He clearly doesn't expect an answer. He can't, because there's no way I can think when his hands are on me, two fingers pumping slowly into me, and his breath is brushing my clit with every word he speaks. Then he dips his head closer, and the wet heat of his mouth closes over my clit, gently sucking, and I scream, arching into him as my orgasm slams into me. My body contracts around his hand, but he never stops, never eases up even a little. If anything, he pushes me further, his fingers finding a slow steady rhythm while he kisses and licks at me. I come again when he replaces his fingers with his tongue, grinding shamelessly against his lips while he whispers soft, dirty words of praise. The third orgasm comes when he turns me, pressing against my ass as he kisses my neck. I can feel his erection, impossibly hard between us, and I can smell myself on his hand next to my face. When I bite down on his thumb and taste myself, I groan, and he curses. Something hot and wet splashes across my ass and I come again, a tiny orgasm brought by his kisses and the fact that I can undo him this much.
"I need to be inside you," he whispers, his breathing ragged in my ear. I go still, and he kisses me, softly. Groans when I nod a little.
Then he stuns me by turning off the water. I push my hair from my face and blink at him, questioningly. Dane grins, kisses me quickly. "I don't want our first time against the wall of my shower, Ittybitty. I want you in my bed, panting under me when you scream my name."
I stare at him wide-eyed, wet and hot with arousal. I don't even know what to say—so I don't say anything. I just nod again. A masculine smile of triumph spreads across his face and he pulls me from the shower. The air is cold in his bedroom, for a few seconds. Then I'm on the bed, the sheets drying me, and he's on top of me, kissing me, his erection pulsing between us. "Dane," I whimper into his lips, and he groans, thrusting against me. It's not enough, and not where I need it. "Please."
"I want to take our time," he whispers, his voice tight.
I wiggle under him, close my hand around his cock. He grunts, kicking in my grasp, and I fit him against me. "Next time."
He hesitates and I kiss him, a deep kiss. Bend my knees so I have some leverage, and tilt my hips up. He groans as he slips into me, just the shallowest bit, enough that I'm biting my lip and squirming for more.
"Scout," he whispers, softly, and then he shifts, and slides into me, deep and hard. I scream as he fills me, because it's impossible not to—he feels so right, so perfect. Stretches me just a little, in a way that drives me completely crazy, and I know it's a bad idea, but holy shit it's good. And then he pulls out and the friction, oh god it's not enough. I'm sobbing, and he's kissing me, panting against my lips as he finds a rhythm. I match it, lifting to meet his thrusts. It's fast and hard and the orgasm—how can I still come, after all of this?—hits me hard, unexpectedly, and I gasp, whispering his name as my body tightens. It's so strong, so intense, my vision fades, and I can't see anything but starbursts of light.
His groan, my name a tortured, sexy noise pulled from the depths of his orgasm, brings me back, forces me to this moment. I watch him as he comes, his eyes closing, his masks gone. Hear him say my name again, like a prayer, as he lets go, and comes with a moan, hard and deep inside me.
Chapter 12
Dane
She's still sleeping. I shouldn't wake her—I should let her sleep and slip out to make coffee, or something. How jacked up is it that I don't even know what to do?
But I wasn't lying last night when I told her I don't know what I'm doing. I've never been in a real relationship, besides Mel. And she never spent the night here—she'd come over and we'd fool around, we went out, and I spent the night a couple times with her. But I usually screw a girl and throw her out. I don't like people in my space—it means they can get close. And I'm not terribly comfortable with close.
Scout yawns, shifting in her sleep. The blanket slips a little, and beneath the old shirt she's wearing, her nipples pebble. I can't resist reaching for her. She whimpers in her sleep, and I kiss her shoulder, gently. The tension in her melts away, and she rolls on her back, pulling me with her as she blinks up at me sleepily. "Good morning," she murmurs.
I hum a response, more intent on slipping this shirt off. She laughs, but helps, and in just a few seconds, she's naked from the waist up, all warm, pale skin in my bed. I sit up, staring at her, and she smiles at me, reaching up to feather her fingers across my face. "What is it?"
