Chapter 16 #2
I punch him with my right and slap him with my left. “Is this the kind of aggressive you wanted?” I bellow. “Huh?”
I’m not a fucking kid anymore.
I punch him again, but he launches up, fists the hair on top of my head, and plants his fist in my jaw once, twice, and again in quick succession. Pain shoots through my face, and I feel the sting on the inside of my cheek.
Gripping his neck, I shove him back down, pinning him to the floor as I avoid his hands grappling for my head.
He snarls, and I see blood trickling out of his nose, but his nails drag down my chest, and I growl.
As soon as I loosen my hold, he rolls us over, planting his fist right in my gut.
The wind rushes out of me, pain spreading through my stomach.
“You gonna have me fired for this like a pussy would?” he yells. “Huh?”
I force a laugh, trying to throw him off me. “ ‘Have you fired’? You still don’t get it, do you?”
My blood boils, but everything in my stomach—in my head—feels light like I’m racing the loop of a roller coaster. He grinds on me as we fight, and something builds deep in my throat. Craving.
I still want him.
“Oh, I get it.” He punches me so hard my head twists. “You’re still a fucking piece of shit who only bothers those with less money, less connections, and less power.”
He grapples for my hands.
“Because you get pounded into the dirt by daddy on a daily basis,” he bites out, “and only pick fights you can win so you can feel like a real man!”
Piece of shit…
I yell, flipping us over again, pressing my forearm to his throat as I straddle him.
“Less money?” I bark. “Less power? Are we still brandishing that facade?” Sitting up, I throw a slap across his pretty fucking face.
“Macon doesn’t spend the money in ways that raise IRS alarms, but it’s there! Where is it coming from?”
I slap him again.
“From real men,” he replies, breathing hard.
I punch. “Where?”
“Better men.”
Goddammit.
“Where?” I bite out in his face.
But the son of a bitch actually laughs as if this is all so fun and he doesn’t already have bruises forming on his cheeks. “I’m taking it to the grave,” he teases.
I pause, the word choice hitting me as odd. Grave…
He thrashes, throwing me over, and I topple to the floor. Hurrying to my feet, I see him jump to his, and I charge him.
He falls back to the bed, and I feel the sweat trickle down my back as I grasp for his arms.
“I already bought it, you know?” he tells me, shoving my hands away. “My grave?”
I grapple, going for his throat, and it takes a moment to register what he’s saying.
He’s arranged his burial?
Already?
I don’t know if I finally get a hold of him or if he just stops fighting me, but before I realize it, my fingers are on his neck. He clutches my arm with both hands but doesn’t shove me away.
I don’t squeeze.
He’s chosen his own grave site? Why would he do that?
How could he do that? He knows for certain he’ll never leave Sanoa Bay? Never have someone he wants to rest next to?
Never have children who will alter his life?
As if he’s already decided how everything will end.
I can’t swallow, my throat too thick.
“Guys like me just turn into pathetic old fucks,” he whispers. “You don’t think I know that I won’t live to be a man?”
What the fuck is he talking about?
And the idea that he thinks he isn’t a man at twenty-five…
At least he’s aware of his faults.
He goes on, “Maybe I’ll get drunk on the boat one day out fishing, fall in, and drown.” His Adam’s apple moves up and down under my hand. “Maybe it’ll be a motorcycle accident. Maybe I’ll sleep with the wrong woman and get shot by her husband.”
My lungs constrict a little, getting less air. All of those sound entirely too plausible. They could happen tomorrow, because he’s so fucking careless.
“I’ve never seen myself with a home or family of my own,” he whispers.
Neither have I. Men like him don’t raise kids.
He looks up at me. “But you’re wrong about one thing, you know?”
I narrow my eyes.
“I don’t gorge to save myself from being like her,” he tells me. “I gorge to feel like shit just like her.”
My stomach knots, remembering how he was left alone in the house with her the day she did it. Why would he want to feel bad?
The green in his eyes shimmers with all the shit in his head.
“Someone has to witness her,” he whispers.
Just like Sophia. I don’t want to go into the Den. I have to, though.
Pain hits every nerve in my face, the ache in my eyes unbearable. God, I hate him. Why does it have to be him?
“Sanoa Bay has an ancestral cemetery,” I murmur.
He didn’t need to buy a grave.
“Where is it?” I ask.
Does his family know he won’t rest with them?
He arches up. “Kill me and find out.”
Staring down at him, I rub my thumb over his jaw.
And slowly, I tighten my fingers around his neck, sliding my other hand up to help crush his airway. “Are you sure?” I ask.
