by Aubrey Irons
Quinn's laughing as I stand there with a huge grin on my face; “Wait, you mean you're- you're-”
“I'm sorry, I wasn't going to tell anyone unless- until he got back.” Her voice is quiet, and it starts to break like shattered glass; “There's just already a lot to think about right now.”
She starts to cry, and suddenly the fact that I'm ten-thousand miles away from my family hits me.
My family.
I can feel my jaw tighten; “We're going to get him, Quinn. I promise.”
20
Peyton
The street outside the cafe is utterly abandoned; the stalls that hawk fruit and vegetables and books and other nicknacks throughout the day are now boarded up for the night and their crowds gone. There's a sinking feeling inside, realizing how remote the place is, especially with the shades of the place drawn and only a faint glow of light coming from beneath the front door. But hell, I could be meeting Anderson in the middle of Grand Central Station during rush hour and still feel the impending dread I'm feeling inside.
With the dread comes nausea, and a horrible sneaking sense of revulsion and doubt of self worth. I'm doing this for Logan, for Quinn, and for their unborn child; for my family. But, I can't help but wonder what doing this makes me, however noble the end-game.
And of course, there's the man I walked away from this morning; again. The man that complicates things at every turn in my life; the man that I somehow just can't get away from, no matter how many times I walk away from him.
I shake my head in the quiet, twilight street; I can't think of any of this right now. I just need to get this done. Get it done, forget it, and move on to saving Logan. After that, it'll just be another scar to forget about later, that's all.
I close my fingers around the knob of the cafe door, and step inside.
It's dimly lit inside, and I feel the tingling sense of dread I pushed away outside come roaring back. It's not just dim, it's dark; too dark. And there's no one here.
“Hey, babe.”
Well, not “no one.”
I stifle the gasp in my throat as I whirl to see Anderson stepping out of the shadows by the coffee counter, grinning that creepy, lingering grin at me.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” I try and force a smile out of the thin, drawn lines my lips have become; “I thought we were going out to dinner?”
Anderson just keeps smiling that wolfish grin at me; “Change of plans.”
Don't run, you can handle this.
“Excuse me?” I say, my fingers still lingering on the doorknob of the open cafe door.
He looks sober this time, which suddenly has me even more on edge. A drunk man, even one twice your size, is handleable, or at least avoidable. Drunk and sloppy I can deal with.
Stone-cold sober Anderson, with that predatory look in his eye and that terrifying grin on his face, however, is another story.
“Yeah, thought I'd change things up; you know, be spontaneous.” I'm not used to him not three sheets to the wind, and he moves faster than I'm expecting. Suddenly he's right in front of me, pulling me against him and slamming the door shut, out of my hand behind me.
I can feel the fear spike in me, the revulsion of being so close to him and feeling his hands on me sour in my mouth; “Anderson, what's going o-”
“Just wanted to have a little alone time, babe,” He winks, the motion totally devoid of anything remotely warm or calming; “Just you and me; no distractions.”
The warning bells are roaring like an air raid siren in my head now; every single basic “fight or flight” instinct going into overdrive inside of me.
“Yep, just you and me, babe. No business calls, no assistants, none of that.”
I feel like screaming, or running, or just exploding on the spot, but I force that down with everything I have; “I- I should go, Anders-”
“Nah.” His grip on my arm tightens, hard, and he leans in close; “Not this time.”
Oh, God.
“No more playin' hard to get, sweet cheeks,” He chuckles, his breath hot; “Time to put out.”
Oh hell fucking no. And right then, the fight or flight kicks in again, hard; this is NOT happening.
My knee jerks up hard, catching him right between the legs as I shove him away from me and whirl towards the door. But then I'm screeching as I feel the weight of him crush into me, slamming me face-first against the wall and knocking the breath from my lungs. I can hear him laughing behind me, the sound wheezing and horrible; “Uh-uh, girly, no more fuckin games with me!”
I start to scream but his hand comes down over my mouth, bottling my cries and sending them shrieking through my mind instead. I'm thrashing against him, trying to pull away.
“Time to ride the Bull, ba-”
And then suddenly his hand is no longer over my mouth and his body is no longer pressed against me as he goes flying across the room. I gasp and whirl around in time to see him go crashing over an empty cafe table stacked with chairs and crumple into the floor.
The scream is frozen in my throat as I watch some sort of shadow, roaring with fury and rage like a wild animal, launch itself across the room at Anderson.
Bryce.
Bryce out of a nightmare, clutching Anderson by the collar of his shirt as he savages him, hitting him again and again like a man possessed until the bigger man goes limp. He drops him and whirls on me.
“Bryce?!”
“Let's go.” His face is back to neutral, but the fire is still roaring like an inferno inside his eyes; the muscles of his arms still clenched as tight a his fists.
“What- What did you-” My mind is whirling a million miles an hour as I stare at the unconscious Anderson on the floor. On the one side, my would-be-attacker, on the other side, our one ticket to getting Logan back; “What did you do!?”
Bryce's look hardens for a flashing second, narrowing his eyes at me; “We're going, now.”
