Lasts

by C. L. Matthews

  My stomach drops, and that feeling of lightness, admiration, and completion disappears.

  “Danté,” I bark, without having to see him. I know the lowness of his baritone, his gritty acrimony he reserves for me, and that lilt in his tone that speaks of experience.

  “I’ve been told you’re holed up here with my daughter,” he bites back, coming from behind some bushes. His eyes are dark, his scowl dangerous, and his fists warn me of how ruthless this man can be.

  “What’s it to you?” I remark humorlessly, knowing the bitterness shows as acrid as if I sucked on a lime. He can hate me. He can want me to die, but nothing this man could ever do will take Leia away from me.

  “You will stay away from my daughter, Silas. You will go home, back to Xo, and you will never see Leia ever again.” He takes a threatening step toward me, and my hackles rise in awareness. “If you don’t, I’ll kill you, Silas. I’ll come after Xo. I’m already tempted. Her fucking you then her marrying you in spite of me? Then, to top it all off, she’s in bed with that Viper cunt? I will kill you all and take Leia back home… here…” He trails off, his anger so present I know he’s serious. I can see it in his eyes, the madness.

  He’s unhinged.

  Demented.

  Deadly.

  “And if you don’t make her believe you’re not in love with her, make her believe she’s nothing so she’ll never come back to you again, I will destroy everything you hold dear, Silv and Zaely included.” He gets in my face, his barely abated fury skating over my skin in heady waves. “Because, Sy, blood isn’t what makes family, and love and this stupid fairytale idea you have in your mind is foolish and irrational. Leia doesn’t need your baggage. She doesn’t need a sick old man ruining her future.”

  A moment later, he’s inches from my face, his thick palm on my throat in the most demeaning way possible. I don’t jerk away. I give him this power, the sparse loyalty left in me helping to calm me.

  “You have three hours. Three. No more. And don’t you fucking dare touch her again. Don’t even think of telling her I was here, and if you even mention my name, I’ll kill you myself rather than having the boys do it.”

  He drops his grip but not before squeezing tight enough to cause me to cough. But I don’t give him the satisfaction of showing the discomfort. Instead, I turn away, my feet leading me to where I’m meant to be, with who I’m meant to be with.

  By the time I sneak back into the room, everything feels heavy, almost suffocating. How do I show her everything while telling her the opposite in three hours? How will either of us survive this?

  We leave tonight. Well, I do. My flight is at eleven. It’s our last day together, and I’m dreading it. What if I’m wrong? What if he doesn’t want more and I’ve only fallen further for no reason?

  I roll over to an empty bed, and my stomach churns. The foreboding living inside of me has me feeling on edge, and it doesn’t help that he isn’t with me, cuddling, making love to me like he has every morning the past few days.

  He’s not here.

  I frown, thinking of what he could possibly be doing, but he doesn’t tell me everything. I notice how he’ll hide his phone from me, make his calls in all Spanish so I don’t understand and hides his emails. It bugs me. It shouldn’t, since he owes me no type of loyalty. As much as I want more, I’m just his nice piece of ass, and he won’t tell me otherwise.

  It hurts, but it’s my choice.

  Fucking around my mamá’s back makes this karma.

  I’m a homewrecker, a messed-up teenager who’s in love with her stepfather.

  I roll over, trying to force myself back to sleep, force myself to not dwell on everything. After a few minutes, I feel myself falling into a slumber again.

  When I wake up, it’s to Sy’s hot mouth on my center, licking unhurriedly and leisurely. His tongue strokes up and down, slowly, gently, and erotically, hitting my clit in all the right places. My stomach burns with white-hot lust, with a hunger that I didn’t have a week ago, a hunger only he can feed.

  Sy’s beast growls, and mine hums in tune with him.

  He nibbles on my nub, his teeth biting almost desperately, like he’s trying to take a piece of me with him. He pulls back when I cry out. It’s not quite in pain, and it’s not quite in pleasure. It’s in acknowledgement of what I know will happen. Somehow, even my mind knows what my heart refuses. He’s saying goodbye. Don’t ask how I know. I just do.

