Cassius (The Wildflower Series Book 3)

by Rachelle Mills

  I used to hate sunsets because we always spent them together. It was hard to get over the sunsets. I painted a mural in the twins’ room; there’s a small space dedicated to you. It’s us holding hands with our faces toward the setting sun. Only our backs are seen, and it’s like we are walking hand in hand into the water, together forever. It’s a picture full of lies because that won’t ever happen, but it’s a picture of a fairytale, my fairytale ending for us.

  I’m letting you go, Clayton. I’m letting everything go, and it feels all right now.

  Soon for you it will be a year, then it will turn into two, three, four years, and my hope is that you are happy, that I’m remembered with love and a smile on your face, not with tears coming down your face and acid crawling up your throat.

  I don’t want to be that ghost ache in your gut.

  Where your skin like a wolf not like a skin that’s turned into a ghost. I know you, Clayton, I know you better than I know myself, and you’re going to blame him for a lot of things, but it’s not only Cash’s fault what happened to me. I take credit for everything as well.

  Don’t kill him when he comes for you, because he will come for you. I know it down to my bones. He’s going to try, and I want you to be patient with him. He has my children to raise, and I need him alive.

  This is so hard for me, but you have to go find Rya. I know you let her leave because you were in love with her. Don’t feel guilty for that. Don’t feel guilty for falling in love with someone else that isn’t me. I know I was the one that kept you from her. Don’t let yourself keep her from you. Go find her and start a life with her. It’s going to be hard for her to forgive you, but she forgave me, and that says a lot. You’ve got the bond; use it.

  I’m sorry I still love you, but I’m starting to love him more, and in the end, I want you to be happy. At the end of all of this, I want you to be happy.

  I love you, Clayton, as my first love, as my best friend.

  This is me trying to say goodbye to you.

  Love, Kennedy

  Chapter 17

  Feel the Flush of Red

  A knock sounds on the door before it’s open. “You’re still up?”

  Clinging wet hair has Cassius turning around with his back facing me.

  “Sorry, Treajure. I thought you’d be dressed by now.”

  I pull one of his shirts on quickly before really being dry; my underwear slips up fast before he turns himself around. I think his breathing has stopped because I can’t hear anything. No sound, just a blur in the room without noise.

  I sit on the bed, fingers curling into the covers. The sheets feel new and untouched.

  Cassius clears his throat, all quiet, that trails a quick swallow. “Where are your glasses? I’ll fix them.” I touch the bedside table drawer. He comes into the room, closing the door behind him. I don’t think the two of us have ever been in this room together. It was Dallas’s old room, the only one up here with its own bathroom. Luna Grace said a female has to have her own bathroom, and Cassius moved into his old room. They all thought it would work, a new room, a new bed, new paint on the walls. Nothing worked, and now here I am sitting on the bed with that weight starting around my neck.

  When I reach to open the drawer, he stops me with a light touch. “I’ll get them.” I can hear his small toolbox open; he places it right beside me. Somehow he’s kneeling now in front of me, not standing.

  “This screw always gives me trouble, Specs. No matter how much I keep adjusting it, somehow it always adjusts itself back out.” The steam of his breath brushes against the fine hairs on my temples.

  He edges himself a little closer; my knees push out to either side of his hips.

  “That was a brave thing you did, taking on a guardian goose. Ken told me you saved his life. He told me everything.” He’s a blur even this close, even with his chin almost touching my forehead.

  “Thank you, Treajure.” He leans forward, whispering it like smoke in my ear. I swallow too loud; I can hear it in my ears. My insides tighten—thighs tense.

  The Wild whines inside.

  Skin is a great source of pain, but right now, it’s the greatest source of pleasure.

  Cassius scoots himself closer, looming, protective, and my legs spread wider.

  “The frame’s still good. It’s the screws that are worth nothing. I’ll order you another frame tomorrow. I think you got a lemon here, Specs.” I swear I feel something electric between us. The hairs on my arms are standing on end; I can feel my skin rise up with goosebumps. It takes everything not to shake my spine out.

  “You have long eyelashes.” His finger sweeps over one eye, then the other. Tiny catches of pleasure prickle across my flesh.

  He strokes the outside of my ears, taking all the clinging hair away from the front of me to the back. My nipples feel exposed now. I’m afraid if he’s looking down he’ll see them rubbed up against the damp cotton material.

  “You’ve got nice hair. It’s thick.” I can tell his chest is rising with how deep he is breathing.

  My inner thighs accommodate the width of him, spreading so he’s now so close that I think our chests could touch. He’d be able to feel the hardness of my nipples if he just leaned in a little closer.

  The Wild within whines low.

  He continues to fix the glasses, taking his time, and when he turns to place something on the table, his forearm brushes against my chest; nipples scrape the damp material of his shirt. I stiffen up, clench internally.

  My cheeks feel too hot. The ceiling fan does nothing to cool the room down.

  “Almost done.” I have to catch myself not to whimper a puppy pout of a sound.

  His fingers touch the side of my face while putting on my glasses. The soles of my feet press into the carpet, toes curling as if to try and hold me still.

