“Fuck, you’re wet, babe.”
“I want you,” she whimpers, and I laugh, a low noise as I shove my fingers into her and she shrieks, choking it off with a hand over her lips.
I pull it free. “Baby girl, I want to hear every fucking noise you make when I fuck you.”
I slip my fingers through her, teasing, almost out, and she gasps, “But, Sc—“
I smirk, and whisper against her ear, “Will fucking hear everything. And like it.”
She shudders, her pussy clenching around my fingers, and I lick the shell of her ear as I rub her clit and fuck her with two fingers. “You fucking love that, don’t you, sweetheart? Knowing he’s listening to me fuck you. She is, too.”
“Rike,” she whimpers, and I bite her earlobe, and she shrieks, her body arching off the bed as she scrambles against me, thrusting against my hand, and I laugh, watching her come apart.
I pull my hand free before while she’s catching her breath, my hand sticky and wet. I almost lick my fingers clean. Instead I yank her shorts down, and sink to my knees by the bed, pulling her to my lips.
She screams when I cover her with my lips, and I laugh as she surges against me.
Very far away, I can hear my friend cursing, and then everything fades away until there is only her, and me, and this bed. Her hands in my hair and her voice, cursing and panting and begging as she moves against me. Her ankles on my shoulders, digging in as I lick her. Nip at her and suck on her clit, until she’s screaming again, her body moving in waves across the bed, and all I can smell is sugar and sunshine.
She comes like no one else, an orgasm so fucking gorgeous I could spend all day and night getting her off just to watch her fall apart. She’s panting, a sexy sheen of sweat covering her. I smile, place a kiss against her thigh and crawl up her body.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” I whisper and she smiles, a drowsy, sweet thing as she pulls me to her lips. She licks across my lips, kissing me deeply, her tongue twisting into my mouth as her hips roll in tight little waves against me. The little purr of satisfaction she gives makes me groan, my dick twitching against her, and she laughs, reaching down to tug at my jeans. “Off,” she demands, and I scramble to obey.
She props herself up as I strip and I hesitate as her eyes go wide and hungry when I’m naked. She licks her lips and sits up, reaching for me. “I want you in my mouth,” she whispers.
My dick jerks, and I shove her back on the bed, rolling a condom on before I settle over her as she shifts restlessly. “Next time,” I say and push into her.
She screams and I laugh, a noise that sounds erotic and choked even to my ears. She’s tight and hot, so fucking wet it’s easy as hell to slip into her silky heat, and my dick has never felt so fucking good.
Sex has never felt so good.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I pant, and she whimpers. “How do you want it, sweetheart? You want slow and easy?” I slide out and she groans, whining as I slip back, so deep and slow it’s almost torture.
“Fuck me, Rike,” she hisses, her nails scrambling along my back.
She’s marking me and it’s hot as fuck. I shove into her, and she screams.
God, she puts on a good fucking show for them to listen to. It’s hot as fuck, knowing Scott is listening as I fuck this girl. I grin and let go, flying on the feel of her wrapped around me, the sting of her nails and teeth in my shoulder, the scent of her as she rolls her hips against me. It’s not going to last long—I’ve waited too long for this and I’m so fucking ready for her. I shift her, so I’m on my knees, her legs wrapped around me as I thrust into her, and slip a hand between us, rubbing her clit as I pinch her nipple.
She screams again, her pussy clamping down on my dick, and I growl, thrusting into her hard as my orgasm tackles me. All I can hear is her and the sound we make together, the scent of sex all around us, and it’s so fucking good I never want anyone else.
I fall onto her, and she puffs out a sigh, giggling as I crush her into the bed. I kiss her and roll to the side, pulling her with me so I don’t slip out of her. She makes a tiny noise of pleasure and arches against me a little.
For a long minute, all we do is stare at each other, and breathe.
She’s here. She heard my song.
She’s fucking here, in my arms.
