Chapter 24
Brielle
It”s been a month since I washed Xan”s blood from my body, a month since Nathan vowed his retribution.
That”s a very long time in a world that consists of just hanging out and watching TV. I haven”t left the clubhouse other than to sit by the pool and look up at the stars a handful of times. I haven”t had the urge.
Beck holds me every night, and when I”m in his arms, I can let myself get lost in the idea that I”m safe and protected. The fleeting hope is usually shadowed by those whispers in the back of my head that keep reminding me that I”m unlovable, not that Beck has even hinted at feeling that way about me.
We only talk in the darkness, when the moon is the only light witnessing our words, and by talk I mean I make confessions and he listens.
It was so painful at first, to confess my flaws, but after a while, it grew to be cathartic, and I ache through the day, thinking of the things I could whisper when the sun finally went down.
But tonight feels different. There”s another ache inside of me, one that has built since the night he used his mouth on me.
He hasn”t made any moves since then despite our closeness and the way he presses into me when he”s asleep.
In the beginning, it felt like he was giving me space, like he wanted me to know that I meant more to him than anything sexual, but as time passes, it”s really starting to give me a complex.
”Beck,” I whisper.
He jolts, telling me that he is either right on the cusp of sleep or he has already passed out.
”Hmm?” He pulls me closer, something he does numerous times a night as if he doesn”t want an inch of space between us.
However, it”s contradictory to those actions.
”I was thinking,” I say, my hand running down his chest, hating that he”s wearing a shirt.
I”m a little obsessed when I can catch him before he puts one on in the evening and tug him into the bed without it. The contact drives me crazy.
I pull up the hem of his shirt, and smile in the darkness when his heart kicks up a notch under my ear.
I run my finger along the hot skin just above the waistband of his sweats, hating the darkness a little right now even though it”s what”s giving me the courage to touch him. I want to watch him grow under the fabric of his clothes. I want to see how his body responds to me because his lack of this type of attention is beginning to give me a complex.
”You were thinking?” he prods.
Asking him for what I need is difficult, make that impossible, I discover when I open my mouth and nothing comes out.
Rather than turn into a coward and pull away, I run my hand over his cock, a thrill of excitement making me want to squeeze my thighs together when I discover him fully hard.
He groans, his hips lifting upward to increase the pressure of my hand, but a second later, his hand is covering mine, to pull it from him not to press it harder.
I fight the burn of tears behind my eyes. I think his rejection might hurt worse than if he slapped me across the face.
”Should we talk first?” he asks, his voice husky and full of need despite his actions.
”I”m not really interested in talking right now,” I say, wincing when my words come out tinged with the annoyance I feel.
It isn”t fair to get upset if he doesn”t want me. Those are traits I”m sure are left over from the time I lived with Nathan and Xan. They were always so quick to take things that weren”t even offered that no never really crossed my mind.
I try to pull away, but he only tightens his hold around my back, refusing to let me slink away.
”I don”t want you doing something because you feel like you owe me,” he says. ”And this morning--”
”This isn”t about that,” I quickly interject before he could mention the new clothes he brought me after hearing me complain about my clothes getting a little tighter since I”m eating three meals a day with him rather than avoiding the kitchen like I did a lot of time at the shelter.
”Then what is it about?”
I know he wants the words, but I could never ask him for such things out loud.
Nathan made me beg for things I didn”t want so now doing the same thing for something I”m desperate for is ruined.
”This,” I tell him, gripping the back of his hand and running it down my body.
I slip our combined hands behind the waistband of my leggings, making sure his fingers glide through the desire I have for him.
I can”t guarantee that he”s on board despite the moan of need that slips out of him. The man has more patience than a saint, and although most days it”s exactly what I need, I have other requirements right now.
”God, you”re so fucking wet. Are you aching?”
I bite my lower lip, unable to speak as he presses a single finger inside of me.
When I don”t answer he pulls his hand back, but I manage to catch it before he pulls it free. The wetness trailing his touch on my lower belly feels obscene and somehow perfect.
”I ache for you,” I confess. ”Don”t make me beg.”
He repositions himself where I”m flat on my back and he”s hovering over me.
”I didn”t mean to beg. If you don”t want--”
”Oh, I want,” he interrupts. ”I just need to make sure it”s what you want.”
”It is,” I assure him, rolling my hips in an effort to feel his erection where I need the pressure the most.
”What exactly do you need?” he asks, his hand diving back down to the center of me.
”I want you inside of me,” I pant, trying to resist closing my eyes because I know he can see at least part of my face with the moonlight coming through the curtains.
If the overhead lights were on, I couldn”t hide the heat on my face that I know is making my cheeks pink.
”This,” he says, sounding a little breathless himself as he presses two fingers inside of me.
”More,” I moan, before slapping my hand over my mouth.
These rooms aren”t soundproof, something I discovered late one night when I couldn”t sleep. It didn”t take long to understand what the rhythmic thumping was that I could hear coming from the room adjacent to this one.
”Let me hear you,” he urges, pulling my hand away from my mouth.
”If you can then everyone else can, too.”
Instead of arguing with me, he presses harder into me but then covers my mouth with his, swallowing my moans of desperation before they can float into the room.
I rush to shove down my leggings, and he has the good grace to pull his fingers from me so he can pull my shirt over my head.
”You”re so fucking perfect,” he praises, the tip of one finger tracing my belly button.
I want to argue with him, to flip on the light and show him all the scars that have been carved into my body, but the moonlight reflecting in his eyes is enough for me to see that there”s a very real chance that he”s telling the truth. In his eyes, I”m perfect.
