by Ava Harrison
As I sit, I glance over my shoulder. “Give me that flask.”
The need to get drunk and forget my humiliation flood through me. I haven’t felt this way in a long time.
That’s because you’re always alone.
“A girl after my own heart.” He laughs as he hands it to me.
The liquid courses down the back of my throat, burning a path in its wake. When I’m done taking my sip, I return it to Pierce.
“That’s all you’re having?”
“Someone has to be responsible and make sure we don’t miss dinner.”
“That’s lame.”
“Oh, shut it. Wheel me out of here.”
Pierce laughs and sets us in motion. When we make it to the parking lot where the fleet of cars Spencer has rented as transportation for his guests is, I fear we won’t be able to leave and will have to wait here until everyone is ready.
“No fear. I’ll get a driver to take us back.” Pierce walks toward one of the cars and the driver is already opening the door for us. Within five minutes we’re back at the hotel.
After freshening up, I walk out of the bathroom and find Pierce staring at me. “Want me to get the chair?”
“My cane is enough. I can stand. I can walk. If it weren’t for the damn location of this ceremony, I wouldn’t need this chair.”
“I know. To be honest, I wish you’d let me push you.” He laughs. “It gives me a great excuse to not have to walk around and be social.”
“Tell you what. If you don’t tell, I’ll pretend I can’t.”
“You’re on.” He winks.
The escape from the evening was short-lived.
Now we’re at the overly fancy restaurant at the hotel Spencer rented, and my teeth are grinding together as my father delivers a toast to his favorite son. He doesn’t have to say it. It’s obvious. Spencer is the only one who hasn’t disappointed him. Grant turned his back on the family years ago and only recently made amends, but his transgressions aren’t as bad as mine.
Why the fuck am I here?
To celebrate your perfect brother.
“Hey. Stop sulking. It’s not attractive,” Lindsey berates, and I turn to match her stare. Cocking my head to the side, I flash her the largest, overly fake smile I can muster. It’s so broad my cheeks actually hurt.
“I’m not sulking. I’m brooding,” I deadpan, and she purses her lips.
“Same thing, ass,” she mutters under her breath, and I can’t help but laugh. As pissed as she is, it appears she’s still the witty Lindsey I remember from last year. Of all people, I can appreciate that.
“Pierce,” my brother’s cold voice calls from behind.
I turn slowly, throwing my cocky grin his way. “Spencer. Congratulations.” My voice lacks warmth. In fact, the sarcasm oozing from me is clearly not going unnoticed. Spencer’s scowl could cool the desert.
“Where were you after the proposal? Slink off to get wasted?”
His words cut through me like a sharp blade, his condescending comments making me feel like a stupid child getting caught doing something I shouldn’t be doing. It’s demeaning, especially since I’m not even close to wasted. My speech is clear and I’m standing upright, which is more than I want to be doing at this second.
“That was my fault, Spencer,” Lindsey says demurely, and a feeling of relief floods me. I don’t need her to help me, but I appreciate it. It’s not often someone has my back, and Lindsey stepping up makes me feel good. “I had to pee and needed his help getting the wheelchair out of the gravel.”
“How you feeling, Linds?” Spencer turns away from me without another word. His concern for Lindsey is apparent as he steps toward her and furrows his brow.
“I’m fine.” She waves him off. “I only needed the wheelchair because it’s hard for me to walk on uneven ground right now.”
“Of course. I’m sorry we didn’t think to make accommodations.”
“I can walk, Spencer,” she grits out, and Spencer’s back goes ramrod straight.
I turn toward her, my eyes going wide at her harsh tone. The condition of her legs is definitely a sore spot for her. She doesn’t like to be coddled or treated differently, but that’s always been Lindsey. She’s strong. Stronger than me. I remember before her accident she was always a tough girl. She was bossy and a force to be reckoned with, demanding attention from all those around her. She was in your face and always got her way no matter what, with only one exception . . . me. The thing is I always respected her for taking what she wanted, for being so strong. But seeing her now, as I look more closely, I notice her strength doesn’t meet her eyes. They appear hollow and tired. Dark circles I haven’t seen before are present under a light dusting of makeup. A thought pops into my head. Is it only for appearance’s sake? Is this an act? Because acting is something I can understand better than anyone else.
