by Ace Gray
“Oh, darling, I can think a few ways to soothe that.” Connor stepped closer to me even though his words were for her.
My whole world hung on the web of tension woven between us. Who would pull the first string? What would happen when we were all tugged along?
“I can think of a few things Miss Ryan could do, too.”
“What do you want from me?” My throat choked on the fear.
“To kiss you. To kill you,” he said nonchalantly with his signature shoulder shrug. “Depends on the day.”
“And today?”
I held my breath until my chest hurt while I waited for an answer.
“Kill you,” he said simply.
Deirdre stepped back to me. “Awe, Connor don’t ruin the fun.” She reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it up. I tried to shove my hands at her to keep it down, but she shot me a look that made me freeze. My arms fell to the side and she hitched it up then leaned in to lick the swell of my breasts.
Puke clawed at my throat, but I didn’t give in. I didn’t protest. I couldn’t really explain why besides that look in Deirdre’s eyes partnered with the words that said she’d been here before. I lifted my chin and balled my fists at my sides and let her do whatever the hell she wanted. I only wanted it to be over.
“Mmmmmm,” Connor purred. “That’ll do.” He reached up and tracked one particularly wet trail across my chest. “That’ll do nicely.”
I closed my eyes and prayed for Brye. When Connor’s hand fell from my body, I cracked a single eye to see if he was here. If he’d come to rescue me like he had from the men in the basement. I found Deirdre’s face close to mine uninterested in my skin anymore and a moan frozen on her face.
Connor had positioned himself behind her and was thrusting into her, violent and wild. Her whole body shook as her sounds turned from silent mouth shapes to full-blown screams. Her ass was exposed and blanched red beneath Connor’s wicked slap. They were putting on a show between the lounge chairs in Brye’s room.
But I couldn’t take my eyes off of hers.
There was a vacancy behind them that I hadn’t seen before. Heat lapped at them, her body a slave to something primal, but it didn’t reach the place she had retreated to. She wasn’t like them, she didn’t live for this and I could tell. Anyone probably could if they bothered to look. To me though, those eyes were familiar.
They were the ones that I’d wore more than a few times around Brye.
I stopped in the kitchen to wash the blood from my hands. Filly knew I was a monster, she didn’t need a reminder. She needed food. Maybe champagne.
Maybe I could drink it off the swell of her breasts…
I’d thought of her all day. The taste of her in the morning when she was a real person in my bed, kissing me with morning breath while knowing all my secrets. The feel of her body responding to mine was seared into my palms even as I choked the bastard my father had caught stealing from him.
I thought about choking her.
The million things I’d do to her played on a loop in my head. The anticipation once I got home made my heart race and my fingers clumsy. I almost dumped her lasagna on the floor. There would be bright red splotches on the floor, but I only considered how long cleaning them would keep me from her.
God, I wanted to see her.
I took the stairs two at a time to reach my room.
“Filly,” I yelled. “Filly?”
“Brye?” Her delicate voice came from the bathroom and my heart sank.
I suppose it had each time I’d found her in there, but today, it hurt.
“What did he do?” I snarled as I threw the plates down on the corner of my bed and jogged into the room.
She looked so small balled in the bathtub beneath the giant stainless steel sacred heart, but she stood and rolled her shoulders back as she stepped out. Her long, lean legs brought her to me then stopped her cold. Just out of reach.
“What did he do?” I repeated to the frightened little dove in front of me.
“It was Deirdre and your father,” she spat the words and her shoulders shook.
“Tell me everything.” I stepped to her whether she wanted me or not and cradled her elbows in my hands. My thumbs rubbed along her skin and goosebumps sprung up in my wake. “What did she say?” My heart hurdled over the words. “What did he?” I didn’t mean to shake her the slightest bit.
“Uh…” She hesitated she fidgeted in my grasp. “She tried to tell me we were alike. And that I was doomed because I forgave you. She called us Romeo & Juliet.”