I swallow back tears because I know I”ll never be able to keep him. What I will do is take everything he has to offer until the world rips us apart.
”Is this okay?” he asks with his hands at the hem of his own shirt.
”I”d be a little disappointed if you didn”t get naked also,” I whisper, shoving down the front of his sweats and immediately wrapping my hands around his thick cock.
”Goddamn,” he curses, his hips jolting further so he can stab the length of himself all the way through my palms, but then he pulls himself completely free. ”I need a minute.”
My hands fall to the mattress, but the sight of his muscular body makes my mouth water, and it only takes half a minute before I give in to the urge to touch myself.
His eyes turn down, following my hands as I cup my breasts before letting one hand trail even further down.
He urges my legs apart, giving himself unfettered access to watch as I trace my clit with the tip of one finger. It feels good, but I know his touch would feel even better.
”What are you waiting for?” I ask, not even bothering to mask the desperation in my voice.
”I need to get dressed.”
”What?” The sting of rejection has me pulling my hands free of my body.
”I don”t have any condoms in here. I have to go find some.”
”You have to go to the store?” I can hear the edge of insanity in my tone.
”Someone down the hall has some. I”ll only be a minute.”
”I can”t get pregnant,” I rush to say.
”You”re on birth control?”
He stares down at me when I nod, not wanting to think about the permanent things I did to my body because of threats Nathan had made.
”I can”t get pregnant,” I repeat when he doesn”t make a move. ”I was tested after leaving Ohio, and I haven”t been with anyone.”
”I can show you my test results also,” he offers. ”But I don”t want you to feel like this is something you have to do. I”m sure Oracle has condoms.”
”I want it that way,” I say. ”If you do.”
”I”ve never,” he shakes his head, and I hate the men that hurt me in the past because I can”t make the same confession.
”It”s okay if you don”t—”
He shuts me up with a kiss, using the hand that isn”t holding his weight off me with, to shove down his sweats.
We nearly butt heads as he kicks them from his legs, but he steadies himself rather quickly.
The warmth of his body when he settles between my legs is positively divine, and I don”t hesitate to lift one leg and wrap it around his thigh, opening myself up to him.
”You”re sure?”
I look up at him and take a moment to fully understand what he”s offering.
I”ve always believed that a man gets to a certain point where no becomes obsolete, that he crosses a line and can”t turn back. Looking at him now, I know that if I told him I wasn”t ready for this step not only would he stop, he wouldn”t try to pressure me further.
It makes me want him that much more.
”I”m sure,” I tell him, lifting my head to take his mouth in a kiss.
With my permission, he rolls his hips back and forth, his thickness sliding easily through the slickness coating my clit.
I groan into his kiss, my breath hitching when he pulls back and presses forward, the tip of him sliding inside of me.
”Beck,” I moan, my fingers digging into his back.
”Baby,” he whispers, his jaw hanging open as he pushes forward a little more.
I swear the man somehow manages to thicken with every inch he pushes inside of me, and it”s possibly the best thing I”ve ever felt before in my life, being stretched around him, his warm breaths and soft whispers of how good I make him feel on my neck.
He doesn”t ram into me once.
He doesn”t pull back so he can stare down at our connection.
He doesn”t say filthy things to me or call me horrible names.
He”s attentive, giving me exactly what I ask him for when it feels so good I can”t help but beg for more.
He holds me like I”m a precious thing as if I”m giving him a gift when really it”s him giving to me.
He rolls his hips, the lower part of his belly scraping against me in a way that almost makes me lose my mind.
”Feels so good,” I whimper on a moan, my legs trembling, both wrapped around his waist.
”I swear, baby. If you don”t come, I”m going to end up having to lick my cum from your pussy in order to get you there.”
”Is that what you want?” I say, trying to ignore the tingle starting in my stomach.
His words are filthy, not something I ever thought would turn me on, but here I am clenching him tighter with just the thought of him doing it.
”I think I would, but I can do that even if you come. Brielle.” My name sounds like a warning on his lips, but it doesn”t bring me an ounce of fear.
My pussy convulses, the last scrape of his stomach over that sensitive bundle of nerves enough to push me over the edge.
”God,” he grunts, the pulse of his cock deep inside of me while I come at the very same time is possibly the best thing I”ve ever felt in my life.
He doesn”t hesitate to pull me to his chest a second after collapsing on the bed beside me.
I bite my lower lip when I”m hit with the sensation of our combined orgasm sliding against his leg. He doesn”t freak out, doesn”t tell me I”m disgusting like I expect any man would. Saying something in the throes of passion and actually meaning them are two very different things.
The room is quiet as we bask in the afterglow and catch our breaths. When he begins to talk, I fully expect him to mention how good the sex was or his enthusiasm about when we can do it again. I never expected what he actually says.
”My mother was a very neglectful woman,” he begins. ”No one should”ve been shocked at the number of times she chose drugs over taking care of me.”
It”s my turn to hold him tighter.
”She always had men in and out of our lives. We had nothing, so we”d always stay with them. None of them were ever okay with her bringing her son along with her. She took so much abuse just to score drugs.”
I want to cry for the little boy I can imagine curled up in the corner trying to make himself so small that he was unnoticeable.
”I was seven when she overdosed right in front of me.”
I could tell him that I”m sorry, that he deserved better, but I know those words wouldn”t help me either.
Maybe that”s our connection. Maybe our combined trauma is what keeps us linked, and as much as I can feel the urge to cling to him, I also know it might very well end up being the most toxic thing we could possibly do.
All I know is that I won”t let go of him until he forces me to.