  Tears trail my eyes as he continues his savage strokes, my hips rise, my moans along with them, and when he sticks two fingers inside me, I’m done for. I feel my orgasm build and consume my every breath. My body shakes from the mere power of it, but he doesn’t stop his mouth. He continues to eat me out, and my body begs for relief.

  “Sy, please,” I whimper, needing him inside me, needing him to take me in every way.

  I haven’t had enough. I could have him daily, and still, it wouldn’t ever be enough. I’d never tire of his taste, his words, the smirk he reserves for me, the way he shows me emotions with his eyes even if he refuses the words… Everything about him will never be enough.

  And the memories won’t be enough either. They’ll never be enough.

  “Tell me what you need,” he demands, slowly running his palms up my thighs, gripping tightly then sucking my skin until it prickles with pain.

  He’s leaving marks. He’s leaving parts of himself across my skin, tattooing his own personal brand on my body so I know. He’ll always own me, and the suckles he peppers across my skin only ensures that.

  “Make love to me,” I nearly cry, needing him to touch me like he loves me even if it’s not true. I need him to kiss me like I’m his to kiss. I need him to feel me like I feel him. I need him to give me everything before he takes it all away.

  “Leia,” he groans, biting the tender flesh at the apex of my thighs.

  He continues to leave bites, and he hisses when he finally drags himself up to my lips, like the motion itself pains him. When his lips trace mine in a pattern, one that makes me feel like he’s writing the words he can’t say, I cry. Tears fall from my eyes like blood drips from an open wound.

  “What are you doing to me?” he merely whispers, but each word is like a scream to my heart, giving it empty hope that I can’t allow myself to have.

  “Loving you,” I respond softly, feeling my words shake with the answer.

  Does he not know how he hurts me? Does he not see how much I love him? How much I want him to be mine and only mine? That I can walk in a room and call him my husband like he called me his wife to the hostess? I love every breath he takes like it’s me giving them to him. I love every sound that escapes his lips even if it is angry. I love every single thing about this man, and he doesn’t even realize it. He doesn't see what he does to me. What he has always done to me.

  “Stop.”

  It’s one word. It’s one syllable, but it hits me like a five-thousand-word essay. It strikes me harder than any hit I’ve ever received, and it breaks me more than a shattered icicle that drops from a home in the winter.

  “I… can’t,” I admit, feeling it in every cell of my body’s makeup.

  I can’t stop loving him. It’s not something I’m capable of. It’s not in me to stop. I love him. I was made to love him, and he was made to be mine. I believe that. I’ll always believe it.

  “I need you to,” he gripes, the head of his cock rubbing the entrance of my pussy, almost like he can’t fuck me without me giving into it.

  “Need me elsewhere.”

  “Tell me you don’t love me, mi corazoncito. I need to hear you say it.”

  “No,” I barely mutter, still breaking with each word. “I love you, Silas.”

  “Then I’ll give you a reason otherwise.” No sooner than the words leave his mouth, he’s sinking his thickness inside me.

  I bow off the bed, the pain from his intrusion at the forefront of my mind, but this pain is nothing in comparison to the gaping hole in my heart he’s ju
st punched.

  He thrusts into me, his hips hitting me as harshly as his words had. Gripping my thighs, he digs so deeply I know his fingers will imprint my skin. His nails dig into me too, and soon, they’ll draw blood.

  He doesn’t utter a word as he pushes into me harder and harder. He flips me over, to where I’m straddling him. My hands move to his large chest, seeing all the marks I’ve left on his skin, all the ones that mirror mine. It’s like we’re always on the same page, our souls matching, along with our passion.

  I ride him, not used to the position, but as soon as my hips get into it, I know what to do. His eyes glaze over in emotion. There’s wetness near the edges, and I know he needs me to hate him, but I can’t. As I fuck him like a girl needing to convince him to love me, he grunts like I’m hurting him.