“Tragically beautiful.” I reached up and pushed my hand through her hair.
“I got the sense she was trying to warn me.” She shivered.
“About what?”
“Your father said he wanted to kill me today.” She shrugged as she tried to shake me off.
I studied her for a second before I realized why she wouldn’t fall into my arms. She wore their touches like I wore the brand on my chest.
“Did he put his hands on you?” The way the fury rumbled in my chest was like the summer storms that rolled wild into the city, all heat and lightning.
“I think that was part of her plan...”
I closed my eyes and for a second, the woman on woman was so hot my skin flushed, but then the anger blew back in. King Kong irate over Ann Darrow was nothing compared to me. I was about ready to beat on my chest then tear the world brick by brick. But I pulled her into me instead.
Filly’s arms wrapped up around my back as she balled her fists into me and buried her face in my chest. Each small press of her hands, and shift of her head against me, hurt. My cuts and bruises hadn’t healed—not even remotely—but it was the way she clung to me that really killed. Like she may not stay afloat otherwise. I’d let her hold me like that forever.
“I’m sorry she touched you. I’m so sorry.” I turned and breathed in her warm scent and pressed my lips to her shock of sunshine hair.
“She really did seem to think she was helping. Not that licking my breasts is helping...” she joked, but there was a weight to her words.
“Is it wrong to say that’s hot?” I laughed.
“Yes, you jackass.”
“I can kiss away the memory.” I shoved my other hand up into her hair and cradled her head, bringing her lips up to meet mine.
“That won’t erase what your dad said.” Her lips brushed mine as she said the words that burned my insides.
I took a breath and held it, hoping that it would stretch the metal band straining my chest like a vise. She wiped her face on my chest then blew out a deep breath. All too smoothly she stepped out of my arms and plopped down on the bed. With her long fingers, she picked at the burnt cheese edges of her pasta.
“He would have killed me today.” She pulled the top layer of pasta off and started picking it apart. “I saw it in his eyes. If Deirdre hadn’t turned him on...”
“Fuck.”
He was out for blood. Her blood. The pressure in my chest built slowly at first, almost unnoticeable until it was racing through me, threatening to explode in my veins. Losing her—even the thought of losing her—wasn’t something I could suffer. Her life on a scale was something I couldn’t find the weight to balance. There wasn’t anything valuable enough. Not even my own.
I loved her. It was as simple as that. All the moments she’d weathered and the light she’d still shone were things I tumbled for. The way she kissed and fought and fucked. Or the way I guessed she would anyway. They were entrancing, a magic I was sure was made just for me.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I repeated.
Keeping her was selfish. Before, I’d blamed my father, Cole Ryan, circumstance and fate for putting her beside me but never the one who deserved it. As she scooped up a small bit of sauce and sucked on her finger with her wide sea glass eyes on me, I admitted it to myself.
Me.
I was the one who had gotten Rosalyn killed and now I was the weight tied to Filly’s toes. I should
have let her go. I should have found a way.
Now I would.
“Filly…” I started.
“You don’t have to say anything, Brye.” She waved her hand and pulled apart another piece of pasta, chewing on the bubbled cheese. “I’m just going to pray tomorrow is a different day.” I saw how hard it was for her to swallow the food and the idea.
No. I thought vehemently. Not again.
“I’ll paint my feelings. Some abstracts.” She twisted and reached out for her canvas, her fingers hovering the way they did, hypnotic as they traced something that only she could see. “I know you like the Impressionists, Brye, and there are a million Renaissance paintings in here, but I think you’d like the way abstract feels.”
I nodded because I didn’t know what else to do. Each time she picked at her food, or her voice fluttered in the room, another brick fell back into place. I had to build the wall back up and keep what I bled for back behind it.
For her.
A bullshit plan started forming in my mind. Each little detail hit hard and heavy. She was going to leave me. I was going to give her the means to do it. My broken heart be damned.
