I shake my head and he unzips my jeans, and slips a hand inside. I scream as his fingers slip through me, playing over me, and his thumb rubs over my clit.
“Say it, Peyton,” he demands hoarsely. “Say what you want.”
“You,” I whimper.
He curses. “Not enough. Tell me you want me to tongue-fuck you. That you want to taste yourself on my lips when I’m inside you. Tell me.”
His fingers move again and I growl, “Fucking do it or don’t. Get me off or don’t but don’t fucking toy with me. Yes, goddammit, I want you to eat me out until I come.”
He grins, and moves, faster than I can really process. One second he’s hovering above me, and the next he’s between my thighs, my jeans hanging around my ankles as he lowers his head and then nothing matters. There is only the glide of his tongue against me, the fluttering pressure as he tongues my clit, and the slow thrust of his fingers. He licks at me, the tip of his tongue circling, until I have my hands in his hair and my body is moving, writhing against him as he uses lips and tongue and teeth to drive me fucking insane.
My whole body is tight, and I gasp when he thrusts into me with his tongue, my vagina clenching down when he pinches my clit, a delicious agony.
His fingers are against my ass, smoothing over my cheeks as his tongue fucks into me, and he slaps me, a sharp hard slap, and I splinter, screaming as I come, a wave of sensation that rips through me. He’s rising before my heartbeat slows, and he kisses me.
And despite the tiny voice screaming at me to stop, I lick at his lips, at the taste of me on his tongue.
He slams into me while we’re kissing, and my body goes tight, arching off the chaise against the delicious pressure, the exquisite fullness of him inside me. He groans, and drops his head down against mine. I fucking love the feel of his beard bristling against my breast as he struggles to catch his breath.
“You’re fucking tight, baby,” he whispers.
I shift, my hips moving in a tiny circle and he groans. “Don’t,” he begs. “Go slow.”
“Fuck slow,” I snap. “Fuck me.”
It breaks whatever control he has left—his hand catches in my hair and he pulls my head back, kissing me hard, a bruising kiss that has my head spinning as his big body thrusts into me.
He knows my body. Knows just how to fuck me. Each thrust ends on a tight twist of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside that I didn’t realize I had, until I’m panting, begging as he fucks me. “Rike,” I groan, and I reach for him, all the achy need in me bubbling up.
I bite him. Hard. And he grunts, a deep hungry noise. Shoves me down and fucks me hard, until I’m tossed into orgasm, my body writhing against his mindlessly.
“Yeah,” he groans, “just like that. Fuck me just like that, baby.”
I’m clinging to him, my nails in his shoulders as I meet his thrusts, the orgasm spinning on and out and then he groans, a long noise, goes still and tight above me. His face drops, so I can see him through the shaggy hair and the beard and—
He’s fucking beautiful. Gentle, and so fucking vulnerable, as he comes inside me with a low groan that I can feel in my toes. Staring at me while he comes.
When it’s over, he falls to the bed next to me, and gathers me into him, sighing. A content noise.
I lay awake for a long time after he’s asleep, wondering just how badly I’ve fucked things up now.
Chapter 15: Before
Here’s what I learn, reading the journal she left with me:
Who she was doesn’t matter.
Facing the truth is fucking painful.
She is the bravest girl I’ve ever met.
It takes me three days to get through the journal because it’s hard as fuck to read. There are a few times, reading it and looking at the pictures, that I have to bolt for the toilet before I throw up.
How did she go from this shell of a girl, this walking corpse, to the girl who is so vibrant and alive, whose passion and daring make my head spin? I am trying to wrap my head around something that makes no fucking sense.
I realize, with almost sickening quickness, that I loathe her family.
Seeing her past on paper, seeing the demons she fought and how much she hated who she was being molded into--I've never met them, and part of me hopes I never do. I don't know how to be in the same room as someone who had the chance to care for a girl like Peyton and who fucked it up so completely.
"I want to sing tonight," I say, staring blankly at the photo clipped to the inside of the journal.
Scott glances at me, at the picture, before he nods. "Do what you think is best, man."
I offer him a sick smile and shove to my feet.
"She trusted you," he says before I leave the room. "Are you going to return the favor?"
I look at him. I know what he's asking. "It's not only my story to share," I say carefully.
"Don't hide behind that," he says. "Do what you think needs to be done. I want you to be happy, Rike. Whatever that means. And this girl—she makes you happy. In a way I haven't seen since we were eight."
When we were eight we had been living in a group home, and he'd been the shit head who picked a fight. We beat each other senseless, but when it was time to take the fall, neither of us was willing to throw the other under the bus. It was the first time in my life someone had my back and I never forgot it.
We were separated a year later, tossed into separate foster homes that got progressively worse. But for that six months, we had each other. We weren't so fucking alone.
We were miserable little shits the world didn't want, but we were fucking happy.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and nod at him. "Thanks, Scott."