“I’m glad Pierce could be of help to you.”
Spencer’s words pull me out of my thoughts and I look up to meet his glare. The corners of his eyes crinkle as he narrows his gaze. He’s appraising me to see if there’s any sign that I’m wasted, I’m sure. There isn’t, I want to hiss back, but instead, I go for the tried and true sarcasm I’m best known for.
“You wound me, brother. I am a gentleman. Of course I’d help.”
“One never knows with you, Pierce.”
The way he says my name stings. His rebuttal stings.
It’s nothing new, but though I’d never admit it to anyone, it doesn’t hurt any less with time. Pride. It’s a trait all three Lancaster brothers share. It’s our downfall, but most certainly mine.
With that, Spencer dismisses me and speaks to Lindsey for a few minutes before walking off without a single word more in my direction.
Asshole.
After thirty minutes I can’t fake smile anymore. I let out a large, audible sigh and face the direction of the bar.
“I’m heading back to my room,” Lindsey says. “I’m tired.”
Bingo. This will give me the perfect excuse to bail on my brother’s party. “I’ll walk you back.”
“I can do it myself,” Lindsey snaps, causing heads to turn in our direction. Her cheeks redden with embarrassment. “I-I just meant . . . I can manage.” She looks down at the floor, biting her lip, it’s as if she’s trying to rein in her emotions over the situation.
“No doubt about that. I was only looking for a reason to escape myself,” I respond to lighten the mood.
Her scowl softens, and she has the grace to appear apologetic. “Okay,” she says as her lips turn up into a small smile. “I have a bottle of Jack back in my room.” She shrugs. “You can help me polish it off.” She gnaws on her lower lip awaiting my response.
I grin. Pierce Lancaster never turns down a chance to get fucked-up. After all, I am, in my family’s eyes, a hot fucking mess. And I’m not about to lose my reputation now.
Back at her room, we decide to take shot for shot, both needing to liven up the party.
We sit across from each other as the bottle of Jack Daniel’s sits neatly between us. Holding two glasses in the air, I turn to her.
“What are we drinking to?” I ask as she pours the amber liquid into the glass.
“To life?” She raises her left brow.
“That’s lame,” I respond. Who the fuck cheers to life? To most people, I’d been given a great one, but my family constantly reminded me that I’m wasting mine away.
“Hey . . . I almost died.” She hands me a glass. “Life is important when it’s about to be stripped away from you.”
Damn she’s right. I was wasting my life and she was given a second chance. “To life . . .” I say with a smile. Our glasses clink and then I down the dark liquid. It’s warm and rough, but it does the job. “Next.” I pour more into my cup and then hers.
“To family?” Her lip tips up into a wicked grin and I nod. She knows how much I love mine.
“To family.” This one goes down smoothly, the previous shot
paving the way. “To your parents sucking?”
Her mouth drops open on that one, but she recovers quickly and pushes her glass to me to refill.
“To being an only child and never being enough,” she offers up when our drinks are empty.
“To being the youngest and not being enough. To not being worth their time.” I shrug.
“I’ll drink to that,” she agrees.
Once we’ve polished off Lindsey’s bottle of Jack, we move on to tequila, and her words begin to slur.
“Why, Lindsey Walker, I never knew you to be such a lightweight.”
She scoffs. “I’m no lightweight. I just didn’t eat that mush.”
“Mush?”
“Shut up.” She giggles.
The sound penetrates me in a way I didn’t think possible. Girls and giggling typically annoy the hell out of me. I’m not into cute girls who like to cuddle afterward. Fucking and leaving are what I do best. But there has always been something about Lindsey. We’ve always been a lot alike. We party hard and fuck harder—at least that’s what I’ve heard.