I shot off one singular text to seal my fate before my salvation and damnation called out.
“Brye?”
“Down here,” I answered as I slid my phone in my pocket and looked up.
The silver sequins danced across Filly’s toned thighs as she came down the steps and for a single moment, the world stopped and highlighted that beautiful swatch of her skin. I would remember the rich pale of her skin, the freckles here and there, all revealed by the sway of the fabric. I would remember the way she made me feel—just a boy watching the most beautiful girl—with a walloping heart and heat washing into my stomach.
“Do I look all right?” she asked as she stepped toward me, her smoky makeup and artfully pinned hair bewitching me in a different but equally wonderful, awful bone shaking way.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Better than all right.”
“I’d say you clean up nice, but you wear a suit most days.” She smoothed my lapels then sharpened my shoulders. “I honestly prefer you in a t-shirt and jeans.”
“I prefer you naked.” I fingered the edge of the fabric I’d borrowed from Deirdre’s closet. She shivered and stepped back from me and folded in on herself. “Too soon?”
She rubbed her hands up and down on her arms and flashed me a weak smile. “They did a number this afternoon.” She shrugged.
“Sorry.” I reached for her hand and she let me take it then pull her toward the front door.
“Just the club, Brye.” My father’s voice emanated from the shadows at the top of the stairs. “I’ll be watching.” Two of his goons accompanied by Deirdre stepped out and I pulled Filly to me.
“She’s not coming. No fucking way,” I roared.
“She wants to,” he said nonchalantly. “And since she didn’t get her fill this afternoon, I thought I’d let her try this evening.”
“Fuck you.”
My thumb rubbed on the back of Filly’s hand as I pulled her in close.
“We’ll see where the night leads.” He brushed me off with the wave of his hand.
“See ya there.” Deirdre drug her finger first across my chest then Filly’s. I grabbed her hand as soon as it touched Filly and squeezed until her bones protested. “Ooooo foreplay. Tonight’s going to be interesting.”
I dropped her hand and let her sashay out the front door after the men who’d be watching us.
“Forget about them.” I pulled Filly in tighter even though she didn’t need me to warm her shoulders against the summer heat. My body was made to blanket hers and I naturally slid around her shoulders. I swept the street as soon as we were on it and found only the three people that left the house with us.
“Cool car.” A little light sparked behind Filly’s eyes as her tentative fingertips reached for the contours in front of her.
“That’s not a car, it’s a ‘67 Mustang Convertible.” I laughed as I held the door for her.
“Boys with their toys.” She rolled her eyes as she stepped in.
“Girls and their paintbrushes.” I bent down and brushed my thumb along her vivid red lips.
The tinge of twilight made it hard to see the blush on her cheeks, but I knew it was there. It was a reassuring bit of rosy warmth before my own personal long cold night. I missed her as soon as I stopped touching her, even if it was just to circle the hood. When I got into the driver’s seat, I revved the engine and pulled out from our drive. Filly giggled into the wind and tossed her head back and her hands up.
“I shouldn’t have done my hair.” She pulled in her arms and looked over.
When my eyes met hers, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I was glad—it would hide the shock of color as best as possible. It would help her disappear into the night. So I just smiled, revved my engine and watched the small wisps framing her face whip in the warm night air.
A date! I shouldn’t have been excited, but there I was pressing my hand to my wild heart where it hit my chest in time with the bass playing deep in the steel jungle of downtown Chicago.
The man I caught glimpses of in the strobe lights was different once again. The broken boy was gone, the monster had retreated back beneath the bed, leaving someone new beside me. He seemed content if maybe a little sad tonight and I found myself enjoying cheering him up. I had since we abandoned the lasagna on his bed and went out.
“Body shot?” I asked as I bent over his shoulder and slid my hand down his chest with a big, bright smile on my face.
“Off your body?” He rubbed his hand up my arm and palmed my shoulder, playing with the spaghetti strap of my liquid silver dress.