  He lifts me off him, forcing me onto my knees, bending me over doggy style —an impersonal position.

  He slaps my ass several times before sinking in me. “You’re nothing more than a quick fuck, Leia.”

  I cry and struggle against him. I’m more than that. I’ve always been more than that.

  “I.” Thrust. “Will.” Slap. “Never.” Thrust. “Love.” Slap. Thrust. Slap. “You.”

  I’m crying, wailing and falling flat onto my face. He doesn’t mean that.

  “Stop!” I cry.

  And he does. He lets go of my hops and backs up. Hurrying with his clothes, he stands with a sadness in his eyes. There’s so much regret there, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone, and he’s stony, like the Sy from after my sixteenth birthday.

  “Why?”

  “I’m with your mom,” he admits on a snarl, his face angry and filled of hatred.

  “How could you do this to me, Sy?” I push at his chest, feeling like my palms are colliding with boulders.

  Tears are no longer at bay. They’re gushing freely with every movement. How can he bring her up when he made me believe in us? He may have never said the words, but I felt them with his actions.

  “How could you marry her? You were mine!” I croak, my voice hoarse from crying and now yelling at him. “How could you let me fall in love with you!”

  I pound away at him, but it’s like he feels nothing. He doesn’t even flinch. His face never leaves mine, but it’s impassive, no frown, no emotion. Nothing. In his eyes, though, I can see the million things he’s holding back from me. There’s pain there, sadness, and an unmistakable remorsefulness that speaks volumes.

  He doesn’t say a word, and that’s more deafening than the screams escaping my chest.

  “I hate you! I fucking hate you, Silas!” I’m still wailing, my heart a fucking black hole in my chest that absorbs and consumes every last piece of me and everything around me.

  He grips my shoulders as I lash out at him, holding me to his hard chest, comforting my body while not giving me an inch.

  “I hate you, Sy! I fucking hate you!” I scream louder, more broken, more hopeless.

  My cries echo around us. The ache is unbearable, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me.

  “I gave you everything! Every goddamn thing, Sy! And still, you picked her. How could you pick her when you were mine to love?” I’m still shouting. My voice trembles with every accusation I slap him with.

  How could he allow me to kiss him, to touch him, to fuck him?

  How could I let him be everything to me when I’m not even enough for him to choose?

  “Why me?” I whimper, finally resting my head on the chest I’d given a beating to.

  He holds me tightly, like he’s the only thing holding me together. He kind of is. I’m broken, and it’s all because I fell in love with the wrong man.

  Why won’t he console me with his words? They’d probably just be broken promises anyway.

  “Why won’t you love me, Sy?” I pull back from his chest, holding onto his arms, wishing I could shake my love into him, make him see me, make him love me.

  “Mi corazón,” he rasps, emotion that he won’t show fills the words, making the void seem less dark. “He pasado la mejor mitad de mi vida escapándole al amor, pero luego llegaste tu…” I've spent the better half part of my life escaping love, but then you came along…

  He cups my face, the heat from them comforting me while his words only confuse me.

  “But we can never be together.”

  With his final words, I feel my chest cave in on itself. I don’t know what he said, and he wanted it that way. He wanted me to not know his emotions and feelings, but I know it hurt him to say them.

  “D-Don’t.” I take in a ragged breath, absolutely exhausted from this conversation that was mostly one-sided. “Once we separate here… this won’t ever happen again. I won’t wait for you anymore. I won’t love you anymore.”

  Even though the last part is a lie, I won’t wait for him. This won’t ruin me. I won’t let him hold me back from living ever again.

  His eyes gloss over. I can see he’s in physical pain, but he doesn’t stop himself from breaking me completely.

  “I told you that one day I’d watch you fall out of love with me. I’d watch you fall in love with someone else, and you'd find your happy ending.” His voice falters, and his chest heaves. “It’s that time, Leia. I’m letting you go.”

  “Sy,” I cry, my heart shattering at my feet.

