoring my scent like a man starved. My mouth drops open, and my eyes roll back as his warm, wet tongue lashes against my sensitive center. One hand braces the wall behind me, the other sliding around the back of his shaved head.
He moans into me, lips suctioning to my needy clit, sucking and toying with my piercing. Electric heat spreads throughout my core, and I feel my arousal leaking out. His tongue gladly laps it up as I give it, finding my dripping hole and plunging into it again and again. I dig my fingers into his head, rocking my hips rhythmically against his face.
The sensations are so overwhelming. The rush of being caught, the race to finish. Pleasure hums through my pulsating clit, my pussy throbbing with need.
“Fuck, you’re soaking me already,” he murmurs between my thighs, stroking my clit with his tongue. “These gorgeous lips.” He sucks each one into his mouth. “Fuck, you’re mine, Monty. You’re mine. Always going to be.”
“Shane,” I breathe.
“No one touches you but me,” he mutters before he licks the length of me again. “Never again. Do you understand? I’ll kill everyone.”
“Uh-huh,” I agree, willing to say or do whatever to keep this going.
“Tell me it’s always been me.” His tongue traces a long, heavy stroke over my entire slit. “Slut yourself out to me, and only me, and I’ll give you everything you’ll ever need.”
I quiver at his possessive tone, my nails piercing into his scalp as I ride his face to the brink of orgasm.
“It was always you, Shane.”
He reaches between his thighs, needing to stroke his eager erection through his jeans. The sight is so attractive I nearly burst.
“You’re so fucking perfect. I’m gonna come just eating this cunt, baby.”
He keeps uttering these words as his full lips wrap around my throbbing clit, the cool sensation of the metal in his lip tapping against my piercing, teasing me further. My insides curl so tightly, bound to crest at any given moment. Pleasure zips up my spine, holding me captive to him alone. My thighs tighten around his head, his velvety hair tickling my skin, but he grips the flesh of my inner thighs with those bloodied hands, smearing red streaks across my porcelain skin, holding me open to his delight.
“Fuck, Shane, I’m close,” I moan softly, whispering the words, but my mouth is almost useless, the pleasure forcing my head to drop back against the wall. “I’m gonna come.”
His lips part from me, and he looks up, our gazes connecting as my frenzied breaths come out all staggered, his unsteady and quick. He stands, his erection jetting out from beneath his jeans, the evidence of those words he was uttering making sense. With fumbling fingers, he practically rips his zipper open, pulling down his boxer briefs and letting his cock spring free. He stares at me as he spits down on himself, rubbing his saliva over the swollen tip.
Our sexes brush together, and we both inhale. His eyes find mine, and his eyebrows draw together, almost in question, waiting for me. He’s fucked me before, at the party, in the alleyway, and yet his need for consent nearly has me losing all sense of self.
“Tell me I can take you,” he rushes. “I won’t do it without your words anymore.”
His face holds a sincerity I haven’t seen from him. I'm earning his respect back through no right of my own. Everything I shouldn't be fortunate enough to gain from him after a past of using him for nothing more than a pay advance.
“You need the green light?” I mutter, my chest touching his with every inhale.
His lip pulls into a half grin before the pained expression returns.
“It's yours. It’s always been yours,” I whisper the words into his mouth.
A sigh of disbelief escapes him at the admission, and I can hear the tremble in his breath. Gripping the base of his cock, he coats himself with my arousal, gliding the tip along my clit, before sliding his palm around the back of my neck. He brings our foreheads together as he slowly pushes into me. I gasp as he enters, and a guttural groan rumbles through his chest, driving himself into me by mere inches. My insides quiver at the fullness, pulling him deeper, squeezing so tightly around his thick length.
“Fuck,” he moans loudly. So loud that I instinctively wrap my palm over his mouth.
A knock on the door startles me, and my stomach drops to the floor.
“Shane? What’s going on in there?”
If my heart rate wasn’t already soaring from completely soaking her son’s dick inside me, Kathy’s voice definitely has it near explosion. The risk of getting caught thrills me.
He thrusts deeply again, stealing my breath. Another deep groan rumbles into my hand.
“Shane! Be quiet!” I whisper-shout.
“Shane!” Kathy knocks harder.
“Answer her—”
He thrusts his hips so forcefully, his dick shoving so deeply into me, that his balls slap the bottom of my ass, and I’m forced to bite down on my lower lip to withhold my cries.
“Ah fuck!” he moans loudly. “I’m in the middle of something!” He tilts his pelvis, then thrusts another deep stroke, causing him to lean over me on the desk. I grip his toned ass, holding him deep, just as a lamp tips over, bumping into a pen-holder, sending pens and pencils across the table and floor. “Ah, feels amazing.”
Jesus Christ. He has no tact. Not a care in the world as he continues to fuck me with his mom on the other side of the door. I close my eyes tightly, wishing she’d just leave and fold some fucking napkins or something so I can finish.
“I’ll be down in a fucking minute!” he calls out, gripping the front of my neck and bringing his lips to mine.
I try to turn away from his kiss, but he scowls and nudges his head against mine until I’m angled toward him again. Those pouty lips and needy tongue find their home again as his cock rams into me, pushing me further and further back on the desk, my shoulders hitting the wall.
“God, you even taste like mine,” he whispers between kisses.
“Montana?!” my father’s voice straightens my spine, and I freeze when his fist slams into the door, knocking incessantly.
Shane releases an exaggerated sigh, his head dropping to my shoulder. He bites the skin near the crook of my neck in frustration, and I conceal my cry.
“Get on down here for dinner. Now,” he demands.
We remain frozen in place as disappointment rings through us, the passionate frenzy fizzling out.
“I’ll be down in a second!” I yell through the door.
Placing my hands on his chest, I push Shane back, hopping off the desk and adjusting myself again. I flip my hair over my shoulder, peering back one last time as he zips up his pants.
Gripping the doorknob, his voice stalls me.
“Wait—”
I look back to see him with his eyes closed tightly, face toward the floor. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words never leave him. Tracing his gaze up to mine, I see worry blackening his expression. He rolls his hand into a fist near his side.
“I…” He clears his throat. “Do we need to talk about…that?”
I arch a brow.
“I just…”
His eyes dart frantically around the room before he shakes his head, searching for the words.
“I-I don't know how to do this.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Me either.”
“It’s all so different now. You aren’t…I’m your…” He shakes his head, taking a breath, trying to find the right words. “I'm not using…you, I swear. I’m not like them. I’m not…this wasn’t about—I just needed…” he trails, clawing the pads of his fingers down his head and over his face.
“Venom,” I answer for him. “You needed Venom.” I sigh before taking a moment and biting down on my lips. Disappointment and frustration swirl through me. “And I’m here now. Allowing it.”
Understanding tangles us again, twisting the guarded hearts we both possess. I’m frustrated with myself for caving for this man, allowing him to use me, even if he claims he wasn’t, just as he’s frustrated with himself for caving for the woman that essentially fucked him over. I hate that wherever he was before this, whoever he saw before coming to his mom’s house forced him to feel so vulnerable again. So pained like in the past.
He looks at me, remorseful, as if insulting the person I am standing before him, because that’s the truth of the matter. He is. He didn’t fall in love with me. He fell in love with who I was pretending to be, the internet persona that knew how to rule him, mold him, bend him, and finally break him. The one he can never trust again, now knowing my truth. He finally nods, running a hand over the back of his neck before peering at the floor.
The sickness in his expression breaks my heart to pieces.
It’s more than apparent that whatever I’m feeling for him now is entirely inconsequential.
Because Shane Delacroix is still mourning the loss of someone who’s still living.