Need

by K. I. Lynn

  But for her, I'll take it.

  What I won't take is another guy near her, especially Austin, and after Ryan's visit two weeks ago, I thought Kira understood.

  Just saw a picture of Kira hanging out with Austin on Facebook. I'm about to turn this car around and go kill that fucker. Didn't he learn?

  Before I'm done reading the text message from Ryan, my duffel bag hits the bed. I'm already tearing through my drawers when I respond to him.

  I'll deal with it.

  Will you be able to handle being near my sister?

  Random clothes are stuffed into my bag, whatever's clean that I can grab. I'm gonna tear the motherfucker apart.

  I'm going to flip her over my knee and spank the shit out of her for not listening.

  Then I'm going to brand myself onto her fucking skin, every inch, so she stops forgetting who she fucking belongs to.

  Brayden, I'm serious.

  I'll behave. I swear. Only planning on killing that shit. I'm lying out of my ass, but I won't let Ryan handle it this time. No. The one that needs to be there, showing my girl why Austin will never be enough for her, is me.

  Yeah, I'm lying to my best friend, but I no longer give a shit.

  I'm done.

  The tormentor returns.

  It’s spring break, and he’s in college—shouldn’t Brayden be living it up on some beach with his buddies? Why is he home? Especially when Ryan went to Florida with Dana.

  For weeks he’s been texting me, calling me, pm’ing me, and trying to Skype, and it’s been tough. I want to slap him, kick him in the balls. Why? Why the fuck did it take me sleeping with Austin for him to decide to come after me?

  It doesn’t change anything. I’m done letting him hurt me. Years of yo-yoing, running hot and cold, have killed me, but not anymore. That player can find another idiot girl.

  My phone buzzes on the bed next to me, his name popping up again.

  I’m here.

  Fuck.

  My heart starts fluttering against my ribs, anticipation of what he’ll do next in the forefront of my mind. I jump from the bed and start to draw back the curtain to look outside, stopping myself at the first ray of light that shines onto the carpet.

  Damn him!

  I fly back, grabbing onto my wrist as I start pacing, pissed at myself. Two fucking words obliterate defenses, breathe life into the remnants of the girl whose dreams revolved around him like he was the sun.

  The front door slams, voices echoing off the walls, and my heart stops, chest clenching as I stare at my door. It’s closed, but my attention is deadlocked on the heavy steps running up the stairs, the creak of the door across the hall, the thump of something heavy falling onto the bed.

  My heart hammers within me so strong I’m afraid he can hear it. Growing louder as the steps grow closer, until they stop in front of my door—the only barrier between us.

  It’s been two months since I last saw him, since he left to see her, since he finished me off.

  “I know you’re there. Won’t you at least say hi?”

  I stay silent, gather my strength back, push down those old feelings the sound of his voice conjures.

  He lets out a sigh. “Sonia says to tell you we’re leaving for dinner in half an hour and to remind you to dress up.”

  Mom’s been harping on about this stupid family dinner when the boys came home, not counting on Ryan’s last minute detour. I hoped she’d cancel. Dinner at home with her and Steven is bad enough.

  That is, when Steve's home—a rarity lately. I try my best not to dwell on what's happening in their marriage. It's none of my business, and I have enough of my own personal drama to focus on. As fucked up as this might sound, Steve can give my mother all the headaches he wants and vice versa. I have my own headaches to deal with.

  Like Steven's son.

  I can sense him, still standing on the other side of the door. Waiting for a response I refuse to give.

  Hate bubbles up inside me.

  Desire surges.

  Anger blurs my vision, and it makes me just want to drag my nails down the door. Claw at it since I can't claw at his face.

  “Kira, do you hear me?”

  “I heard you,” I grumble, only answering because I know the fucker won't leave unless I do.

  There's a hesitation, one I don't hear but I feel. I feel everything about his presence, including the moment he finally decides to walk away.

  Asshole.

  Motherfucker.