"I didn't think you'd ever be here," I say. Something clouds her eyes. I don't want that, so I drop down and kiss the slope of her breast, trailing kisses up and around her nipple. Switch to the other one while my hand dips down, sliding across the smooth plane of her belly, dipping into the soft cotton panties she pulled on last night.
I groan when I feel how wet she is. She's always like this, so ready for me. It drives me crazy; I want to lick all of it up. But I don't—I roll to my back and pull her with me, so she's straddling me. Her hair is a mess of tangles as she leans down and kisses me, and I palm her ass. I need her naked—need her slipping down to cover me. Without really thinking, I get a grip on her panties and yank sharply. She inhales, and I pull the torn material aside as she shifts, sheathing me. I groan, arching into her, and she laughs, that soft noise that I love, one hand on my pecs, her pinky hooked in my nipple ring. Every time she moves, it tugs, a hint of pain that makes me writhe. I grip her hips and lift her, slamming her back down on me. Scout moans, a noise of pure pleasure that hits me straight in the groin. So I do it again, over and over, until my climax is nipping at my balls, and she's sweaty and swaying on me. I reach between us and rub her clit. Scout stiffens, her entire body tight as she closes her eyes. The climax breaks across her like a wave, and I want to watch because it's so damn sexy and I get to see it. But it's too much, her tight pussy clenching down on me, her voice a breathy noise catching on my name, and I groan as I come, hard, shuddering as her body milks me through it.
Afterward, she wants to cuddle, and I'm okay with it. She cleans up while I grab us some juice and toast. We turn on Comedy Central and lie in bed. "When did you get the piercing?"
I nuzzle her neck, shifting to flick my tongue stud against her ear. "Which one?"
She shoves me aside. "Both, you idiot."
"High school. Jeanette wanted a tongue ring, and me getting one after she died was sorta a tribute to her."
"And the other?" she asks, toying with my nipple ring.
"Atticus dared me too." I shrug.
She laughs, and I relax into her fingers, at once soothing and distracting while she pets my hair and traces my tattoos. She goes still when she sees the tiny line of ink running over the top of my ribs on my right side.
"Dane?"
I look at her, trying to see if she's more panicked or happy—I forgot she'd see it when we were naked. I'm not ashamed, but it's going to require an explanation.
I don't need to look to know what she's reading. We're all mad. I twist to my back and lift my arm. Her breath catches when she sees the cat's smile and a tiny pair of glass bottles.
"When did you get these?"
"After your dad's funeral. Right after you started dating Phil."
"Why?" she whispers, and I shrug, pulling her into my arms. Her fingers are still on me, running over my skin.
"Because I wanted something of you. Something I knew mattered to you. This seemed like a good choice."
It's her favorite quote. Has been since she was twelve and read Alice in Wonderland for the first time. And it fits her—the craziness of both our lives.
She leans up and kisses me until I relax a little. "You aren't mad?"
"No. Surprised." She hesitates, then lifts her wrists, pulling aside the watchband and rubber band that hide the tattoo there.
We're all mad here.
I feel a little dizzy, seeing the words inked into her skin. Somehow, in all the time I've had my tattoo, I never considered she might get the same one. I catch her wrist and bring it to my lips, kissing her skin softly.
We
fall asleep like that, pulled down by the long night, and the sex. I wake up to find my phone buzzing next to my ear, and I glance at it as Scout burrows into my pillow. It’s almost eleven, and Avery’s called four times.
There’s a text message.
Avery: Explain it or I’m calling and you can deal with Atticus.
Shit. I roll away from Scout. She sit ups, rubbing her eyes. "What’s wrong?"
"Avery. I gotta explain last night."
She nods and stands up, stretching for the t-shirt I threw off the bed earlier. "I’ll get us something to eat."
I smile, watching Scout exit the room, a deliberate sway to her hips that I love. Then I dial Avery’s number and put the phone to my ear. It rings twice before she answers. "You’re late. You said twelve hours."
"Did you call him?"