“You think so loudly,” she murmurs, reaching up and running her thumb over my jaw. I turn my head just a little, nuzzling into her palm, and her eyes go soft and distant.
“What am I thinking?” She hesitates, and shakes her head. Retreating without ever moving. I run my fingers through her hair, and whisper, “I’m thinking that it’s amazing. That having you here is fucking amazing. Everything I’ve wanted and refused to allow myself to believe would happen.”
“I’ve offered,” she says, her tone dry.
I catch her face in my hand, studying it. The tiny nose, slightly upturned and dusted with freckles, the big eyes that are just now a little bit afraid.
“I’m not good for you, Fish,” I say.
She blinks, startled. “Did you just call me a fish?”
I nod and roll us. “It’s a quote I heard once. ‘People say there are other fish in the sea. I say, fuck you, she was my sea.’” I shrug. “It stuck with me.”
She propped herself up on my chest and gives me a frown. “Wouldn’t that make me the sea? Not a fish.”
I slap her ass lightly and she yelps, her eyes flying wide. “Shut up. Fish sounds better.”
She wiggles and, deep inside her, my cock twitches. I’m half-hard again, hungry for more of her, and as her gaze goes lazy, I know she’s with me.
She rocks slowly, and I grip her hips lightly, letting her set the pace as she works me. “What does all this mean?” she whispers.
“What do you want it to mean?”
Doubt flickers in her eyes for a heartbeat, and I pinch her nipple, jerking her gaze back to me and the moment. “What do you want?” I demand.
“I want you to fuck me. I want us to have fun and hang out and see what happens.” She hesitates. “I want to be that girl you sang about, Rike. But I don’t know if I can be.”
I shrug and pull her down to my lips, “You already are, Fish. But we can do easy right now. I’m not going anywhere.”
Gratitude flares in her eyes before I kiss her, a deep kiss that says everything she isn’t ready for—all the things I said in a song. That she’s everything. I would fucking hang the moon for this girl.
When I finally break the kiss, she’s panting, and her hips are moving in small, restless circles. I smirk at her. “Wanna give them another show?”
“You’re a kinky bastard, aren’t you?”
She grins and I nod. Groan when she rises on my dick, until only the head is inside her, and she’s panting, these broken little noises as she just lingers there. My hands are on her again, cupping her breasts, and I lick over a nipple.
She screams, her whole body shuddering as she slides down my cock, hard, and my teeth close on her nipple, and I laugh as she fucks me.
I might be a kinky bastard, but she fucking loves it.
Chapter 18: After
The problem is that I am
Never content.
I want more than your smiles
and sweet words, more than your mind
I want to be your first and last thought,
the laughter in your eyes, and safe
haven you long for.
the press of lips you remember upon waking.
(Rike’s poems to Peyton)
Brody has grown up.
That’s the thing that hits me the hardest. My brother has grown up.
When he steps into the hotel room, he ignores it completely, his gaze narrowed on me.
In theory, I know what Brody should look like: a gangly, teenager with a sly smirk and laughing eyes.
That’s the brother I remember, the one who kept me sane through the hell that was high school and growing up as the daughter to a politic
al family.
The man who stands in front of me. He’s taller than me, long and lean, with a buzz cut hairstyle that screams military, and a sharp gaze that misses nothing as it takes me in.
A smirk turns his lips and I let out a tiny sob. Because just like that, there he is. My baby brother. He opens his arms, and I crutch across the room to hug him. “God, I missed you,” I mutter. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Working,” he says noncommittally, and pulls back. “Why the hell are you in this shithole? I tried the house first, but it looks deserted.”
“Scott hasn’t been there much. I don’t know where Rike is,” I say.
His eyebrows go up and he frowns. “How the hell do you not know where Rike is? Why isn’t he here?”
Because I’m terrified, because I don’t know how to be with him, because I want him so much it’s scary. I don’t say any of that. Just chew on the inside of my cheek while Brody stares at me, and I can watch him puzzle through it, putting the pieces where they belong.
