Chapter 15
CECE
I drive straight to Brayden’s, my foot heavy on the gas pedal, as though I’m trying to outrun my father’s prayers. The memory of his face—shock shifting into disappointment—stays with me, a snapshot of the exact moment I finally broke free.
My hands shake on the steering wheel. I’ve never spoken to my father that way.
Never cursed at him. Never walked out. The adrenaline that carried me through our confrontation is already fading, leaving me hollow and jittery at the same time.
I crank the radio up, loud enough to drown out the voice in my head that sounds far too much like Dad’s.
The one insisting I’m about to make the mistake of my life.
Maybe I am. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up and regret everything.
But right now, as I pull onto the dusty road leading to Jillian's property, all I feel is a wild, terrifying freedom. Like I've jumped from a plane and haven't hit the ground yet.
I park beside Brayden’s bike and sit for a moment, staring at the modest guesthouse where everything shifted.
My reflection in the rearview mirror startles me—flushed cheeks, bright eyes, hair mussed from running my hands through it on the drive.
I barely recognize myself. The obedient preacher’s daughter is gone, replaced by someone unpolished and real.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab my suitcase from the passenger seat and head for his door. Three sharp knocks, and then I wait—my heart pounding against my ribs as though it’s trying to break free.
The door swings open, and there he is—Brayden, still toweling off from a recent shower, bare shoulders damp, jeans slung on in a hurry.
His gaze moves from my suitcase to my face, surprise flickering through his eyes, though not enough to hide the sense that he’d already guessed this moment was coming.
“That was fast,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. His gaze drops to my suitcase. “I'm guessing it didn't go well.”
“You could say that.” My voice catches, and I clear my throat. “I told my father to go to hell. Not in those exact words, but close enough.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Wish I could've seen that.”
“No, you don't. It wasn't pretty.” I shift my weight, suddenly unsure. We've shared a bed, shared our bodies, but this feels more intimate somehow. More permanent. “I need a place to stay. Just until I figure things out.”
He steps back, opening the door wider. “Come in, princess.”
I walk past him into the small living room, the reality of what I've done finally hitting me full force. My legs feel weak, and I set down my suitcase before I drop it.
“I burned my wedding photo,” I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “In the fireplace. Right in front of him.”
Brayden's eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, but it comes out shaky. “I think I might have traumatized him.”
Brayden crosses the room in two strides and pulls me against his chest. The solid warmth of him steadies me, his heartbeat a grounding rhythm under my ear. His arms wrap around me, and I let myself collapse into his strength, just for a moment.
“You okay?”
“I don't know.” I pull back just enough to look up at him. “I've never done anything like that before.”
His hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Burning wedding photos? Or telling your old man to fuck off?”
“Both.” I lean into his touch. “All of it. Running away. Coming here.” I gesture to my suitcase. “Showing up on your doorstep like some cliché romance novel.”
“If this were a romance novel, it’d be raining,” he says, mouth curving in amusement. “And you’d be wearing something far more dramatic than…” His gaze drifts down my body, taking in my faded jeans and plain T-shirt. “Still, you pull it off.”
I laugh, and this time it feels more genuine. The knot in my chest loosens a fraction.
“So,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You need a place to crash.”
It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. “Just until I figure things out. I can pay rent, or—”
“Stop.” He presses his thumb gently against my lips. “You’re not paying me shit. This place is barely mine anyway. Besides, my aunt would kick my ass if I turned you away.”
“I don’t want to impose.” The words sound ridiculous even as they leave my mouth.
Brayden’s expression shifts, sharpening as he studies me. “You think I mind having you in my space? In my bed?” His hand moves to the back of my neck. “Trust me, princess, that’s the opposite of a problem.”
The way he’s looking at me makes my skin flush hot. Even after everything we’ve done together, the raw hunger in his stare still catches me off guard.
“I just—” I swallow hard. “I don't want you to feel trapped. Like you have to take care of me.”
He laughs, a low rumble that I feel more than hear. “Nobody's ever accused me of being a caretaker before.” His thumb traces my jawline. “But you're welcome to stay as long as you want.”