"No. And I don’t like hiding things from Atti, so you better have a damn good reason for me waiting."
"Do you think I do?" I snap. "I've known him a lot longer than you—keeping shit from him is one of the hardest things I've done."
"Then why are we now?"
"Because Scout needs time to heal. To get her sobriety on firm footing. And she needs some space from her brother to do that."
"Why did she flip out on Kelly like that?" Avery asks, softly.
I don't answer and she heaves a sigh. "You know he's going to be pissed if you’re sleeping with her, don't you?"
"I know it's not your business. If it's something he needs to know, I'll let you know."
"Dane!" Scout shouts, and I jerk upright.
"Avery, can you do this?"
"For now," she says. It's enough, and I hang up. Hurry out of my bedroom and into the kitchen.
And skid to a stop. Scout is standing by the fridge, gripping a glass of orange juice like her life depends on it, trying to shrink into herself as she stares at my father.
Tripp is eyeing her with an undeniable interest, making my stomach clench. I move, drawing his attention, and glance sharply at Scout. Nod toward the hallway. She slips past me, into the back of the house. With her out of Dad's immediate line of sight, some of the tension slips from me.
I lean against the counter, cross my arms, and stare at him, letting arrogance and a lazy smile fill my features. "What are you doing here, Tripp?"
"You need someone to keep you on track," he says, glancing past me. "But with that in your house, I can understand your distraction."
"Eyes on me, old man. She's not the next Mrs. Tripp Guillot."
He eyes me. "Because you’re interested in her?"
"Because that's Atticus Grimes' little sister, and I'm not letting you touch her. Besides, you've only had Heidi for a few months—it can't be time to trade up yet, can it?"
Tripp frowns at me, and I smile, coolly cocky.
"I brought some paperwork from the Foundation down. They keep sending it to my office—you need to have that rerouted."
I nod, my stomach clenching. "How long are you here?"
"The weekend. Heidi is at the store—she didn't like what you had in the kitchen, so I let her take the Town Car to get something she'll actually eat."
I straighten slowly. "You brought Heidi here?"
Dad looks at me like I'm crazy, and maybe I am. After all, I'm surprised, and how can I be, after all this time? Dad should fail to surprise me at all. I thought that ended when he left the first time. Or after that, when he decided that spending time with us —with his dying daughter—wasn't as important as seducing his secretary.
"I brought my wife, yes."
"She's not staying here," I say, coolly.
Tripp frowns, and I shake my head. "Don't. Don't try the father act. You can get a hotel room. You can visit. But I have a life here, and you can't just show up with a woman I don't know and expect that I'll just reorder my life for you. Take it or leave it."
I stand still, staring at him and waiting for the argument. But finally, he gives a tight nod. "Do you think you can clear your schedule enough to have dinner with us?"
"If I have to," I say.
Scout steps up behind me—I see Tripp eyeing her before her hand slips into mine and some of my tension seeps away. I need to get away, and she's the perfect distraction for me.
"Where's the paperwork?" I ask. Tripp takes a few seconds too long to answer, and I snap my fingers to get his attention. His smile is smug. "In the car. I'll bring it to dinner."
It's an effective trap.
"Dane? I'm hungry. You promised me an omelet," Scout says, tugging at my arm. Dad twitches to follow us, and Scout turns a brilliant, idiotic smile on him. "I'm sorry to steal him—we'll be back in a little bit."
I pull her close, kissing her head briefly. "Did you pick something for me to wear?"
"Not yet." She giggles.
I grin at Dad and drag her back to the bedroom, where I grab a pair of jeans and brown sweater while Scout picks up my leather jacket. For the first time, I get the chance to look at her. She's wearing a jean skirt that is almost obscenely short, patterned tights, and a soft tight V-neck white shirt with a long red coat. She looks bright and entirely too sexy to be seen in public.
"Ready?" she asks, watching me with worried eyes.
I nod, shoving my thoughts aside, and she fixes a stupid look on her face, plastering herself to my side as we make a quick beeline for the door. Dad's on the phone, and from the slightly annoyed indulgent tone, he's talking to my latest stepmother. It makes it easy to slip out.