That thought bothers me. I don’t know why but imagining her and another guy boils my blood. She’s too good for that type of life. She deserves someone who cares for her. Someone who has their life together and isn’t always looking for the next party. Like you, the voice in my head mocks. I’m everything that’s wrong for her. I’m everything that’s wrong for any girl looking for a relationship, yet I can’t help but want a taste.
There’s something different about Lindsey from the last time I saw her. She used to be like all the other girls who partied with me, only out to get drunk and high. But tonight, when she saw I was struggling, she put her own embarrassment aside and allowed herself to be the scapegoat for why we had to leave. Something in that moment lit a flame in me. Anyone who’d do that for me was worth getting to know.
So now, here we are, both drunk, and I want her. Maybe that makes me a bastard, but I can’t help it. Lindsey is unexplored territory and I want to conquer her.
She leans into me, slapping a hand to my shoulder. “Another shot,” she goads.
I grab her hand, holding it to my chest. Our eyes meet, and the air shifts.
“No more shots, Lindsey,” I assert through my drunken haze. The room is beginning to tilt out of focus. If I have another shot, I’ll be useless to her and myself.
“No?” she croaks.
I pull her into me and she squeaks at the sudden movement. “I want to kiss you.”
She answers my unspoken question by crushing her mouth to mine.
Thank fuck.
The touch of our mouths sends me into a heady trance, one that won’t be lifted until I’m inside her. We’re all hands pulling at each other’s clothes, and I throw my jacket—and then my shirt—haphazardly across the room.
The tiny semblance of control we had is lost. It’s explosive and I need more.
Her shoes hit the wall with a thud before I yank her around and her back slams against my chest. She flicks off the switch to the lights and plunges the room into darkness. I can barely see my fingers flicking open the buttons running down Lindsey’s spine. I can’t get this dress off fast enough.
“Fuck it,” I growl, tearing at the dress and sending buttons flying.
Lindsey gasps.
“Lift your arms,” I command.
She obeys.
My fingers skim up the outside of her leg, and she stiffens. I pause and wait for her to object, to stop this insanity, but when she doesn’t, I don’t need to be asked twice. I grab at the hem of her floor-length cotton dress and pull it up her body and over her head until she’s in nothing but her bra and thong. She sits down on the couch in front of me, her arms moving around to cradle her knees to her chest. She’s covering herself as if she’s embarrassed, which is ridiculous.
She’s phenomenal.
In the dim light of the room, I can’t see enough, though. I want to turn the lights back on and feast on her beauty. I reach past her to the lamp on the side table.
“Don’t,” she whispers. “Don’t ruin it.”
I don’t know what she’s talking about, but I honor her request and reach around her back to unclasp her bra and let it fall to the couch. Even with only a pale light illuminating the room, I can see how exquisite she is.
“You’re as perfect as I thought you’d be.” The words slip out from my mouth before I can stop them, but they’re the truth, no lies. Even though I’ve never said it before, I’ve always wanted Lindsey. She’s always been beautiful to me.
In the past, she reminded me of a perfectly constructed painting. From far away you admire her, but you never really come close enough to see the levels of depth to the art. Now, up close, seeing her at the dinner, seeing her come to my rescue, she’s even lovelier. It’s like seeing each brush stroke of a masterpiece for the first time. The way they combine to make her who she is, makes her more different, more real.
More exquisite.
“I’m hardly perfect.” Her voice trembles and the insecurity in her voice makes my blood boil.
“You are,” I hiss.
Saliva pools in my mouth at the sight of her nipples exposed, begging to be licked. I can’t think about anything but having her beneath me, so I do just that, discarding her thong and stripping her completely naked. I gaze intently at each valley and dip across her skin, and in my head, I paint each surface of her body. It feels like my universe begins and ends with her. I want to discover everything about her. I want to chase away all the insecurities inside her.
And I will.
