Beneath His Darkness (Healing Hearts #3)

by Renee Dyer

She leans in and lightly kisses my lips. She doesn’t linger. There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s more about comfort, I think. Maybe she can tell I’m freaking out.

  “I love you, Grant. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and the love of our friendship is what tells me you are the perfect man. Please don’t say no.”

  I sit there in silence, unsure how to answer her. I’m a liar and a horrible person…and there’s so much she doesn’t know about me. If I take her virginity, she’ll be sleeping with a man she doesn’t know. I can’t have that.

  “Cammie, I—”

  “Grant, please. I want you…no, I need you to take care of this ache you started. Please.” She grips onto the back of my neck and her eyes plead with me.

  I nod and she smiles at me. “First, I have to tell you something. It may change how you feel about me.”

  Her smile drops and she backs off my lap. I feel her loss instantly. I can’t tell her everything because I know I’ll lose her, but there is something I need to tell her. I only hope I can trust her with this information.

  “Tucker is my brother,” I blurt out.

  “Ex-excuse me?” she stutters. “Brother? I think you need to explain because that doesn’t make any sense.” She throws her arms across her chest and I know I’m in for a long night.

  I begin the long conversation about Nathan’s illness, finding out he wasn’t my father, learning my mother slept around to create me, and how I became aware that I had a brother. I watch her eyes grow larger at every aspect of the story and tears fall freely down her face as she hears the tragedy of my life. I want to comfort her, but I fear she’ll be the one comforting me.

  I can’t have that.

  I’ve lived my life being strong, going after those who have wronged me. I can’t allow her to reduce me to a weeping pile of emotions.

  “I don’t understand. I asked Tucker if he knew you,” she says around a sniffle.

  “Why would you do that?” I ask.

  She gives me a guilty look and I know I won’t like her answer.

  “I’m so sorry, Grant. I wasn’t really sick last month. Tucker told me you sent the paparazzi after him in New Hampshire. I was confused about why you would try to hurt him. I spent those three days trying to find information on you and Tucker.”

  “And did you find information on us?” I ask in a clipped tone.

  “Not a whole lot,” she replies. “But I did learn you grew up just a couple towns away from each other, so I asked Tucker if he knew you back then. He swore he didn’t and seemed surprised by the information.”

  I want to kick myself in the ass. I’m sitting here, irritated with her for snooping, when I should have been honest with her from the start. I knew I was falling for her and she’s good friends with the man I want to destroy. I never should have put her in the middle, but now that’s exactly what I have to do.

  “We didn’t know each other then.”

  “Does he know you’re his brother?” she asks, curiously.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care. You may be friends with him and see a great side to him, but I don’t. I see the guy who got our father while I was abandoned by two. I hate him.”

  “But, Grant –”

  “No, Cammie. Do not try to tell me otherwise. Now, I hate to do this, but I have to ask that you do not tell Tucker. There will come a time that he and I discuss our family history, but it will be on my terms. I’m sorry I have to ask you to keep this secret from your friend.”

  “I can’t believe you think I would tell him. It’s not my place to say anything,” she says, giving me a look that would make the Hulk cower.

  “Forgive me for being crass, but the two people I should have been able to trust in my life, betrayed me. I don’t leave anything to chance.”

  “Oh, Grant.”

  She climbs back onto my lap and pulls my face into her hands. “Thank you for trusting me with your story. It only convinces me further that you are the perfect man to receive the gift I want to give you. Now, how about you unwrap me?”

  Son of a bitch. There’s no way I can say no now.

  Lifting her into my arms, I carry her into my bedroom and lay her down on my bed. Her dark hair fans across my mattress and I’m grateful I had thought to turn all the lights in the apartment down earlier. There’s enough light to see her perfection, but hopefully not make her feel insecure. Women can be so finicky about these things.

  “I love your t-shirt, by the way,” she says.

  I look down and chuckle. I had forgotten about it. There’s a large picture of mistletoe and it says, Kiss whatever you meet under the mistletoe with an arrow pointing down. I pull it over my head and throw it at her. “You can keep it.”