***
The crowd is high on the music. Scott played through our first set, setting the tone and getting them riled up with anthem after anthem, an ode to the summer that is fading away. Lindsay is swaying in the corner booth, next to a pale Peyton in a tiny dress that's driving me to distraction. She's got a drink in front of her, but she hasn't touched it.
Scott flicks a look at me when the song ends and his eyebrow lifts in question. I nod, and hit the cymbals. The girls on the dance floor sway and scream, and he laughs, a low, husky noise that will have them squirming in their skirts.
Fucking player. If he's not careful, Lindsay will rip his balls off and feed them to him.
I laugh at that thought.
“We’ve got a treat for you tonight. My boy Rike has been working on a new song. Most of the time, he lets me do the singing, but I think it’s time to remind you all that the boy has mad skills that don’t involve the sticks. So. Give it up, ladies. Rike it’s all you, brother.”
I come out from behind the drum set and Scott wraps me in a quick, rough hug. “Kick ass, bro,” he mutters before dropping off the stage.
I let out a breath, and sink onto the stool. Adjust the mic. I can feel the entire room, all of them waiting for me to say something. Anything. But I can’t see past the glare of the house lights.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to see to know where she is and that she’s watching me with big, sky blue eyes. I close my eyes, picturing her.
And I sing.
I’ve always been good at creating and shit at saying what I feel. Maybe because of how I was raised. But tonight, I’m trying my best to let go of that.
Perfect girl,
She sits and listens,
And I can’t help but see everything that she’s hiding.
She’s beautiful and broken,
Tears she tries to hide,
And I can’t help but wonder what’s on the inside
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
Everyone said she was wrong,
When she danced to a song only she heard
,
And I just want to sing along to the music of her soul,
Because she’s beautiful and broken, with the tears she tries to hide.
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
And all of us are broken, all of us are flawed,
All of us have battles, and times when we fall.
And I will love you always, with scars and broken heart,
You’re beautiful and broken, my perfect girl.
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
I strum the final notes of the song and as the music dies, I’m aware, painfully aware, of the quiet that surrounds me, a heavy blanket over the bar. I blink, opening my eyes and staring out into the room, to where I know she is.
The room comes alive like a fucking wave, a roar of noise that crests over me and drowns out Scott as he bounds onto the stage and shoves my hand up, yelling my name for the half-drunk fans who already know it.
I give a mocking half-bow because it’s expected, and he shoves be back to my drum kit, his eyes alive with excitement. I sit, dizzy suddenly. Exhausted.
I poured fucking everything into that song.
When I glance at the booth, my heart drops, the high of the song, and the crowd, and even Scotty, fading away. It’s like a punch to the gut.
She’s not there.
Chapter 16: After
It's long nights next to you
And hearing your sighs
The sweetest music,
My favorite song the sound of your
Name whispered from the darkness.
The taste of wine and you,
and quiet noise of my pleading.
It is wild and reckless and soft
And sweet and
Always,
You.
(Rike’s poems to Peyton)
The journals are a revelation. I spend the next several days poring over them, hiding in my hotel room. Trying to forget everything that happened in the loft. Rike gives me time and space, which I appreciate. Reading the journals is like getting to know myself.
I can watch myself falling in love, living through fights. Forming a bond with a girl I would never have chosen as my best friend.
And that’s the thing. Rike isn’t who I would have chosen. Neither is Lindsay. I don’t understand where Scott fits in our weird little world but I know that he is important to Rike and therefore to me.
I always thought that I would have a quiet, traditional life, one like my parents had, even if they were miserable. I expected that, maybe because it’s what was expected of me. But this—this isn’t quiet. This isn’t traditional.
I’m a fucking artist, a girl who spends her days painting and sculpting and taking photos. Writing. And maybe I didn’t need to because my boyfriend was doing such a good job of taking care of us, but I was good at it.
And I loved it. All of it.
If there’s anything I learn from the journals, it’s that I loved the weird little life we built.
The phone next to me buzzes to life, Rike’s face brightening the screen. I stare at it for a minute, contemplating answering, before it goes silent and takes the option away. I can’t think of him without remembering everything he made me feel. The way his hands played across my body, pulling pleasure from it so fucking effortlessly.
The problem isn’t that I don’t want Rike, and everything that comes with him. Wild, beautiful chaos.
The problem is it’s all I want. I lie awake at night, crying because I know that we were happy. And I can’t remember it. I feel like I’ve been robbed, and like every moment I spend in that life is a lie—me pretending something that I want but don’t feel. Not really.
He would probably tell me I’m thinking too hard. To let go of my worry and just live. But I don’t know how. And it’s terrifying.
The phone rings again, and I frown. The number isn’t one I know.
“Hello?”
“Holy shit, I finally found you. Jesus, baby girl, you shouldn’t make it so fucking hard to get a hold of you. Where are you?”
I blink once. Twice. Finally, “Um. Who is this?”
There’s a loud laugh and then, “Oh shit. That’s right. Ok. It’s Brody, Peyton. I’m in town. Where are you?”