I bend over and take her nipple in my mouth, licking first, then letting it pop out and replacing it with the other one, biting and sucking until she’s lifting her hips, rubbing against me and getting the friction where she needs it, but I toy with her. I don’t give her what she wants. I keep her panting. Watching her fall apart is an aphrodisiac to me. It makes me feel powerful. Strong. Wanted.
I keep her begging.
With one breast still in my mouth, I trail my hand down and then allow my fingers to part her. Fuck. She’s so wet. Desperate for me. I love this. I love the control I wield. How, with just one look, one touch, I can have her begging at my feet.
Unstoppable.
Feeling her desperation, I remove myself from my boxers and stroke my length.
Up.
Down.
Root to tip.
A bead of moisture collects. I’m not even in her yet and I’m ready to burst. Not able to take it anymore, I pull away from her body, remove my hand from between her thighs, and reach for the condom I’ve got in my pants. Once sheathed, I pull her legs apart and let my eyes feast on her glistening skin like the hungry beast I am.
Looking up, I meet her stare. Lindsey ensnares me with her gaze, and all logical thoughts drift from my mind. Her desire for me is intoxicating.
I need to taste her.
And that’s just what I do. Without preamble, my tongue swipes. She quivers. I lick. She squirms. I bury my head between her thighs. She screams out my name.
She’s fucking fantastic.
I lift off, push her back into the couch, and lift her leg around my hip. Slowly, I drag myself up and down her skin, teasing her. She moves underneath me, trying to force me in, but I don’t. I continue circling but not entering. Her nails scratch my skin, biting into my flesh, and I let out a throaty chuckle before I thrust.
A primal gasp escapes her mouth as I slam in. Bottomed out, I pause for a beat, allowing her to accommodate me before I slowly drag myself back out to the tip. Her inhale of breath at the sensation fuels me. I crash my mouth down on hers at the same time. This is what heaven must feel like. This is what it must taste like to come close to ethereal bliss.
I hungrily push my tongue into her mouth. Wanting to savor her, own her, possess her. My strokes match each slam of my body. She meets my advances, eagerly giving as well as taking. All control leaves me and I push into her even harder. One pump, two
, and then I’m losing myself into an oblivion so intense, I think I’m high.
Once I return to reality, I roll off her and onto the floor, breathing heavily. The events of what just occurred run through my mind. We didn’t even make it to the bed. I fucked her on a couch, missionary, and it was easily the best sex I’ve ever had. What the fuck? I’m grappling with the foreign emotions running through me, confused and feeling like a douche, when I look up to find Lindsey dressing.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m tired. Going to head to bed. You should probably head back to your room.”
I can’t help but feel a prick of annoyance. She’s kicking me out? This is a first. A first I don’t like at all. Here I thought she saw more. When she offered to be my excuse, I thought she understood what it was like to have a family who never approves or just plain doesn’t give a damn. When we got drunk and traded family gripes, I thought she saw more of who I am. But I guess I was wrong and once again I’ve been thrown out. Just like the trash. My whole life I’ve been dispensable to my family. Never good enough and always swept to the side. Now the one person who I thought got me is doing the same? Not happening. I won’t be made to look like an idiot.
I stand, grabbing my clothes and throwing them on. While pulling my shirt over my head, Lindsey speaks.
“If you want to stay, you can.” Lindsey sounds unsure, hopeful. She’s giving me whiplash by the second. I don’t know if she’s going to fuck me again or kick me out any minute, and if I’m honest, I’m not up for another bout of rejection. Because that’s just what she’ll do if I let her. Like my family, she’ll rip me apart. She’ll add a new wound, a new scar to my mental collection.
I take a deep breath and spill words I don’t want to say but must for my own stubborn pride. Words I can’t take back. “Nah. I’m going to head out. I helped you back, but I have shit to do.”
She stiffens, her face paling. “You helped me back? What? Like I couldn’t do it myself?”
Her words are ice.
“You were struggling today. I just did what any gentleman would do.”