Chapter 22
Nari.
There are moments in our lives when things just make sense, and even if they don’t make sense, you feel the magnitude of those situations weighing you down so severely that you can’t think, breathe, or feel anything except those things.
When I ended the call with Kincaid telling me he was fine, I knew he was anything but. Whatever was happening attached to me and I hadn’t been able to settle my mind ever since.
He’s home!
I tossed the covers back and climbed out of bed, not bothering to grab anything. I wore one of his T-shirts because I needed to feel close. He’d worn it the day before with his scent still lightly lingering in the expensive, soft cotton.
I found him the first place I checked. The space was dark, but the room was dimly-lit by a slither of light creeping through the bay window, which filled one of the walls.
I didn’t need to see him to know he wasn’t okay.
His mood was palpable, covering me the second I crossed through the door. The closer I got, the stronger it felt.
“You want to talk about it?”
I stopped between his legs, my nose twitching from the smell of alcohol.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you already hate me.” His voice was low and hoarse. He sounded tired, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason for the heaviness that radiated from him. “Talking gives you yet another reason to regret your compromises to be mine.”
I climbed into his lap, inching as closely as possible to his solid frame. Even in its relaxed, defeated state, it was still incredibly hard compared to mine. His muscles were clenched tightly beneath his clothes and I could feel them flex and relax as my fingers slowly glided up his arms.
“I don’t hate you, Kincaid. Please tell me why you’re sitting here in the dark instead of coming to bed. I was worried about you.”
While we sat silently, I felt the low hum of his breathing. It was even and gentle, but the rhythm created an eerie melody that had my skin prickling. Kincaid seemed calm, but I felt the chaotic energy threatening to escape.
“Tell me,” I demanded with a little more force.
“Do you really want to know?” The rumble of his voice vibrated through my chest.
“Ye—”
His hand found the back of my neck, jerking me forward until his lips met mine. His tongue lashed forward, exploring aggressively.
I wanted to talk. He wanted me. I wouldn’t dare tell him no, so I conceded and followed his lead.
Kincaid brought me in closer and my stomach pressed against his abs while he maneuvered below us.
When I realized what he was doing, my knees pressed down hard outside of his thighs, and I lifted slightly, giving him the space he needed.
My panties shifted to the side, and without giving it a second thought, I sank down on him, releasing a guttural moan.
Kincaid quickly took over, lifting me until he was at risk of escaping then slamming me down once more, his length filling me as hard as his force.
Each entry sent a jolt through my body, which struck like lightning.
His eyes were intense, filled with a mixture of emotions. He seemed angry, but there was something else there that I couldn’t quite decipher.
“Let me help,” I moaned as he slammed me down once more, meeting me at the point of impact with a thrust of his own.
“You are.” A rumble vibrated through his chest following his hoarse voice.
He came forward, his mouth landing hard against mine.
Kincaid set one hand free, and it tangled in my hair, holding me steady, while his tongue pushed hard against mine, reaching every corner of my mouth.
When he backed away, I could barely hold his stare.
Looking into his eyes was the equivalent of watching the strongest force I knew unraveling.
My heart twisted in pain, taking on whatever had him struggling to keep it all together.
“I’m fucked up . . .” He lost his words, and I wasn’t sure why, but I jolted as his hips came up, landing him deep where he hit something in me that had me struggling to keep my eyes fastened to his. Kincaid needed me to be there with him at that moment and I did everything I could to do so.
He took me fast and hard, guiding me up and down in a way that could only be described as desperate and angry, but he maneuvered me with precision, knowing exactly how much pressure to deliver each time he brought me to his base.
Over, and over, and over again, we met somewhere in the middle with hard, aggressive thrusts until we both gave in and crashed into each other.
Our hands were needy, grasping onto whatever we could reach until I gave out and my spineless body rested against his.
I winced when we disconnected. Kincaid lifted me, holding steady until I could manage my own weight.
He adjusted his clothes and stood, stepping around me.
“We need to talk about that.”
“No, not right now. Just give me a minute,” he muttered, leaving the office and me feeling alone. How could I be so close to someone and so disjointed at the same time?