“But-” I'm frozen; wordless, unable to move, and unable to think as the full reality of what almost just happened hits me like a cold freeze; “But, I- I mean, he-”
Suddenly, Bryce is in front of me, his arms are around me, he's lifting me up, and I'm shrieking as he just throws me over his shoulder and yanks open the door to the cafe.
Then I find my voice; “What the fuck are you doing?!” I shriek at him, pounding at his broad back with my fists.
“Taking you away from this,” He growls; “This was a shit idea, and we're made anyways, by the way.”
“Put me down!” I'm hitting him, but he's just moving out the door and down the deserted street with me over his shoulder; “What are you, a fucking caveman?!”
“Yes,” He growls lowly.
“You can't just drag me away like I'm 'yours' you know!”
“Watch me.”
“Damnit, Bryce!”
He growls again and brings me down off his shoulder, holding me at arm's length with his hands on my waist; “I said we're made, Peyton!” His eyes flash again at me, and for just a half-second, I can see the fear there; “They had guys on the hotel, they know who we are. He knew who you were before you walked in there tonight.”
“Logan?” I say quietly.
“New plan.”
“Oh, and what plan is that?” I snap.
“My plan; the plan where I don't put you in the fucking lion’s den,” He says through clenched teeth, that rage back in his face.
“I can handle myself, Bryce!” I sneer at him; “I had everything under-”
“What, under control?!” I'm quiet, just locking eyes with him, feeling the heat sear off each other. He moves a step closer to me, his hands still tight on my waist; “I couldn't let something like that happen to you. I sure as fuck know Logan couldn't, and I'll be damned if I do.”
I want to throw it back in his face again, without even knowing why. I want to defy this man that I have such an insanely hard time saying no to, and I want to do it just to prove to myself that I can. I want to prove to myself and to him that
he isn't stuck under my skin like we both know he is. I want to show us both that he hasn't folded himself into my psyche, or wrapped himself around my heart.
Because that just can't be; none of those things can be.
“Oh Jesus Christ,” He snarls; “ What are you so fucking mad about?”
“That you didn't trust that I could do-”
“I didn't trust myself to let you!”
Before I can think of something to say, he grabs my wrist and yanks me after him; “Let's go.”
“Where in the hell are we go-”
“Here.”
I blink; we've made it five feet to a black vintage looking motorcycle leaning against it's stand in the shadow of a seller's cart; “What's this?”
Bryce grins; “My new bike.”
I glance down in confusion at the keys in his hand. But then I can't help the grin and the rolled eyes when I notice the painted bull on the side of the bike with “The Bull” stenciled beneath it.
It seems I'm not the only thing Bryce has decided to liberate from Anderson tonight.
“Get on.”
I hesitate only for second, but then it's just like, well, like riding a bike. I swing my leg over and settle in behind him, feeling the heat of his back against me, the smell of him close to me, the feel of his muscles flexing as he kicks back the stand and starts the bike.
“Hold on,” he says, but I'm already sliding my arms around his waist and clutching them tight. The bike roars beneath us, and the rumble of the engine, the smell of gasoline, the feel of this man in my arms - it all comes rushing back. And suddenly we're a year ago; suddenly nothing's changed. We've never changed, we've never lied to each other, we've never said things we can't take back, and we've never walked away from the one thing two shattered people could hold onto in this world.
I lean my face against his back, letting the moment soak into my skin; “Take me away from here,” I whisper in his ear.
He's silent, but the bike roars beneath us as we roar away from the shadows and out to the main street. And I'm holding him tight like the last lifeline in a dream, where I'll drown if I let go for even just a second.
And I know I never, ever want to let go again.
21
Bryce
There's a beast inside of me; an animal inside that roars and bellows as it tries to claw it's way to the surface. And most of the time, I keep him caged and locked away; except when I can't.
And there's something about Peyton Rivers that rips the lock from that cage and shatters the bars.
We're roaring through the night like there's nothing between us and the stars up above. We blaze out of the city center, hot metal beneath us, hot night around us, and the incinerating hot fucking heat roaring inside of me for this girl like a Goddamn nuclear explosion.
I tear us through the market district towards the outer piers, the blinking lighthouse showing us the way as if we’re a ship from the olden days being tossed among the waves. Except my way is clear, my hand is steady, and there are no rocks in the world that would stand between me and her.
She says nothing when I cut the engine, nothing when I lift her off the seat, or smash in the lock on the front door to the lighthouse. She's quiet, watching me with this focused silence that I've known from her before. It's a look I'd never be able to clear from my head even if I wanted to.
It's only when I hear her shut the door behind us that I turn, slowly like I’m running underwater in a dream.
And there she is.
She's lit by moonlight, shrouded in memories, and glowing with the promise of revisiting every single one. There's a beat, a drawn breath, a lapse in time where the world stops moving…
And then there's nothing in this universe that could keep us from crashing together.
The silence is broken so perfectly, shattered so exquisitely by the desperation in her moan, the need in the growl that falls from my lips. And then I'm crushing my mouth against hers; pushing her back against the door, my hand on her hip and the other grabbing her by the jaw as our lips sear to the others. It's liquid fire, molten heat, and pure, unhindered need as we come together.
