Chapter Nine #2
He looks at me—really looks. "I'm not mad, beautiful.
And you're right, the house is ridiculous.
But Hattie felt safe here, and we made a lot of good memories, so I've just…
kept it." He shrugs like it's not a big deal, but it is.
Most eighteen-year-olds wouldn't have had the foresight to choose a home with their little sister's safety and comfort in mind. He did.
That's just who he is. I think it's who he's always been.
And it breaks my heart a little bit to know that he's the man he is because of everything he and his siblings went through with their own mother.
At least my crap came at the hands of someone not meant to protect me.
Theirs came from the woman who birthed them, the one they never should have needed protection from.
Sometimes, the world is a fucked-up, awful place. People like Briggs make it better.
"You're pretty amazing, you know that?" I murmur, staring at him in awe. "You just…protect everyone around you. You never let anything break you. You just keep going, keep fighting, keep being this force for good."
"Jesus," he mutters, startling slightly.
"I'm serious, Briggs. You never let it harden you or make you bitter.
You just keep being you. You know how rare that is?
" I ask, staring at him. God knows, I didn't do that.
I hid for a year. And then, even when I started finding some new normal, it was different.
I didn't date. I didn't trust. I looked at everyone sideways, just waiting for the next shoe to drop, waiting to be the next bet.
I was turned into a game, and it made me fearful.
He was raised by a literal fucking monster, and it just made him… good.
He is so fucking good.
"You're one of the best men I—"
He's on me before I even finish the sentence, dragging me into his arms. I gasp, and then squeal when the world turns upside down, my hair falling into my eyes.
"Put me down!" I cry.
"No," he growls, his steps loud on the tile as he storms inside, heading straight for the stairs. I'm dizzy, gasping and clinging to him as he takes them two at a time, one hand planted on my ass to keep me still, the other on the railing to keep us steady.
Every part of the house I see is upside down, just blurry splotches of color and shape, and then I'm on my back, sinking into his bed. The room is shadowed, the only light coming from a lamp on the bedside table. Even that is blotted out when he crawls over me, caging me in.
"You make it so fucking hard to behave, sweetness," he growls, his fists planted on either side of my head, his expression feral and beautiful at once. "You talk about me like I'm some big deal, and I just want to fuck you to pieces so you keep thinking that."
"Do it," I whisper, arching up until my breasts press against his chest. "I'm right here, Briggs. I'm not going anywhere."
I see the war in his eyes, the desire to give in and take what he wants pitted against his need to do this the way he thinks it should go, all slow and careful. But I don't need that, not from him. Not anymore. I just need him.
I hook a leg around his hip and wrap my arms around his neck, anchoring myself to his body. My lips land against the side of his throat. "I trust you," I breathe against his skin. "Only you."
He groans, the sound vibrating through me, and then he flips us so I'm in his lap, my legs around his waist. One hand delves into my hair, craning my head back.
His lips against mine are heaven. So is the way his other hand slides down my body, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt. His bare skin against mine sends electric currents through my body.
I moan into his mouth, arching against him.
"Can I take this off?" he asks against my lips.
I don't answer—at least not with words. Instead, I break the kiss, leaning back to pull it off over my head.
His eyes immediately fall to my chest, darkening.
And God, I love the way he stares. I love the way a curse trembles on his lips.
I love the way he reaches out, oh so slowly, tracing one fingertip down the center of my chest.
"Briggs," I moan, my head falling back.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Tia," he says, his voice gritty. "Do you know that, sweetness? Do you have any idea what you do to me?"
I've never been ashamed of my body. Even after what happened, I was able to hang onto that one piece of myself—that refusal to be ashamed that I'm a big girl.
For a little while, part of me wanted to believe that I became a target because of my size, that the hockey team wouldn't have dared to do the same thing if I'd been smaller, more attractive, or some cheerleader.
But even then, I knew that wasn't true. They didn't target me because of the size of my ass or the number on my jeans.
The sad reality is, they did it in spite of those things, the same way guys like them always do.
Nothing was going to stop them from making that bet, whether I was a size two and on the cheer squad or the exact size I was at the time.
But I've never felt more beautiful or more worthy than I do as I stare into my reflection in Briggs' eyes. As I see the way he looks at me like he's lucky to be touching me right now…like I'm something to cherish. I feel like something to cherish in his eyes.