By the time I reached our room, Kincaid was in the shower.
I sat on the edge of the bed, waiting until he finished.
We passed each other as he left the bathroom, and I entered, prepared to shower alone.
When I climbed into bed, he was waiting, his body in the center of the massive mattress, not giving me the option of space.
Apparently, he didn’t want any, which he further proved by bringing me into his space.
I shifted to find comfort after my back met his chest and his arm draped my waist. I felt his chin rest on my head, then his breathing leveled to a slow, steady pace.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I said after the silence was too suffocating.
He sighed in a way that expressed how heavy his thoughts were. “That my mother’s decisions killed my father and my decisions killed yours.”
I tensed behind the confession, trying to understand what it meant.
Eli was dead. Kincaid was the reason. I wasn’t surprised because he’d always told me it was inevitable, and I believed him.
Maybe I should have felt something behind the realization of knowing that my father was dead, but I didn’t know him, which, in a way, meant he technically wasn’t my anything.
Eli had done horrible things to my mother, so, in a way, it felt justified.
You get what you deserve. What I couldn’t make sense of was Kincaid saying his mother played a role in his father’s death. How?
“Your mother? How?”
After a few minutes passed without a response, I tried to turn toward him, but he held me tighter.
“Not now.” He inched me closer and a kiss met the top of my head. Silence took over, then I felt his chest vibrating behind me from the light sounds of his snoring. My mind moved in a million and one directions until I eventually drifted. I was too exhausted to fight it, so I didn’t.
After hours of sleep, my body felt like it weighed a million tons. It took a minute to shake the groggy feeling, but when I did, I realized I was in bed alone. I grabbed my phone and checked the time.
12:38 p.m.
How had I slept that long and undisturbed?
Because you were fucking exhausted is how.
Memories of the early-morning hours rushed through me like raging waters. Kincaid’s dark mood, the way he handled me then dismissed me, only to allow me back in to be his anchor while he slept, left me emotionally raw.
Once I climbed out of bed, it took a minute for the muscles in my body to work together so I could make the short journey to the bathroom. My bladder was screaming because I was well beyond my limits. The extra hours of sleep had my internal timing all off.
I cleaned up after, washing my face, brushing my teeth, then throwing on a pair of cotton shorts under Kincaid’s T-shirt. Signs of him being up well before me lingered by way of his clean, spicy scent hanging in the air and the shorts he’d slept in tossed over the side of the hamper in the closet.
He was here somewhere because my phone was void of any notifications showing he was gone.
I slowly dragged through the house, and after a quick search, I found Kincaid in his office, staring blankly out the window from the chair behind his desk.
The same chair we’d been in hours ago. He was dressed in a navy T-shirt that exposed the fullness of his chest and shoulders, which threatened the quality of the cotton material as it hugged his upper half.
“How long have you been up?”
He turned in my direction, watching my face with hard eyes. “Not long.”
“You didn’t wake me.” I made my way in his direction but hopped on his desk, placing the pads of my feet on the chair beside him. His eyes lowered to my stomach before they lifted to my face.
“You were up late and needed the rest.”
“We were up late, which means you needed it too.”
He grunted, leaning back in a way that disrupted his posture and forced him to slouch more. “I’m fine.”
“Are you?” Our eyes locked, initiating a silent standoff. When he refused to speak, I did. “You can’t disappear on me, come home all dark and dismissive, fuck me, and refuse to tell me what the problem is. We don’t fight dirty, remember?”
“I wasn’t fighting with you.”
“It felt like it.”
He snorted and turned his head away from me, giving his attention to the window again.
“We’re not going to talk?”
Nothing.
“Kincaid?” My voice elevated, which brought his eyes back to mine.
“What?”
His defensive tone was clipped, and every second without him speaking, his eyes hardened even more.
“Don’t yell at me. I let you release your frustrations last night, and seconds after you came, you pulled out of me and walked out without saying one damn word. You were in a bad place. I get it. But you don’t get to stay there. You either talk to me or—”
“Or what, sweetheart? Tell me what my options are?” His voice was even but contained that undeniable edge—his signature style.