This isn't looking back over the pages of our history, this is lighting the Goddamn book on fire.
She's wild and as forcefully take-charge as she's always been. This isn't the girl who moans quietly and lets herself be taken, this is the girl that growls and pounces like a lioness. This is the girl that leaves scratches down my back and sweet lingering bruises on my skin. This is the Peyton I remember; the tempest crashing against the shore like a force of nature.
She moans as my hands grab her hard, her leg sliding up mine to wrap around my waist and pull me tight against her. We're gasping for breath as I pull away from those sweet, bee-sting lips and slide my mouth down her neck to that spot by her shoulder that I know brings her to her fucking knees.
And I fucking love that I know these things and these places. I love that I remember her body like the road home, her skin like the map I don't even have to look at anymore.
She's yanking at my shirt as I tear hers from her body, unable to stop the grin that comes to my face at the sight of her perfect, full, teardrop breasts and the dappled pink of her nipples. I drop my mouth to them, pebbled and straining hard and ready in the moonlit darkness, and I clamp my lips around the soft skin there as my tongue flicks across. Her hands are tearing at my belt as I’m yanking the skirt from her hips and down her legs, my fingers sliding over the front of her panties as she bites my shoulder and pulls at the zipper of my pants. She pauses, moaning loudly and arching herself against me as my fingers delve deep between her cleft, stroking her there through her soaking wet panties and groaning at the heat throbbing from her core.
And suddenly, I want much more. I want to remember more.
Her panties tumble down her legs and drop to the floor, and her gasp turns to a shriek that bubbles from her lips as I lift her. I drag her much smaller body up mine as I drop to my knees, my lips and my tongue sliding over her skin as I hook my arms under her knees, my hands on her ass. Her hands grab my hair as I push her up against the door, her thighs over my shoulders and her back arched against the wall.
And then I'm tasting her, and groaning at the remembrance of her; the way she tastes like home. She's all honeyed sweetness and soft petals, and I drag my tongue from her opening up through her dewy lips to her clit. She gasps and writhes against me, bucking her hips and riding my tongue as I slide it inside of her. I want to spend all night teasing her; fuck, I want to spend forever with my tongue buried in this pussy.
But there's another page of history I want to see again; I want to see her come.
When I wrap my lips around her throbbing clit and flick my tongue across her in staccato beats to match the gasping moans falling from her lips, I know she’s about to detonate. And when she comes, it's grace and beauty. It's raw and sexual and primal, and it's delicate and soft like a rose caught in a storm. She explodes under my tongue, crying out my name and screaming it again and again in the emptiness of the lighthouse as I coax through wave after wave of of her aftershocks.
She pushes me away, whimpering and grinning at me with a hunger in her eyes that I know all too well. She's sinking to the ground, her legs around mine, and she's kissing me, moaning into me and tasting herself on my lips as her hips slide down to meet mine. She's reaching between us, and I growl as fingers slide around my thickness.
Oh, yeah, this I remember.
She strokes me slowly, as if I could possibly be any harder than the steel between my legs at this very moment. And then she's rising up, and guiding me against her wetness. She must feel my quarter second of hesitancy, because she leans in to kiss me; “I- I just missed this; the feel of just you and me with nothing between us.” Her eyes dart up to mine; “I'm clean,” she says quietly; “Are y-”
“There's been no once since you,” My eyes lock with hers, wanting her more with every second, wanting to make up for the time lost again
and again with every single beat of her pulse against my skin.
“You mean, you haven't- with any-”
“Of course there fucking hasn't been,” I growl, my eyes roaring into hers; “There hasn't been anyone but you since the moment I met you.”
“I never slept with Hugh.”
My brow furrows as I stare at her; “What?”
“Hugh, the whole thing-” She blushes and looks away for a second; “We went on two dates. I just pretended, because- because I was angry.”
I’m laughing as I kiss her fiercely. I wouldn’t care one way or another, but there’s a primal possessiveness that roars through me, knowing that she’s mine and only mine.
We both gasp as I rock my hips into her, and we moan as one as I sheath every inch of my cock inside of her, claiming her once again.
And here's another memory, roaring back to me.
I'm remembering the way we fit together; the way she fits so perfectly around me, the way our skin slides together, the way her nipples graze my chest and the way her fingers claw at my back as we rock as one. I remember the way she loves when I roll my hips, pushing deeper inside of her until she throwing her head back and gasping for air. I remember the way she bites her lip, the way the supple skin of her ass feels cupped in my hands as I bodily move her up and down my shaft. I remember the smell of her arousal, the mouthwatering taste of her skin and her lips as she clenches tight around me.
And when I can feel myself start to lose control, I remember the way she falls with me. And when she clings to me so tightly and explodes around me like a starburst, screaming my name as she rides me, I remember how it feels to just let go, and I'm roaring right along with her as I fill her entirely.
22
Bryce
Remember what I said about making up for lost time?
Yeah, we had a lot of time to catch up with.
We go again, and again, and more still, until we're both laughing and unable to move there on the floor. The rush of memories, the flood of the familiar coming back to my nerve endings and my brain is almost drug-like, but better. Remembering her is the best hit and the best high I've ever felt.