I catch the keys Scout lobs at me and turn the car on, escaping from my house and my father.
Scout
We stop at the Hill for breakfast to go, muffins and coffee for Dane. He's quiet, a broody sort of silence that is the opposite of what I've become used to with him.
But then, Tripp has always had that effect on his son.
"I used to hate his visits," I say, quietly. Dane's grip on the steering wheel tightens, briefly, enough that I know he's listening. "He'd come to town and hit on Mama, ignore Grace, and upset you. Every time, you'd settle into this crazy mood after he left. Days brooding, girls in and out of the house, and drinking—god, you stole more liquor from Dad in those days than the rest of the year combined. And he knew it, you know."
That earns me a sharp look. "Surprised? He knew—he'd stock a watered-down bottle of JD just for those visits. He knew you needed it."
A smile twitches Dane's lips. "Grayson was a good guy."
Tears sting my eyes, because it's so true. "One of the best."
We end up at the cemetery. I think I knew we'd come here—both of our dead heavy with us today, and I think he needs to see her.
"Do you want a few minutes alone?" I ask him.
He nods, a sharp, choppy motion. I lean over and kiss his cheek then slip out into the cool fall air. Leaves crunch under my feet as I walk through the cemetery, the cool dew soaking into my heels as the dig into the grass. Fall is hitting Louisiana hard.
The headstone is a tall, sharp point, nothing like the man. Dad was warm and slightly rounded, soft and so kind it took my breath away. I used to think it was weakness—that being that kind meant he was weak, someone to be taken advantage of. I hated it, when he was alive, and I could see how kind he was to everyone around me. Even to him.
Dad never liked him, but he tolerated his presence. He even worked with him after the attack to make sure he passed some idiotic class.
It infuriated me—which wasn't fair, because Dad never knew. No one knew about the rape but Dane, and even he doesn't know everything—he doesn't know who it was.
It took years for me to realize that kindness wasn't a weakness, that it was just a part of who he was, and one of the things that made him strong.
I kneel in the grass, picking the dead leaves from the headstones, and trace the engraving.
Grayson Grimes
Beloved Husband, Father, Friend.
"I miss you, Dad. I'm sorry it took so long for me to get my life together after you died. I'm sorry I left
things the way they were. I’m sorry, for so many things. For never telling you what happened. I wish I could change it. I wish I knew how to be better." I glance across the cemetery, where a lonely figure sits on a headstone, and a smile tugs at my lips. "I think you'd be happy, though. If you could see me now. I’m with Dane. Or I think I am? He’s good for me, Dad. But I’m not sure what’s going to happen."
That’s the problem—I’m not sure of anything right now, not where I stand with Dane or what will happen when he steps back and I move in with Atti. Or even if I want that. I do know that the more I think about leaving Dane, the more my chest feels tight. I don’t like that needing him is so important—that the mere idea of losing his soothing presence and laughter is enough to make me panicky and breathless.
I want to be stronger than that.
"Sometimes, I don’t think I’ll ever be strong again," I whisper. And Dane needs that—he needs someone as strong as he is, someone who can help him be whole.
Dane, for all that he shows the world a strong face and a sexy smile, is so broken. I glance over at him, sitting between the two gravestones that seem to bookend all the tragedy in his life. Except, they don’t.
I remember when the golden shine of Dane’s charmed life began to fade. That’s the problem—I know how much he’s lost, and how little I can give him. What could he possibly want from me, what could I offer to him?
A safe place.
I stand, brushing my skirt, and smile at the headstone. It’s good, this visit. It’s been too long since I allowed myself to come here. And for the first time, I don’t feel the guilt of disapproval and disdain. For the first time, I think Dad might actually be proud of me.
I walk back to the Viper and lean against it, letting the heat of the engine warm my cool thighs. Dane's still sitting by his gravestones, and I'm hesitant to intrude.
He never talks about them. That's probably the worst part—that he grieves so deeply, but doesn't speak of it.
Beautiful Broken (University of Branton) Page 12