I pivoted in front of him and held up the tequila. He reached for it, but I pulled back and slid the shot glass into the swell of my cleavage. His wicked smirk spread slowly like honey across his face as he wordlessly leaned down. A soft, silky kiss whispered on my breast just before he mouthed the glass and drug me to him. He tipped the shot back as he pulled me onto his lap as I watched the defined muscles of his neck and jaw.
He kept a firm hand on my hip as he pulled the shot glass out.
“I’d like to take one from here, but…” His hand roved up my inner thigh and I squirmed, giggling as I shoved his hand away.
“Maybe someday.”
His eyes flickered with something I couldn’t place, but then he smiled.
“Come on,” I said as I slid off his lap and pulled him up with me, leaving his watchdogs behind. Deirdre had disappeared ages ago.
He drug his feet as I wove through the crowd to get to the dance floor. I turned to face him and he was so intently focused on me, I blushed. I shied away from him but his hands found the last hint of skin on my thigh before my sequined hem and he used that sensitive hold to keep me close.
Even here he was an odd sense of home.
I thought about pressing up on tiptoe to say something, but I couldn’t shout those words over the music. Not the first time. He needed to hear me when I said I forgave him.
For the time being, my body was the only thing I could use to explain. I pressed it to him and let it glide with the hypnotic rhythm of the music. He barely moved his body but his hands roamed over me, studying every inch, every move. His eyes were hooded and the deep shadows of the dance floor hid his icy blue eyes from me, but I could feel that he was hungry.
It was like that first night.
The music slowed and the strobe stopped, giving way to a rich blue light that swept over the floor, alternating shadow with the color of midnight. Brye turned me and pulled my hips up against him, his hands wove along my arms and he laced his hands into both of mine. He folded around us and each inch of his body pressed to mine. His lips were just to the side of my head, close enough to whisper, but he just kissed me, mussing my hair.
Then he started to dance.
His body rolled against mine, making me move as he did, smooth a
nd sultry, in a rhythm that was just ours. The music faded out, indistinct behind us except for the boom of the bass surrounding us. The world consisted of his breath on my skin, his heart hitting my rib cage. I closed my eyes and rolled back against his chest, pulling him tighter.
Brye’s lips moved down my neck in time with the distant, driving beat. His hand moved ours up. When he kissed the curve of my shoulder and hooked his thumb into the deep neck of my dress and pulled it lower, I shivered and surrendered even further.
“God, you’re perfect.” His voice was the incarnation of my goosebumps.
“So far from it,” I said as we danced, unconcerned with how much of my body was on display.
“No, Filly.” He kissed my neck roughly and leaned away to let him. “You don’t understand.” He dropped his full hand into the neck of my dress and palmed my breast. “Perfect for me.”
I coaxed him to squeeze.
He groaned and ran his nose up my neck and then along the curve of my ear. The roll of his hips changed and I couldn’t help myself when I moaned. The sound was swallowed by the music and for a moment I was sad he didn’t know what he did to me.
But then he used his grip to turn me. His lips found mine as his hands and hips pulled me back into the intimate rhythm. I slid out of his grip and wrapped my arms around his neck, keeping his lips to mine as I slid on either side of his thigh.
We were dry humping. There was no other way to say it. And I wanted it. The friction, the heat, the feel of his body against mine. Not to mention the pressure that had built in the pit of my stomach.
I kissed him harder and pressed my tongue against his lips begging for entry. He gave it to me and tangled with me tenfold.
His stiffness pressed hard into my hip and his hand slid underneath the fabric of my dress and cupped my ass. He kissed me harder as he dug his fingertips into me, too close to my thong to be anything but a sign of what was to come.
I could stop him again. I told myself I could even as my head rolled back and I gave him access to my jaw. My neck. His fingers clenched my skin, he nibbled on my bottom lip. I could keep this PG, well PG-13, and keep what little bit of choice I had for myself.