  Ugh, why does he insist on coming back here? For years, he spent every break at his mom's, but now he insists on returning here every chance he gets. Why?

  To mess with me, that's why.

  Well, two can play his stupid game. He will never, ever have me, but if he thinks he's going to make me suffer and I'm going to meekly stand by and let him, he's mistaken.

  He's so fucking mistaken.

  I pull the shortest dress I have from my closet. It's a beige, leopard-print strapless with a loose but short skirt. I have the perfect red heels to go with it, too.

  This is a bad idea. I shouldn't be teasing him like this. I hear the warning loud and clear in my mind.

  I ignore it.

  I'm almost completely sure that Brayden will be teasing me in his own way.

  True to form, twenty minutes later, when I go downstairs to meet everyone at the car, there he is looking like a mythical god of sex in his perfectly fitting clothes. Ohmigod, I hate him so hard.

  The car ride is brutal. Why did they have to pick a restaurant nearly an hour away? At least Steve’s in a good mood, so no bickering, thanks to his promotion. It’s why our family dinner is at Jeff Ruby’s, one of the most expensive steak places in town. But all that doesn’t negate the vibe rolling off his son.

  Brayden’s wearing a charcoal-grey dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and black slacks, forcing me to remind myself that he’s a bastard, even if he is fuckable hot.

  What I hate in this moment more than him is my body reacting to his. I try to give off cold, unaffected, but heat pours out between my legs that are tightly sealed together.

  I stare out the window but can't stop the urge to glance in his direction. I tried not to, but his gaze is so freaking intense I can’t stop myself. His legs are splayed, partially due to the lack of legroom for his behemoth size, one hand locked down on his thigh.

  Discoloration on his hand catches my eye as I turn back, forcing me to do a double take and focus on it. The middle knuckle on his left hand is larger than it should be, the skin scraped, and the others are red. He moves his arm and I follow, watching as his right hand crosses over and grabs his bicep.

  My eyes widen—the right is much worse. Three knuckles are swollen, making his joints look huge. The skin is bruised, red and purple, with scratches and cuts. What the . . . Who did he get into a fight with? Whoever it was, I feel bad for them. It's obvious by the state of Brayden's hands that he probably broke whoever he fought with.

  His left hand twitches on his thigh.

  For some reason, the movement makes me look up. He's still staring at me, emerald eyes hot in the dark interior of the car.

  Blood rushes to my face. Turning my head quickly, I keep my eyes glued to the world rushing past the window. I tune out, thinking about Austin, the only thing that can even remotely move a few thoughts away from the man beside me.

  I should have found an excuse to ditch this dinner. I resolve to ignore everyone in the car until we get to the restaurant.

  It takes another fifteen minutes for us to arrive. I'm out of the car before Steven is even done handing his keys to the valet, in such a rush to put some distance between me and Brayden that I head into the restaurant before anyone else.

  It doesn't work. A few steps of his long legs and I can feel him so close behind me, less than a few inches between us. When I stop at the hostess desk to wait for Steven to catch up, Brayden's right there.

  Behind me.

  Almost pressed up against me, in fac
t.

  “What's the name on the reservation?” The pretty black-haired hostess asks Steve, eyeing Brayden the whole time.

  I bristle against my will, hating the way she takes Brayden in with her heavy-lidded eyes.

  A ghost-like touch flitters along the back of my thigh.

  I inhale sharply.

  Brayden leans down just enough to whisper in my ear, “You look so fucking amazing in that dress,” and he caresses the back of my thigh again.

  I tense.

  He's not paying attention to the hostess.

  I shouldn't feel pleased about that. Not one bit.

  But I do.

  The hostess motions for another girl to lead us inside. Once again, I make sure to put space between me and Brayden.

  We arrive at the table. Booth, actually.

  My mom and Steven slide in together on one side. Of course. It's to be expected they'd want to sit next to each other. But, that means I'm going to have to sit next to Brayden.

  Shit.

  “Kira, is something wrong, honey?” my mom asks when she realizes I'm just standing here like a freaking idiot.