  She smiles and brings her hands up to my bare chest. I let her explore my skin, unsure of how far she’s gone in her past. Hunger burns bright in her eyes and she bites her bottom lip. That’s a new habit I’ve seen from her lately. It makes me hot as fucking hell. I want to scoop that lip out and nibble on it myself.

  “Would you like me to take off some of my clothes?” she asks in a slight whisper.

  She has no idea how much I would love for her to give me a strip tease, but I don’t think she’s anywhere near ready for that. “I’ll help you, buttercup.”

  With slow, steady hands, I grab the hem of her sweater and inch it up her stomach. I bend over and allow my mouth to blaze a trail of kisses that follow the fabric up her skin. Her soft gasps have my dick begging to be released from my jeans, but I give him a mental screaming, telling him to wait his turn. Cammie will get treated like a lady, even if it kills me.

  “You’re going too damn slow,” she hisses and sits up, her stomach slapping into my cheek. I laugh at her impatience. She pulls her sweater over her head and I see the uncertainty set in. She’s before me, in her bra, and what a beautiful bra it is—red lace. Apparently, my buttercup chose to be festive with every aspect of her gift giving.

  I push her back down to the bed and gently bite her nipple through the lacy fabric. A soft, “Oh,” sounds throughout the room. I continue to lap the nipple without removing any more clothing, working her up into a frenzy. Her nails scratch at my back and her moans echo off the walls.

  “Grant, please. This isn’t enough.”

  Her pleading words start me on a journey southward. I pop open the button on her jeans and the sound of her zipper has me feeling like my dick will explode. I ease her out of her pants and simply stare at her exquisiteness. Her panties match her bra and I almost don’t want to take them off. If I didn’t need to get inside her, I would just stay here, on my knees, and worship her, in this goddamn panty set.

  “Do you need to take a fucking picture?”

  Ooh, feisty.

  “Have you ever had an orgasm before, buttercup?” I ask gently.

  She’s silent for a second and then she nods. My heart plummets knowing another man has touched her. They haven’t taken everything she has to offer, but they’ve tasted her sweet nectar.

  “I’ve gotten myself there,” she says shyly.

  Oh, mother of all that’s holy. I feel like my heart is about to burst from my chest.

  “This is going to feel very different, Cammie. I’m going to make you feel very good, but the sex, it will hurt. I’m sorry. I’ll go as easy as I can, okay?”

  She nods again, but she has a smile so big, she takes my breath away.

  “I trust you, Grant.”

  With her trust in my heart, I lower my head to her panties and place a kiss to her center. She lets out a deep moan. “I know we’re friends, buttercup, but you need to know, I don’t share.”

  I think she makes some kind of sound of agreement, but I’m not paying attention. My mind is focused on removing her panties and kissing back up her long legs. Her silky skin under my lips is an aphrodisiac I’ve never experienced. I’ve never gone this slow with a woman, never wanted to, and I’m hoping she’ll be up for doing it again. I run my nose along her seam and inhale
her scent before I take my first taste of her divinity. She tastes every damn bit as sweet as I thought she would, better than cold watermelon on a hot summer’s day.

  I’m addicted to her.

  Her back arches at every stroke of my tongue, her cries ringing out in the night. I slide a finger into her wetness and start pumping her in time with my tongue, enjoying feeling her come apart beneath me. She’s so damn tight.

  “Oh, God. I can’t do this, Grant. It’s too much.”

  She starts writhing under me, but I push her harder as her cries grow louder. I reach my other hand up and pinch her nipple—hard. Her muscles contract around my finger as she screams my name and I lick up all she has to offer. My face stays buried between her thighs until I’ve brought her down and the spasms are calmed.

  Her breathing is still a bit heavy when I stand up and remove the rest of my clothes. Her eyes follow my every move and I love the attention. I make a show of putting the condom on, stroking myself a bit first. The way she licks her lips, I can tell she’d like to have me in her mouth, but now is not the time for that. I crawl between her legs, open them wide and look her in the eyes.