He sighs. “How much did you forget, Pey?”
“Everything. Everything from that last stint in rehab to when I woke up. I remembered Lindsay’s mom’s name, but I couldn’t tell you why. I remember that I don’t like Mom and Dad.”
He snorts. “You’d have to be dead to forget that sweetheart. I assume that’s why you didn’t call them?”
I nod and he grins.
“Good call. So. Tell me what you want.”
I shake my head. “I don’t know.” I’ve thought, so often, about calling Brody. But he’s always been the one to push me, to demand my very best even when he love me at my worst. It’s why I haven’t called. I can’t be my best right now.
“Do you want to go home? Or do you want me to get you away from everything for a while so you can get a grip on things?”
He’s watching me, closely enough that he sees the hope flare in my gaze, and he smirks. “Ok. Then let’s pack you up and get out of here. Ok?”
And just like that, a chapter of my life is closed. Brody goes to work packing up the books and clothes and shit I have in the hotel room, and I direct as much as I can while he ignores me. Tommy comes by and I cry a little, saying goodbye to him. I know that it isn’t the last time I’ll see him, that I have his phone number to call him. That eventually, my life will settle.
But for now, I’m running and there’s no room for him.
And because he’s always been amazing, and just what I need, he merely smiles and waves at me as I drive away with Brody.
My brother eyes me as we hit the expressway that will take us away from Austin.
Away from Rike.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I nod, and he lets out a deep sigh. “Ok. But there’s no harm in being wrong. You can change your mind. And when you do, I’ll still love you. I’ll bring you home, without a word. Do you understand?”
I twist my head to look at him. I do. My brother is an absolute gem. “How did I get so lucky to have a brother like you?” I ask softly.
He laughs. “Well, God had to give you something to compensate for the rest of the family.”
Chapter 19: Before
“But what the hell is wrong with the couch we have?”
I swallow my laugh as Scott glares across the apartment full of boxes and empty beer cans.
Lindsay narrows her eyes and stares at her boyfriend. “I was one of your one-nighters, Scotty. I’m not a fucking idiot, and that piece of shit pussy magnet is not going to be in my house!”
“I like my couch!”
She pops a hip out and crosses her arms, eyebrows climbing as Peyton comes out of the kitchen with two beers. She’s laughing. “Do you like getting your dick sucked? Because if you keep that? We’re out. I’ve still got my room at the sorority house.”
“Couch goes, bro,” I say from the floor where I’m assembling Peyton’s bookshelves.
“You are so fucking whipped, man,” Scott says.
I shrug, and Peyton sashays over to me, leaning down to kiss me briefly. “He’s not whipped.”
“No, baby. I’m whipped. And if he got to fuck you, he’d be whipped too.”
She flushes and I laugh. Even after six months together, she’s still slightly scandalized by the laissez-faire approach Scott and I have to sex.
When her clothes are on. When I’ve got her naked in my bed, all of that good, proper girl melts away.
“Do we at least get to help pick the damn thing?” Scott demands and Lindsay smirks. I swallow my laugh as I stand, pulling a finished bookcase with me.
“You already picked it, didn’t you?” I say, and she flashes me a wide smile.
“It’ll be delivered in the morning, so y’all need to finish this room before then.”
Scott curses and I let out a heavy sigh. “Linds, that’s just dirty. At least give us a little time.”
She shrugs and turns back to the kitchen. “I’ve got another four boxes in here. Have fun, boys.”
I shake my head and look at Scott. “You really need to control that girl.”
“Fuck you, dude,” he snaps. “Get that box out of my way.”
I move the box of clothes. Scott is pissy, which is making the whole process of moving even more hellish than normal.
But he’s directing all that anger at Lindsay. It would bother me more, except I know what she’s doing. I’ve been watching her single-handedly manipulate my boy for half a year, and if there is anything I’m sure of, it’s that Lindsay Illian knows exactly what she’s doing when she pushes Scott around.