  He brings my head to his lips, and he places the gentlest kiss there. He doesn’t move as his lips stay there, as my tears fall for him for the last time. When he pulls back, his eyes shine with tears. I try to say something, to tell him I’m not giving up, but I am. I’m no longer going to push for this. He can be happy with her. Love her, be with her, stay and be a part of her life.

  But I won’t. I won’t be a part of this family anymore. When I get home tomorrow, I’ll do anything to not be there.

  We’re over.

  Sy and I are done.

  I find myself in the same fucking position I was in when he stripped me of the Los Desolados title, strapped to a chair in the middle of the warehouse, the same one he uses to torture everyone.

  The room I'm in is like the other rooms in this worthless place. It's cemented on all sides. There are several drains in the floor like a butcher shop, and there are no windows.

  I’m tied to a chair. It’s like I’m Absinthe all those years ago.

  There's no escaping this.

  I'm going to die in here.

  And I did what he said.

  I lied to her.

  Told her she was a plaything.

  That she meant nothing to me.

  And even with my actions, he still took me. He is still going to kill me.

  A bucket of cold water splashing on my face and several slaps have me facing Danté. A low growl emanates from a small place in my chest, one I’ve always believed was hollow.

  “Boys come and go, Silas,” he says with a smirk, stalking toward me with a six-inch double serrated blade. “But you see, Silas, fathers are forever. Whether Leia knows that or not right now, she will when I’m done with you.”

  Right as the last word leaves his lips, the knife slices my shoulder, a warm liquid seeping out of me like a confession… or several if he knew everything I’ve done.

  This isn’t my first battle with him.

  And it sure as hell won’t be my last.

  “You’re not the only one she calls daddy,” I reply snidely and wait for the reaction, but all I get in return is a blank stare and a blade gripped so tightly it might break.

  He stands tall, all cocky and proud, the knife now twirling in his fingers. No words are exchanged when he drives it through my thigh. I want to scream, to wail out my pain from the split in my leg, but I don’t give him that satisfaction. His fist collides with my water-soaked face, and the new dripping after the crack makes me aware that I won’t make it out of it this time.

  Blood already cakes my face, neck, and down my chest from the butterfly knife he’s using as his personal paintbrush. My shirt is torn in several pla
ces, my ankles bound, my wrists, too.

  He’s nowhere near done with me. Danté doesn’t know he won’t get the surrender he wants from me. He forgets who used to do his dirty work for him, the same man who protected him no matter the cost.

  He can hate me, but he can’t pretend I didn’t give my life and loyalty for his happiness.

  Whether I live or die, I’ve lived my life saving her and honoring his original wish.

  At least if I die, I told her goodbye.

  Even if it wasn’t the way I should have.

  It was with a lie and not the words I wanted to give, instead.

  “Come here,” I softly command her.

  Leia struts to me slowly, her hips swaying seductively with each step. She’s naked, her nipples brown, her small stomach adorning a silver piercing, and her hips perfect handfuls.

  But trailing behind her is…

  Silas.

  What the fuck?

  He’s only wearing denim jeans. They hang low on his hips. His abs are ones of magazines. They’re sculpted in a way, that shows he’s a man, and they slowly curve into a “V” that leads beneath the hem.

  He has scars on his chest, little wounds that make me lick my lips. His intense stare that’s directed at me has my cock growing in my pants. It’s almost painful. He stalks over to me, each movement precise and direct. He’s coming for me.

  Why can’t I stop staring?

  Why does him coming for me make me ache everywhere?

  Where did Leia go?

  When he reaches where I’m settled on the bed, my arms back and holding my body up, I groan. He’s sexy.

  Did I just think that? That he’s sexy?

  “Braxton,” he purrs huskily, his voice low and oozing with lust. My pants feel tighter than ever, my cock weeping in my pants, begging to be touched.

  “W-Where’s Leia?” I question, licking my lips, trying to ebb away the dryness in my mouth.

  My gaze moves around him, trying to find the girl I’ve imagined having since we were in our early teens.

  “It’s just us, pequeño,” he growls.