The casual way he offers his space should scare me. This is moving too fast, too intense. But I don't care. I need this—need him—right now, when everything else in my life feels like it's burning down around me.
I don't know what comes over me, but something inside me snaps. Whatever it is, I launch myself at him.
My hands grab his face, pulling him down to me as I crush my mouth against his. It's not gentle. It's not sweet. It's desperate and hungry and wild. I can tell I've caught him off guard by the way he stumbles back a step, but his arms wrap around me instantly, lifting me off my feet.
“Whoa,” he breathes against my lips, but I don't let him finish.
I wrap my legs around his waist, clinging to him like he's the only solid thing in a world and I’m spinning out of control. My fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harder than I mean to. He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me.
“I need you,” I gasp between frantic kisses. “Right now.”
He doesn't question it. Doesn't try to slow me down or tell me I should take a breath. He just carries me to the kitchen counter, my body still wrapped around him, my mouth still devouring his. He sets me on the cold counter with a thud, his hands already working up the hem of my shirt. I press into him, desperate for the contact, for the distraction, for anything that will pull my mind away from what I’ve just done.
“You sure about this?” he asks, voice ragged as his mouth trails down my neck.
“Strip me, please. I need to feel your hands on my skin,” I pant, yanking at his belt.
His expression shifts. Without hesitation, he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it aside. The sudden chill against my skin sends goosebumps racing across me.
“Fuck, princess,” he mutters, his voice low, hungry. His fingers work quickly, undoing the clasp of my bra.
“Don’t be gentle,” I tell him. “I don’t need gentle right now.”
Something flickers across his face—not surprise, but something deeper. Recognition. He knows what this is. Knows what I’m asking without having to say more.
“Then I won’t be,” he says, voice rough from restraint.
Before I can draw another breath, he drops to his knees in front of me. My words falter. His hands grip my thighs with quiet command. He looks up, gaze steady, a wicked curve on his mouth that sends a fresh flush of heat through me.
“Hold onto something,” he warns.
I barely have time to grip the edge of the counter before he yanks my jeans and underwear down in one rough motion. The cold surface against my bare skin makes me gasp, but that sound is nothing compared to the moan that tears from my throat when his mouth finds me.
There's no teasing, no gentle exploration. He devours me, his tongue hot and relentless against my most sensitive flesh. I arch my back, one hand flying to his hair, gripping the dark strands between my fingers.
“Oh God,” I breathe, my head falling back as his tongue circles my clit in tight, knowing patterns.
He growls against me, the vibration jolting up my spine. His hands grip my thighs harder, keeping me open, exposed to his hungry mouth. I can feel his stubble scraping against my inner thighs, the slight burn only heightening every sensation.
“Brayden,” I pant, not sure what I’m begging for.
He responds by sliding two fingers inside me, curling them in a way that makes my vision blur.
The pleasure is almost unbearable as his mouth claims me completely.
My thighs tremble against his shoulders, and I'm gasping for air like I've forgotten how to breathe.
Every stroke of his tongue, every curl of his fingers inside me—it's pushing me toward something I desperately need.
“Don't stop,” I beg, my voice hardly recognizable. “Please don't stop.”
He looks up at me without breaking rhythm as his mouth works me over. The sight of him between my legs is almost enough to send me over the edge.
“Don’t fucking come yet,” he says against my flesh. The command sends a sharp thrill through me, a counter to the desperate need building between my thighs. I want to disobey just to see what he'd do. To know how he’d punish me for defying him.
“Please,” I whimper instead, my fingers tightening in his hair.
He growls against me, the vibration making me shudder. “Not yet. I want you desperate first.”
His fingers slow inside me, dragging against my walls with deliberate pressure while his tongue makes lazy circles that drive me insane. He's building me up only to keep me on the edge, and the frustration is exquisite.
“Brayden,” I moan, trying to pull him closer with my thighs.
He chuckles darkly, the sound reverberating against my core. “Patience, princess.” His free hand comes up to press against my stomach, holding me in place as I try to rock against his mouth. “You wanted it rough? Then you take what I give you, when I give it.”