  “Want me to ease in or push through fast? Your choice.”

  “Both,” she jokes.

  “Both it is,” I reply.

  I don’t give her a chance to figure out what I mean as I enter just the head and pull out. She moans in appreciation. I do it again and gain the same reaction. The next few times, I go a little deeper, but never too deep. She starts to relax and when I feel her finally let go, I plunge all the way in.

  “Oww, fuck!”

  I lay still for a minute, allowing her to adjust to the fullness. “Your first time isn’t supposed to feel good, buttercup, but I promise you, every time after that starts to feel better,” I whisper in her ear.

  I set a leisurely pace, making sure I’m not causing her too much pain. It’s killing me because I want to slam into her and teach her what a true fucking is. But, with the way she’s hugged onto me, I know I need to continue being gentle. Her breath on my neck and her little nips here and there are driving me fucking crazy, but I somehow manage to keep control.

  Her face is one of glorious happiness when I orgasm. This was supposed to be all about her, but you’d think I gave her the world by going over the edge. I don’t know whether she thought she wouldn’t be enough for me, but apparently, she doesn’t know how much of my brain she occupies.

  I’m not able to let her leave my side. I need to make sure she isn’t too sore from her first time. She didn’t mind my suggestion of spending the night and I even agree when she asks if we can both stay in my bed. She curls into my arms and before she falls asleep, she quietly says, “Thank you.”

  I couldn’t say anything back. I still don’t feel worthy of the gift she gave me. Guilt is a motherfucker and I’m drowning in it. When I know she’s fast asleep, I whisper, “I’m sorry, buttercup.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Grant

  It’s a quiet Christmas afternoon as I sit on my couch watching Avatar for the second time. I’m torturing myself over missing Cammie. She called me this morning when she woke up. She wanted to be the first one to wish me a Merry Christmas. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d be the only one. Well, I guess I should count Gloria amongst my well-wishers, but I never accept her call on this day. I don’t feel that she deserves to talk to me today of all days. She lost that right.

  I keep staring at the pictures of Cammie and me during our snowball fight. I can’t believe it’s me in these pictures. The smile stretching my face tells a story of happiness. I can’t deny it and that scares the shit out of me. When I’m with her, I can’t hide my feelings and it was all captured through the lens of one of those assholes.

  I’m still in shock that she called me out on loving her. I didn’t confirm it, but I felt every word she said. And, when she said she loved me…fuck. My heart nearly stopped beating. The most perfect being on earth said the words I’ve needed to hear and I sat there wishing she would take them back because I’m afraid what my level of damaged will do to her.

  When I touched her skin…fuck that, when I entered her warm wetness, I could have died and I would have known what heaven was. I’ve never known such bliss before and I don’t know that I ever will again. Even the next morning, when I took her again, it didn’t compare. You can only see heaven for the first time once.

  That next morning, when I woke up to her leaving my bathroom, her hair wet from the shower, wearing my mistletoe t-shirt…I had to have her again. The t-shirt said it all and I sure as hell kissed everything below the arrow. I wanted her to know that it felt better the second time around. I really wanted to show her how it felt the third, fourth, and thousandth time, but she still had to celebrate Christmas with Eddie and go back to her apartment to pack. She was leaving that afternoon to go back to her parent’s until after New Year’s.

  I’ve been missing her since. I can’t forget the silkiness of her skin, the taste of her on my tongue, or the way she screamed my name. She’s like a drug I’ve become addicted to and now I’m going through the worst stages of withdrawal. My body hurts, I can’t focus, and all I want is her—more than food or drink, even more than the air necessary to breathe.

  A hard knock comes on my door, shocking me from my thoughts. Who the hell can that be? I pause my movie and drag myself from the couch, suddenly aware that I haven’t showered. I’m wearing the clothes I had on yesterday. Too late to care about that now.

  A quick look through the peephole reveals Benny from the front the desk. What the hell is he doing at my door? I open it to him holding a package wrapped in foiled green paper and a red bow.

