Chapter 16 #2
The smile she wears is the worst of it all.
It’s not the one she uses to mask what’s going on inside, but something completely different.
Fake, sure, but only because I know her and know what to look for.
This is something she’s mastered over a long period of time, and it’s convincing.
Except it looks painted on, like that of a doll.
“The first pageant they put me in was when I was seven,” she tells me when she stops directly in front of me again.
“The first time I heard I was hopeless? My very first day with my pageant coach a week later. She said it so often to me that my parents picked it up and never let me forget. My mom was the worst, constantly reminding me every time my posture slipped or my smile faltered, but my dad learned the behavior too.”
“Bryn—”
“It’s okay.” She holds up her hand, her shoulders losing the stiffness, the smile finally falling off her face. “I don’t talk to them much anymore. For more reasons than just that, but I still hear them in my head sometimes. Different things will trigger different memories.”
My chest aches for the woman standing before me.
Giving me a piece of herself that feels sacred and private.
Letting me into her world, being brave enough to show me things that have scarred her.
I want to make it right. To be the difference for her.
To convince her that she’s anything but hopeless or anything else someone persuaded her to believe.
Taking her hand, I place it over my heart, wondering if she can feel the quickened thud of it. “You are anything but hopeless. I hope one day I can crush that voice enough that you never hear it again.”
Hope fills her eyes as she stares up at me. “Me too.”
Long after we gorge ourselves on a charcuterie platter I put together, we sit on the blanket in the sand, Bryn wrapped in my arms after watching the sunset. She sits with her back against my chest, my chin resting on her shoulder, our legs resting against each other’s.
The beach has gotten busier since we first got here, with the fireworks drawing closer, but it’s still quiet enough that we’ve gotten up to dance several times when a good song has come on. Slow, fast, it hasn’t mattered, we’ve done it all.
It’s been the perfect evening, and it’s about to be capped off by the best fireworks of the year.
Bryn’s confession seemed to ease something inside her. Like a weight she was struggling to lift became manageable. It’s nothing I’ve been able to pinpoint in her expressions, but rather the air around her.
My brothers would laugh at me if I said something like that to them. Both the ones back in Montana and the ones at the fire station.
“I don’t talk much to my parents either,” I murmur into her hair as her fingers run up and down the length of my forearm.
The thought of telling her has been on my mind since earlier, and the longer I’ve had to digest her confession, the more I’ve wanted to share a piece of myself. Her head half turns, but with my face right beside hers, she can’t fully look at me.
“Mostly my dad, but because of that, I don’t talk to my mom much,” I explain. “If he’s around when I call her, he ends up yelling through her. And if he’s not, she just begs me to come home.”
Her hands squeeze mine in solidarity. “Have you been home since you came here?”
“Hell no.” I shake my head, then release a heavy sigh, staring out at where the waves crash into the shore, lit up by the half-moon in the sky. “I don’t think I ever want to go back.”
“What about your brothers?” she asks, and I angle to the side so she can crane her neck to look at me.
“I miss them more than I care to admit,” I chuckle softly, thinking of the group chats. “We talk a lot still. Mostly texts. Boone and I talk almost daily. The others a few times a week.”
Pressing a kiss to my jaw, she settles in again, looking out over the water. “I think I like Boone.”
“Well, he definitely feels the same.”
Her body shakes with a laugh. “Talking about me?”
“All the time,” I tell her, planting a soft kiss just under her ear against her neck.
She shifts slightly in my arms, tilting her head back further as she brings her knees up to her chest. It’s when I feel her whole body shiver against mine that I realize she might be chilled, even though I’m warm.
“Cold?” I wonder out loud, but rather than wait for an answer, I reach for the second blanket I brought, flipping it outwards to get it unfolded.
“A little, but I’m okay. The fireworks will start soon and then I’m guessing we’re going?”
“Unless you want to sleep out here.”
I bring the blanket over our legs, making sure she’s covered as much as possible. Bringing my knees closer to us, my legs make a circle around her. Encompassing her with as much of my body as I can, I run my hands up and down the outside of her legs, trying to create warmth through friction.
It seems to work when she melts into me, her head turning to nuzzle her face against my neck. “Thank you.”
“Better?” I murmur, goosebumps racing down my arms at her warm breath against my skin.
“Mmhm,” she hums in a sultry tone that has my cock taking notice.
My hands slow along the outside of her legs, moving to the front of them.
As I make the switch, her breath hitches, and fuck if it doesn’t have my heart beating a little faster.
Her smooth skin feels like silk beneath my calloused fingers, and I slow my touch further, the pads of my fingers running featherlike along her thighs.
It’s no longer about making her warm. Not when the soft whimper breaks free from her lips, and her legs drop an inch outward, creating space between them.
Her dress is pooled around her hips and midsection, and as I sweep my fingers downwards, I pull it up a little further, the blanket sheltering any prying eyes. A quick look around tells me no one on the beach is paying any attention to us anyway.
There’s an element of risk that has my heart hammering, the thought of getting caught or seen by any of these people driving me wild in some kind of primitive way. If I caught anyone watching, I know I’d want to gouge their eyes out, and yet, I don’t want to stop.
“Wyatt,” she breathes, my name on her lips thickening my cock.
One of her hands lies atop mine, and her legs fall another couple of inches towards the sand.
Dragging my hand to the inside of her thigh, she sucks in a breath when my fingertips gently run a line from the inside of her knee to the crease of her thigh.
Her hand slips to my wrist, not to stop me, just to hold on as I make lazy S’s all the way back down to her knee.
I follow the same pattern on her other leg, and as I draw shapes on her skin, I apply gentle pressure until her legs fall completely open, resting against mine.
The sky lights up above us, the first of the fireworks igniting.
A brilliant red to fill the night sky, a thunderous boom following behind it.
I move with it, sliding my fingers a couple inches closer to the apex of her thighs, and as we wait for the next one, I slide back towards her knee, repeating the process when another firework lights the beach.
The show starts slow, and I time my strokes with it, growing closer and closer to her center.
“May I?” I ask permission, desperate to continue learning her body. I’ll pull back if she’s not ready, though.
She whimpers, hips squirming like she’s seeking me out. “Yes, please. If it’s not against the rules.”
“Fuck the rules.”
When a couple of fireworks pop off at the same time, I finally allow my fingers to dance over the lips of her pussy. The heat between her legs is like fire, and my cock grows harder in my jeans as I feel the dampness of her panties.
“You’re fucking soaked, Bryn,” I growl, and she nods her head against my neck.