  “I . . .”

  Brayden's hand lands in the middle of my back. A spot high enough to be considered proper.

  My body doesn't think so. I feel my nipples gather in on themselves. Right behind them is my traitorous heartbeat, speeding up, making my breaths go shallow . . .

  “Come on, Kira,” he urges smoothly, sounding like the very picture of brotherly concern.

  Did I mention I hate him?

  I pull away and slide into the booth, going as far as I can go, and grab one of the menus.

  He slides in next to me.

  I'm glued to the menu, looking over the steaks and sides, reading every little line to avoid touching or engaging in anything with the man beside me. I hear him and my mother making small talk. Steve is suspiciously quiet. Daring a single peek, I see him staring intensely at his phone.

  The waiter arrives to take our orders. I almost pout when I have to hand him the menu, my impromptu shield.

  As soon as the waiter's gone, Mom jumps on the curiosity of the day.

  “When are you going to tell us what happened, Brayden?”

  Brayden smirks and flexes his hand, wincing. It looks worse with more light on it, and I fight the growing urge to soothe him—the instinctual eagerness to take away his pain that I’ve always had for him. A response that has done nothing but bite me in the ass and hurt me over the years.

  My heart stops, then jumps into overdrive when his fingers brush against my leg.

  “A disagreement with an old friend.”

  An unholy flame races up my thigh, zinging my clit, yanking me from everything to hyper focus on the hand now resting just above my knee.

  Fuck!

  No, just no.

  Keeping calm, I swipe at Brayden’s hand, but instead of brushing him off, his limp hand grips down. I gasp, but everyone takes it as a response.

  Any lingering thoughts of Austin are gone, blown away by one small touch.

  Steve scowls and shakes his head. “First Ryan, and now you? What is going on? I can’t believe you’re risking your future over a fight.”

  Brayden’s jaw ticks and he glances at me, putting off those damn waves again. “Some things are worth fighting for.”

  It clicks then, what happened.

  Brayden saw Austin.

  I latch onto the appendage on me and dig my nails in as I push, trying to get him to release. For the briefest of seconds he does, but instead of moving back to his side of the booth, he slips it under my skirt, all the way to my pussy. His fingertips graze over my panties, sending a pulsating spark into my clit. It’s so fast there’s no time to brace my body and mind from the tremble that moves through me.

  Steve shakes his head, oblivious to what his son is doing. “There’s fighting for something, and there’s a brawl. You look like you were in the latter.”

  Brayden sighs and runs his hand up, brushing against my clit again, sending another pussy-clenching throb through me on his way over my hip to squeeze my ass. “Some people you just have to literally beat it into them.”

  “Violence doesn’t solve anything.”

  “Maybe not, but I sure as hell feel a lot better.”

  I really want to hurt him right now. Physically. To scream out for him to get his damn hand off me.

  I don’t want any more haunting memories of the pleasure frenzy from his touch.

  “Steven, they’re both good boys, so whatever reason they had, I’m betting it was a good one.” Mom thankfully interrupts their argument, but all I can think about is what Austin must look like.

  Steve sits back and nods, causing Brayden’s aggressive hand to relax. Though it doesn’t stop him from caressing his way into my panties.

  “You really should get that looked at,” Steve says as he takes a sip of his wine.

  “I talked to Mom and sent her pictures. There were a couple of dislocated knuckles, and she helped me slip them back into place.”

  “Your mom’s a nurse, not a doctor.”

  “And then I promised her I’d go tomorrow.”

  Brayden’s fingertips move across the outside of my pussy, making me tense and lean forward to prop my elbows up on the table.

  Steve seems to accept his words and turns to my mom to talk about the wine they’re drinking or the weather. I don’t know, and I don’t care, because all my attention is focused on Brayden’s zealous touch. I try to move away, but my new angle unfortunately gives him better access. My nails dig into my palms as he slides right into my pussy.