  “Good evening, Mr. Andrews. This package was left for you at the desk,” he says, holding it out to me.

  “Thank you, Benny. I would have come down for it if you called me,” I offer.

  “It’s no trouble, sir. It’s pretty dead at the desk today, but I should get back. Merry Christmas,” he says with a smile as he turns and heads for the elevator.

  “Merry Christmas,” I call out after him, even though I don’t feel the sentiment at all.

  Closing the door, I inspect the package. There’s no tag on it, which sparks my curiosity. I bring it to the island and place it down. I stare at it for a few minutes before finally giving in and opening it. The second I have the top off the box, I wish I had left it closed. Before me is a pair of metal handcuffs, a police hat, a pair of briefs with a police badge across the crotch, and a police man’s shirt that looks to be about three sizes too small for me. There’s a note attached to the shirt. I know I shouldn’t read it, but I have to know what Davyd is up to this time.

  With shaky fingers, I unpin the note and steel myself for whatever is on the paper. I slowly unfold the sheet and want to throw up at the words.

  Turn around and spread ‘em, lover. It’s time to get frisked.

  He didn’t sign the note, but he didn’t need to. His pet name for me says it all. That motherfucker just keeps playing his games. I quickly throw it in the trash, needing it out of my sight. There is no way I will ever let him put any of that offensive shit on my body.

  As I’m jamming the box as far into the trash as I can, another knock sounds at my door. Benny didn’t call up a visitor. Davyd better not have sent another fucking gift. I stride to the door in long, anger-filled steps and rip the door open.

  “What?!” I hiss. I’m shocked when I see Melanie standing before me in a red knee-length jacket, black stilettos, and a Santa hat.

  The smile drops from her face and she looks down at her feet, her hands wringing together.

  “What are you doing here, Mel, and how did you get up here?”

  “Th…there was no one at the desk, so I came right up.”

  She tries giving me her seductive smile, thinking I’ll forget I asked her two questions. Apparently, her blonde has dripped through to her brain.

  “Why are you here?” I ask, exa
sperated.

  Her lips form a pout and I want to scream at her to get to the fuck off my doorstep. “I knew you’d be alone and no one should be alone on Christmas.” She runs her finger up my chest.

  “How’d you know I’d be alone?”

  “A little bird told me,” she chirps as her finger trails up my neck. A little bird, my ass. Goddamn Davyd.

  Rage blinds me as I grab her wrist and fling her into my apartment. I slam the door and shove her into the closest wall—hard. The air whooshes from her lungs and I thrive on the fear I see in her eyes. They want to play fucking games with me? Let’s see how they like it when I take my turn.

  I smash my lips to hers with such force, my teeth rattle and I taste blood. Her pained cry brings a smile to my face. She’s wiggling beneath me, but I have her pinned to the wall with the weight of my body and my hands hold her arms in place. I love how her eyes bug out and she tries begging with her whiney-ass mouth. For the first time in our agreement, I’m enjoying myself.

  Not caring that she’ll probably try to scratch my eyes out, I drop one of her wrists and grab onto her breast. I dig in until I’m sure I’ll leave marks.

  “Ow! What the fuck, Grant!” she shouts, shoving me away with her free hand.

  I stand before her, a hulking mass of anger. “What’s the matter, Mel? I thought you wanted this,” I say, cupping my cock.

  “Not like this,” she whispers. “I don’t like it like this.”

  She tries to scoot to the side, but I throw my hand onto the wall beside her head. “Maybe you and Davyd should have thought about that before you started this little game of yours.” Her eyes go wide. I see she’s finally getting it.

  “Go tell your puppeteer that he pulls your strings, not mine.” I turn in a circle so she gets a full view of me. “See that, Mel? No strings on me. Now, run on home to your master for your next set of instructions, but make sure he knows they better not involve me because this,” I grip onto my dick with so much strength, I think I just stopped myself from ever reproducing, “will never fuck this again,” I say, running my hand over her center.