Chapter 17: Before
It takes a long time for us to break away—longer than normal. Everyone is high on the fucking song.
Scott doesn’t say anything about it until we’re finally free. His gaze rakes over me. “You surprised me back there, RIke.”
“You’ve heard me work,” I say, and he laughs.
“Not on that. That was shit you haven’t bothered to share with me.”
I shrug. “It came to me this morning.”
“They loved it.”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? The girl it’s for didn’t even hear it.”
He eyes me briefly and then shakes his head. Falls to silence as we walk through the dark streets back to the apartment. Something is going on with him, but I don’t know what and I’m too fucking tired to puzzle it out.
I poured my soul into that song. And to realize she wasn’t even there to hear it…I lash out suddenly, hurling the glass beer bottle I’m holding. It swings in a shining arc before it shatters against the side of a barber shop, glass and beer spraying out. Scott side-eyes me but doesn’t comment, and with the explosion of glass, some of my temper settles.
“Come on, dude,” he says, pulling me along.
“Why didn’t she listen?” I ask, and it occurs to me that I’m too drunk for maudlin shit. Or maybe that’s why I’m descending into maudlin shit. Either way. It’s a bad recipe give the way the night is shaking out.
“I dunno, man. But don’t jump to shitty conclusions. You both keep doing that and you’re going to fall apart because of them. Talk to her tomorrow. Find out why.”
“You’re such a fucking girl,” I laugh and he shrugs. Accepting it.
We’re emotionally stunted shits, but Scott isn’t stupid. He’s been through the court-ordered psych shit. He knows that communicating is the only way for either of us to build something healthy and longer than a few nights.
He just hasn’t ever cared.
I watch him while he unlocks the door to our walkup.
My badass best friend who doesn’t care about anything but strumming his guitar and picking up pussy is growing up. What the actual fuck.
He grins at me, a quick glimpse of the dude who always had my back, and the thought slips away as he pushes open the door.
Lindsay is sitting on the couch, her legs crossed under her. She isn’t wearing a bra, which is vaguely distracting.
I’ve seen the girl naked, and I can see her nipple through the tank top she’s wearing.
Then Peyton steps out of the kitchen, carrying a red plastic cup and wearing a nervous expression and bare feet.
Her eyes find mine as my mouth falls open, and I hear Linds giggle, a triumphant noise that is vaguely grating as I cross the tiny living room in two steps and yank Peyton into my arms.
Her hands are in my hair before my lips hit hers, pulling me into the kiss, and the world falls away.
She’s pressed against me, all soft curves and rumpled skirt and sharp nails digging into my scalp. She tastes so fucking sweet—sugar and sunshine as her tongue tangles with mine, fighting to control the kiss. Her nails sink down, yanking on my hair and I bite her lower lip, just enough to make her moan and sag against me.
I drink down that noise like fucking water. I want to hear every sound she makes, and wha
t causes them, want to know how demanding she will be when I’ve got her riding the edge of orgasm, when my tongue is driving her fucking crazy.
She sways against me, her hips grinding against my erection as she all but purrs into the kiss. I pull back, just enough to stare at her, at the hot hunger in her eyes. “You heard it.”
She nods, and tears well in her eyes. I make a low noise in the back of my throat, and kiss her again. Softer. Gentle.
“Meant every fucking word, perfect girl,” I whisper. I can feel her tears on my cheeks, rolling down between us, can taste them as I kiss her.
I shift my grip and lift her by the ass and her legs wrap around me, clinging to me as I kiss her.
Vaguely, I’m aware of Lindsay, her voice rising in question and Scotty pulling her away. But it’s all very distant, overshadowed by the girl in my arms and her lips moving over mine in a hungry, desperate way that makes my blood heat.
I walk without looking, until the darkness surrounds us and my knees hit the edge of my bed. Without breaking the kiss, I kick the door shut behind me and then lower her to the bed.
I pull back, just enough to stare at her. I’ve waited too long for her to not savor the sight.
Peyton in my bed, her hair spread over the pillow, her eyes foggy as she reaches for me, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“Rike,” she whispers, and I groan, dropping down on her and kissing her. My lips eat her up, my tongue pushing past her lips, tangling with hers as I rock against her. She’s all soft curves and sweet smooth skin against my dick, and I want to pull back until she says my name again in that pleading tone that I can’t get enough of, but I can’t pull myself away from her.
She’s fucking addictive and I want to lick every inch of her. My hand comes up, yanking on the neckline of her tank, pulling it and her bra down until her breast spills out, filling my hand, and I growl as she arches against me, rubbing like a kitten. Her nipple is a tight little peak against my palm and I leave her lips as I trail wet kisses down her.
She gasps when I draw her nipple into my mouth, scraping my teeth over the sensitive skin before I suckle her. I slid a hand between us, and her hips tilt up into my touch as I slip my hand under her shorts and into her panties.
Before & After Page 9