He grips my wrists but doesn’t fight me. Not yet. The muscles in my arms burn immediately; my hands are clenched so hard he can’t take in any air.
Why shouldn’t I kill him? I’d get away with it. I’d be free, and it would mobilize Sanoa Bay to do something stupid.
Clenching my teeth together, I wait for him to thrash, punch, kick, and hope he’ll try.
Please try. My stomach coils, and I barely breathe myself.
Digging my fingers into his skin, I close my fists as much as possible, and he’s not breathing at all. His face flushes with blood.
My father will probably never talk down to me again. The cops will dump Dallas’s body somewhere. I’d never have to wonder if I’d see him again or when I’ll run into him. Any remnants of my feelings would die with him. And whoever is next would be that much easier. Dallas isn’t my only demon.
“You always think you’re in control,” I say in a low voice. “You think I won’t call your bluff.”
He closes his eyes, the lack of oxygen starting to get to him, and my arms shake with the pressure.
“You think I’ll start crying and admit how much I still want you,” I coo.
I’m the only one who never underestimated myself.
He starts to fight, his body flailing, but with every moment that he’s not able to throw me off, the bigger I feel.
I bare my teeth, feeling his hand push against my chest. I’m stronger than him now.
“You thought you knew everything there was to know about me,” I grit out.
Slaps land on my body, he growls, and I want him to know what this feels like. That I can cause harm too.
Leaning over, I hover over his mouth as I relax my hands, feeling his breath across my lips as he finally takes in air. “I hate you,” I whisper, “you fucking swamp trash.”
The scent of my bodywash all over his skin drifts through my nose, the feel of his lips brushing mine sending a shock wave under my skin.
“You still want to kiss me?” I ask him.
He groans, grabbing my waist as my mouth sinks to his, his hands sliding up my back. My head floats as I pant, kissing him again and again—and again—before I melt into his lips, teasing his tongue with mine.
Unfastening my pants, he slides his hands inside and down my ass, his head coming up to gnaw at my neck and suck my chest.
His cock presses between my legs, and I arch my neck, grasping the back of his head and holding his mouth to my body.
Why not? It doesn’t mean anything.
He sinks his teeth into my chest, an electric current shooting through my body. I growl, closing my fist in his hair and forcing his mouth back up to me.
Biting, sucking, and nibbling his lips, I have no intention of stopping. I let him take what he wanted when I was in high school, but I’m a man now, and I want my turn.
Moving up his body, I pull out my dick and slide it into his mouth. He pulls me, welcoming it, the wet heat enveloping me.
I close my eyes. “Oh, fuck.”
A shiver creeps up the insides of my thighs, pooling in my groin as warmth spreads under my skin. Thrusting my hips, I fuck his mouth, gripping his hair and keeping his head where it belongs.
He sucks, eating and licking and groaning with so much enthusiasm, I almost think he missed me.
With his hands all over, sliding around my waist and squeezing my ass, he doesn’t restrain me.
He doesn’t wrap his fist around me to control how deep I go.
He lets me sink down his throat, and I look down, meeting his eyes.
I pump slower, watching myself slide in and out.
I hold back my shudder, my orgasm cresting.
No.
Fuck, not yet.
Pulling out of his mouth, I slide back down his body and press him to the bed, falling into his lips in a hard kiss before trailing bites down his neck.
How does everything feel just as good?
I slide my hand down his pants, his cock hard and hot in my fist. “You’re not good enough for me.” I suck a nipple into my mouth, dragging it out between my teeth.
He jerks, grunting at the pain that he knows feels kind of good.
Lifting my hand again, I spit into my palm and dive back down, pumping him. “I wouldn’t ever be able to take you anywhere,” I bite out. “Your fucking clothes and your dirty nails and your lousy manners.”
He unzips his pants, and I take him out, letting him grow without restraint. He takes over stroking, and I kiss his mouth, bite his neck, suck his chest…
I sink my teeth into his ribs. “I hate you.”
Pulling me up, he tries to kiss me, but I keep my head just out of reach.
“But you like my cock,” he whispers.
Then he snatches my lip between his teeth, the needs to fuck him and kill him firing through my veins in equal measure. “Damn,” I groan and then kiss him hard.
He growls under his breath, grabbing my ass again and squeezing hard. “I’m going to fuck you so hard.”
With his hand still squeezing my ass, I barely notice he’s stopped stroking himself and is pushing my pants down.
Every muscle suddenly tightens, and I stop as his tongue flicks my lips.
“Wait, wait…” I breathe fast, pushing myself up. “I’m not ready.”
I—
I swallow through my parched throat and blink. He slows, kissing my neck and collarbone softly. “How long has it been?”