  “Perfect.” He says it as if it pains him.

  Before I can look at his face, he peels a layer off his body. There’s something about watching him take one of his shirts off. The way he grabs the collar from behind his head and pulls up and off.

  “It’s hot in here.” I notice it’s stifling hot; the wet hair clings to the back of my shirt. He has a fine layer of shine to his neck and face.

  Our eyes meet.

  “What do you think?” He strokes the outside of my ear, one of his hands on my bare thigh. It’s heavy, weighty, and warm.

  He looks slightly uncomfortable as our eyes lock on each other’s. “Say something.” The sound of him has dropped low and is full of breath. He chews on his lower lip, dragging it inside his mouth.

  It takes a while to uncurl my hand from the bedspread, to raise up and touch the side of his face. A sound cracks through his throat, low with a rumbling range.

  The pads of my fingers feel down his smooth jawline, the first time I’ve seen him without a full beard. I let my finger slide underneath his lower lip, feeling how he fits together. His mouth is barely open; he’s breathing through his nose.

  His eyes appear sharper, trained on my face.

  My hands feel his hair that’s cut close to his scalp. I lift up slightly to feel the back of his head with my hands; our cheeks get close to the other’s.

  His hand climbs up my thigh, resting where his shirt ends. Blunt nails run back down my thigh, back up as the material of his shirt inches upwards. There’s something primal that comes through his shirt to press into my chest.

  My insides clench deeper, and a small sound escapes out of my throat.

  I watch this male’s eyes, hungry. His pupils are dilated, the black growing darker, nose flared, and he looks about to shift through his skin.

  The soft seam of his lips brushes across my cheek. “I’m not good at this, Treajure.” Words press against my ear; no one but us could hear him right now.

  He drags his cheek across mine before pulling away. He stands to smooth down his shirt. Cassius plays with his face as if he still has a wild beard.

  “Goodnight, Specs.” He opens and closes
the door before I even have time to catch my breath. My heart’s in my throat, and I have this unexplained pressure deep down between my legs.

  I’m not sure I can sleep now for want of touching him, and I can’t stop wondering if he’s going to touch himself like I am right now, thinking about him.

  Letter 17

  Cash,

  When the kids are ready, when you are ready, paint the room. Start fresh.

  The painting was there only for you to tell stories to the children as they grew, but when they are done with the room they share together, when they get too big, paint over the room. Let them move on; let yourself move on. You don’t need the painting anymore.

  I’m putting that picture up of Clayton and me so you have something to focus on. I want it to burn at your gut because I love him more, and in the end, it’s his hand I want to hold on my way to the Moon, not yours.

  When it doesn’t burn at your gut anymore to look at it, you are ready for someone else. You’ve let me go, and that’s all I really want. You deserve to share love and be loved in a way that I could never give you or want to give you.

  Remember, I will always choose him, not you.

  Kennedy

  Chapter 18

  Red Swirls of Emotions

  The sound of the shower wakes me. The sun isn’t even up yet as I slide out from underneath the bed with shame clinging to the bones of my spine. Tonight, I’ll try again. I need to change.

  My room is dark, and so is the bathroom, but the door is cracked slightly, and I can make out Cassius just enough through the shadowed glass to see the hard outline of his body.

  This isn’t appropriate, but this is the first time I’ve seen Cassius completely stripped out of all the layers he usually wears. I’ve seen males walk around without clothes, I’ve seen males after their shift, but this.

  Cassius is just more…

  Soap is being lathered between his hands. I can see the movement of him cleaning his neck, his chest, working along the line of his torso. More soap is lathered. He bends, cleaning his thighs and lower legs. He runs his hands up his thighs again and stops in an area that holds the maleness of his scent. A rush of breath is pulled in from his mouth just underneath the noise of the shower. My breath also becomes a quiet race out.

  Narrowing my eyes, I try to bring more of him into focus from the shadow of the glass shower. If he were to come out, I’d be standing here, guilty of spying on him. What would he say to me? I should leave, crawl back underneath the bed, but I don’t leave my spot; in fact, I creep up a few inches closer. I want to make more of him out, not just the outline of movement.

  This isn’t right, yet I make no effort to move.

  Another low moan just below the fall of water, his one hand is pressed against the tile. Warm water is felt coming out of the room like a summer breath on my skin.

  What would he say if I joined him? Open the shower door, catch him with his hand around his cock? Would he stop what he’s doing? Would he touch me? What would happen if I slide the glass back and step in?

  The water keeps pouring, and I keep standing here, unable to move. A heat spreads below my mound; a slickness starts. I feel myself growing slick with the way his low sounds barely make it out from underneath the spray of the showerhead.

  A part of me wishes I’d be caught by him. Another part would be mortified.

  He never notices me when I want him with my ruby earrings in. He only notices when I struggle with training or when I’m a sweaty mess from pulling weeds in the garden. When that stupid goose chased me through the yard and he yelled for me to get him. He never notices the important parts, the red parts of me that showed him I was available. He never noticed those times I gathered my hair up at the top of my head to expose those earrings; he never even glanced in the direction of me. Never.