"Show me," I whisper, slowly dragging my nails across his scalp.
He shudders in response, making this sound in the back of his throat that's half rumbling cat, half desperate man. It's sexy as hell.
His hands span my ribcage, sliding toward my back. I shiver as he fumbles with the clasp on my bra, taking two tries before he manages to unhook it. The straps fall away from my shoulders, carried by gravity.
His lips help, impatiently pushing one down, like he wants to see and taste me at the same time. Everywhere he touches me, I ignite, my skin pebbling in response.
He drags my bra down, covering my breasts with his hands, lifting them. His thumbs brush my nipples, making me moan.
"Been thinking about these since I saw them through your dress before the wedding," he murmurs, dipping his head. His lips brush across one, soft, tentative.
I cry out in response, clutching him to me.
He groans again, sucking it into his mouth. The pressure is perfect…heavenly. I'm already a mess on his lap, already aching and desperate.
He moves from one to the other, back and forth, until I'm clawing at his shoulders and choking on his name.
"Don't rush me, beautiful," he groans, lifting wild eyes to mine. "Let me love you."
''Briggs," I whimper. "Please."
He tips me backward off his lap, following me down. His lips close over one hard nipple again before questing lower. His hands travel across my body, too, learning every inch as if he's memorizing every tremble and gasp.
"I love the way you shake for me, Tia," he says, his voice soft. "I've barely even touched you, and you're already so close, aren't you, beautiful?"
"Yes," I moan, my stomach contracting beneath his palm.
His lips curve against my skin before his mouth slides lower, his tongue dipping into my belly button. And then lower, dipping beneath my waistband. I stop breathing. I can't help it. He's so close to where I need him most.
His gaze flicks to mine, worried. "Is this okay?"
"Yes. God, yes," I gasp.
He studies me for a minute, checking for any hint that I'm not being honest. "Remember what I said outside, Tia? You going to let me do it?"
It takes a minute for my brain to catch up and figure out what he means. The second I do, a blast of heat rips through me. "Yes. Please, yes," I beg, writhing beneath him. I want his mouth on me so damn badly.
His fingers slip into my waistband. I stop breathing again as he tugs them down, his eyes locked on my body. I don't think he's breathing either. He's just…staring like he can't look away.
And then my pants and panties are around my knees, and then my ankles. He stops staring long enough to pull my shoes off, placing sweet kisses all along my calves as he tugs my clothes the rest of the way off.
I'm bare beneath him, trembling.
His gaze runs up my body and then back down. "Stunning," he says. "So fucking stunning."
I can't speak. I can't even breathe as he fits himself between my legs again, lifting one over his shoulder, exposing me to him. All I can do is cling to the blankets and watch him.
He moves slowly, carefully, but his control is slipping. Every time his eyes lock on my pussy, it slips a little further. I feel it in the way his hands tighten on me, hear it in the way he groans, see it in the way his eyes darken and his cheeks flush.
He dips his head, running his lips up the inside of my thigh, and I sob. I can't help it. I feel his breath on me, and I'm just…gone.
"Fuck," he groans, yanking me closer. His tongue touches my slit, and then he's gone, too. The sound he makes isn't human. It's pure need, echoing from the ceiling.
"Briggs!" I sob, arching and free-falling at the same time as he buries his face in my center, spreading me wide. He isn't slow and careful now. He's a beast, slipping his chains, glutting himself on the feast before him.
And I'm the feast.
He's loud and messy, licking, sucking, thrusting the tip of his tongue inside me like he needs to get it as deep as possible, as soon as possible. His grip bruises my hips, but I love the way he holds onto me like he's trying to root himself to reality.
"Jesus, Tia," he groans, flicking my clit and then thrusting his tongue inside me again. "You're so fucking good, beautiful."
"S-so is that mouth," I manage to gasp, already so close to the edge, I'm dizzy.
"Told you I was going to ruin you with it," he says.
I try to laugh, but I can't. Not when he sets his tongue flat against my clit and thrusts two fingers inside me at the same time, curling them up.
I shatter instantly, my mouth open, no sound coming out. All I can do is feel it, every endless heartbeat, every perfect detonation, every crashing wave.