Giving him something to be pissy about keeps him focused on her and not on the terrifying elephant in the room.
We’re moving in together.
It was her idea, although I know Peyton had a hand in it. And it makes sense. The new school year is starting, and they spend more time at our place than anywhere else. I knew all the reasons why it was a good idea, all the reasons on paper. Saving time and money, and practicality.
It was still terrifying, and part of me wanted to bolt. As much as I adored Peyton, as sure of her as I was, I had never lived with a woman. I'd lived in group homes, and by myself, and with Scott. I had never wanted to live with anyone else.
"Where does this go?" Scott asks, holding a big box with Peyton's handwriting on the side.
"Our room," she says bouncing on her toes. She cuts her eyes at me. "I got new sheets for our bed."
And that. That right there settles me. Because no matter what else there is, I'm doing this with her. A girl who I've got no fucking doubts about. And the idea of her in my bed, in my space, all the time—it's more intoxicating than it is infuriating.
I slap a screwdriver against Scott's chest and grin. "Come on. We need to get the table put together before that couch arrives."
He looks vaguely sick, but he follows me.
***
My whole body hurts when we finally quit for the day. It took two days and enough coffee to give me an ulcer, but we're done. Everything is out of our old place, and aside from the couple boxes of random shit no one knows what to do with, the new place is set up. Linds even cooked a first meal for us.
And Peyton has kept me out of our room as she worked on it for most of the evening, shouting for Lindsay and even Scott when she needed help and shoving me away every time I tried to sneak a peek. She's almost vibrating with excitement now as she shifts from foot to foot in front of the closed door, her wide blue eyes searching mine and nervous.
"Babe, you don't need to be nervous," I say, pulling her into me. "All I need is you and a warm bed."
She shakes her head, her brow furrowed. It's this adorable look she does when she's going to argue with me, or when she thinks she's right and I need to learn something.
"You deserve more,” she says stubbornly.
My stomach drops, an unpleasant pitch that sends the three beers I've had sloshing in a dramatic, not good kind of way. I reach past her and push open the door, my eyes locked on hers.
Pull her tight to me and lift her, just a little. Without hesitating, she wraps her legs around me, letting me carry her.
It feels right, somehow.
This girl has always felt right, in a way that is hard for me to define or quantify.
The room is lit by a few candles and a lamp by the bed—a queen-sized bed covered in a dark spread and fluffy pillows. My sketch pad and pens are sitting on the side table, waiting like I left them there earlier in the day. Books are scattered on her dresser with a small, carved box and a few mysterious, girly-looking bottles. An oversized desk is pushed against the wall overlooking the window, and her computer sits on one side, my work shit and notebooks on the other.
There are small ropes wrapped around the bedposts that make me grin, and our shoes and clothes are lining the walk-in closet.
The walls, though. They snag and hold my attention.
It's something that took me almost four months to figure out. Even now, Peyton is quiet and almost secretive. She doesn't share herself naturally, and there is very little that is more intrinsic to who she is than her art.
But she is fantastic. Where I prefer ink and charcoals, Pey likes watercolors and the camera.
The walls are a work of art. And a tribute to us. Pictures of me, on stage, smoking outside Keegans, blowing on my hands. One is in a field, and I remember when she took it. We had gone camping, just the two of us and a shitty little tent that we found out had a hole in it. I'm crouched next to a fire, and smiling at her.
I told her I loved her on that trip, after we got rained on and stumbled, cursing, through the storm. Thunder had been so loud, so fucking close, and she had stopped, tipped her head back, and twirled.
Fucking twirled in the rain, dancing in it like a child.
I fucked her in the field, thunder and rain all around us, her body running with water, and whispered those three little words while she shuddered and came.
There are more. Her in my bed, asleep. Us at Barrie’s, on New Year’s. Me and Scott singing. Us in a park and on our shitty couch, and the back of the truck, and a starscape.
Before & After Page 10