  Every cell in my body crackles, each hair standing as my skin crawls with a near satisfactual bliss. It’s too much, more than I can handle, more than I’ve ever felt before.

  Brayden, inside me.

  It may not be what my body really wants, but it’s still him.

  When the salads arrive a moment later, I chance a glance at him, but there’s no indication in his expression of what he’s doing to me. Our parents talk, forgetting we’re with them, not even noticing.

  Out, and back in. Slow, debilitating strokes that make my vision blur, eyes flutter, and a guttural moan build, threatening to tear me apart. Blood flies through my veins, heating every part of me. My hands shake, his fingers curling, making the fork fall, clattering against the ceramic plate.

  I want him to stop.

  I want more.

  Why? Why here? Now?

  He has me wet, lips parted, craving for more, squirming in my seat and against him.

  Too much.

  I don’t want it.

  I do.

  He's driving me to the brink of insanity, clawing the ground as I go. I have to get him off me, or I’m going to come. That or scratch his face off.

  “Kira, honey, are you okay?”

  My eyes snap up to my mother and stare at her for a second, then blink it away. “Yeah, I . . . I’m just not feeling very well.” I clear my throat and push aside the feeling of his fingers. “I’m going to go to the bathroom.” I turn to Brayden. “Can you let me out?”

  My hand slips from Kira’s pussy as I stand to let her out, fingers wet, sending that fucking seductive scent of hers straight to my cock. She shoots me a glare as she stomps off in those fuck-hot red heels she’s teasing me with.

  For a girl who says she wants me to stay away, she’s put herself in an outfit made to throw me off the edge I’ve been trying so damn hard to keep myself on. A torment created to attack her.

  Instead of sitting back down, I turn to our parents. “I’ll go wait for her, make sure she’s okay.”

  “That’s so sweet. Thank you, Brayden.” Sonia gives me a warm smile.

  Kira’s about twenty feet in front of me when I start off. The fuck-me heels make her already shorter strides even smaller, so it’s nothing to catch up to her, but I hold back a little, loving the way her hips sway. Stalking her, I swipe my fingers over my lips, tasting her for the fir
st time in months.

  Fuck, the memory doesn’t do it justice, making my cock even harder.

  After exiting the main floor, we head down an empty hall leading to the bathrooms. She turns back and sees me as she pushes on the door to the women's room and gives me another angry little glare.

  I smirk and continue walking, straight through the door after her. I’m a man on a fucking mission, set out to finish her off, and nothing is going to stop me.

  I’m locked on her path, taking no notice of my surroundings. Through a lavish sitting area, past a few sinks. When she opens the full-length door to one of the stalls, the walls going from floor to ceiling, I see her face in a mirror. Her wide, shock-filled eyes stare back, seeing me right behind her. In a quick turn she slams the door, but it’s not fast enough to stop me. I push hard against it and into the small room, closing the door behind me.

  “Asshole! Get out!”

  Fuck, she’s glorious. Seething, face flushed, and angry. It ripples through me in cock-twitching throbs.

  The few feet between us is gone, and I’m on her.

  “Who do you think you are?” she gasps, teeth bared.

  I fist her hair and yank her head back so she’s forced to look at me. “I'm Brayden, baby. The man you've been dreaming about your whole life. And I'm about to fucking show you why.”

  Her pupils dilate, lips part, and I ghost them with my own.

  “Now, I have a job to finish.” I release her hair and slide my fingers up the inside of her thigh. The urge to taste her mouth is unbearable, but I resist, teasing her.

  Her hands press against my chest, jaw clenched as she glares at me, but it’s there, in her eyes. Beneath her fury is the rising need. Despite all my kitty’s hissing and scratching, just like that night on the phone, she can’t stop this attraction. It’s a living, breathing element that pulls our bodies together.

  Her panties are damp and I groan, dropping one arm onto the counter behind her. Slick, swollen pussy that’s soft beneath my fingers as I run them up to her clit and back down, pressing one into her.

  “Don’t,” she whimpers.