  I want to touch myself the way he’s touching himself right now. I can hear his breathing becoming lower, his body shifting, another quiet noise from his throat. His shoulders curl, head angled down.

  The space between my thighs is warmer now, the slickness pressed into the cotton of my underwear. My nipples are sensitive, and I reach up to squeeze one of my breasts that barely fit in my hand, wishing it was his big hand that palmed me through his t-shirt. Thighs can’t handle the weight of all this; they shake now.

  A whimper escapes through the sound of the water. His body stills, no more movement before the now coldness of the shower hits me in the face; he’s turned it on to freezing cold. The water stops, and I back up into his room, slip underneath the bed, and hold my breath until he dresses and leaves as quietly as he can.

  The minutes are counted, one, two, three… I make it to ten before I come out, dash for my room, and look in the shower, imagining I was in there with him. I’m on edge, ready to explode. The coldness of the room does nothing to stop the fire in my belly from growing.

  Something is wrong with me. All I can think about is Cassius as I lay on my bed, feeling the flat line of my belly, squeezing my thighs together tight. I ache.

  My hand almost feels soothing pressed against the material of my underwear before dipping underneath the band, sliding down my smooth mound. I imagine myself stepping into that shower, him with those surprised eyes. His hand now replaces my hand; it’s his fingers lazily rounding against my sex. I’m spurred on with the blurred display through the shower glass of his outlined body, the way his throat made those sounds that were barely loud enough to hear.

  Sunrise is starting to peek through the open blinds.

  Working myself harder, faster, pressing my teeth into my bottom lip from making any noise, I feel desperate, sweaty, too hot for the t-shirt that’s clinging to my skin now.

  There’s different energy now from seeing Cassius doing that, something more concrete to concentrate on while my slick fingers work myself up into something that provides a few seconds of mind-numbing bliss. Everything is forgotten when I search for this release; nothing else matters but this, right now. This overpowering feeling that takes over my entire surface and insides.

  Opening my legs wider, pretending it’s him I’m opening up for, not my own hand.

  A helpless moan comes out from my throat, breathing heavier, the sinking feeling of my spine pressed against the mattress, thighs are trembling now, toes gathering the material of bedspread up, holding on tight as my pulse races up my throat, another moan, hard this time, a sound louder than I thought possible coming out of my throat.

  His name in my head on repeat over and over again, eyes squeezing shut.

  Another moan out and the click of the door knob before it opens.

  I freeze, eyes still closed.

  “Treajure, are you all right?”

  My heart’s pounding…oh no… Quickly, I take my hand out from between my legs.

  Opening my eyes, I have to blink again just to make sure he’s really standing there with this shocked expression on his face.

  “I thought something was wrong.”

  My legs close quickly. His eyes pull up to mine but look away, quickly.

  “I heard a noise—” He almost stutters the words out.

  I can’t move, and he’s trying not to acknowledge what he’s just seen. His eyes are going everywhere but to mine. They fall on the slickness of my fingers. He inhales, looks away quickly, and I am frozen in my spot.

  “I thought something was wrong.” He steps out of the room. My gut wants to spill around me, and I have to concentrate on not letting my bowels get the best of me.

  “I’m sorry.” He closes the door, and all I want to do is crawl underneath the bed and hide for the rest of my life.

  Letter 18

  Cash,

  Tell your mother and father thank you. They have hearts of the Moon. It wasn’t easy for them to keep loving me when I never gave them much of anything back. I heard your father explain to you once that we only learn from the hard things in life. Watch her, learn from her, think before you act. He was giving you advice, but you wer
e making excuses for everything he said; you weren’t ready to listen to him. You were only ready to keep punishing yourself. You need to stop and start learning to love yourself again.

  Love yourself.

  Nothing good comes from hating yourself. The past is gone. It won’t come back to us no matter how much we want to change things. Nothing will bring back the past, but what we can do, what you can do, is start by loving yourself again.

  Start with the little things by looking at yourself in the mirror and not just hanging your head while you brush your teeth. Look at your eyes. You have beautiful blue eyes.

  Start by listening to music again, you loved music, but now it only hurts your heart and you can’t bear to listen to anything that makes you happy.

  Start with a song and let it stay on until it ends without shutting off the radio. Let the songs finish, and soon you might even start to hum along to them.

  Start by buying yourself something new—a shirt, jeans, shoes, something that’s a little too much money—but understand you’re worth the splurge.

  Start by talking with someone. Let your feelings out, Cash. You need to get those knotted-up feelings out and in the open so someone can help you the way you need to be helped. Talk about your feelings.

  Start by playing games again. You and your brothers used to play a lot of games. Start with playing again. Start winning again, start losing again, just start playing.

  Start by living, not staying dead inside. You get to live. Don’t regret not living a life meant for you because no one can live your life. It’s yours. Own it. Love it.

  Start with the sun on your face.

  Start with rain on your face.

  Start with a clear conscience. I didn’t want to live. That’s the truth. I’m scared to die, scared to live. I’ve given up, and it’s settled me now.