"Repeat after me."
"Okay."
"I deserve to come."
All my breath leaves my body as his palm smacks against my flesh. "I deserve to come."
"I deserve you."
"I deserve you."
"Good girl." He brings his palm into the air. "Last one."
"Please." There it is again. I still don't know what I'm asking for, only that I need it desperately.
Smack! His palm comes down hard on my ass.
Then he's pushing my panties aside.
Teasing my sex with one finger.
Two.
Three.
"Please."
"Beg me."
"Please."
He teases again.
Again.
Again.
"Please what?" His voice is low, demanding.
He teases again.
God, my sex is aching.
I feel so empty.
So incredibly desperate to be full.
"Please, I want to come on your hand. Please."
He pushes a little deeper.
"Please. More."
Deeper.
"Please."
There. He drives his fingers into me.
Then he's pulling them out.
Another thrust.
Another.
My body relaxes. He's giving me what I need. Exactly what I need.
He fucks me with his fingers.
It's rough. Hard. Fast.
And it feels so fucking good.
"Brendon," I breathe. "Please."
"Say it again, angel."
"Brendon."
He drives his fingers into me. Again. Again. Again.
All that tension in my sex knots.
Almost.
Almost.
There.
I groan his name again and again as all that tension unwinds. An orgasm rocks through me. It pushes every last inhibition from my brain.
He throws me onto the bed on my stomach.
Peels my panties to my knees.
I hear his zipper undo.
Then his hand is around my throat.
And his body is on top of mine, his chest against my back, his cock nudging my thigh.
Nudging my sex.
There.
With one swift movement, he drives inside me.
I get the full force of him.
Fuck.
It's intense.
But it feels so fucking good.
He goes deeper.
Harder.
Again.
Again.
His grip around my neck tightens.
He has me pinned.
I can barely move my legs—my panties are around my knees. And he's between them.
I'm completely at his mercy.
But there isn't a single part of me that's scared.
He drives into me again and again.
It's overwhelming, that sense of being full.
Or being held down.
Of being under his control.
He nips at my neck, holding my body against his as he drives into me again and again.
Fuck, he feels so good.
And the way he groans against my neck—
I do believe I deserve this.
That I have done penance.
That everything is going to be okay.
He keeps me pinned to the bed as he fucks me.
That last bit of guilt fades away. Until my body is nothing but pleasure. But the ache of desperately needing to come.
I clutch at the sheets.
I buck my hips against his.
He pins me harder.
Tightens his grip around my throat.
Almost.
He drives harder.
Deeper.
My eyelids press together. "Don't stop." It's all I can get out.
He drives into me with those same steady thrusts.
Again.
Again.
There.
The tension in my sex unfurls. I'm pulsing so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. I'm sure I'm going to push him from my body.
But he keeps that same steady thrust.
Keeps me pinned to the bed.
His lips find my neck. He groans my name against my skin as he thrusts through his orgasm.
His cock pulses as he spills inside me.
He's giving me everything he has.
I feel so full, so whole, I can't stand it.
Once he's spilled every drop, he collapses next to me.
He wraps his arms around me and pulls my body into his.
His lips find mine.
And he kisses me like he's never going to let me go.
Chapter Forty-Five
Kaylee
Sleep eludes me. I lie in bed—in my bed, just in case Em comes home and decides finding me in Brendon's bed is adding insult to injury—staring at the white-blue glow of those little plastic stars. Their light is soft. Ghostly almost.
I turn over. Press my eyelids together. Try to chase the image of Emma's face from my mind.
It won't go. All I see is the hurt in her dark eyes. All I can hear is the betrayal in her voice.
Kaylee, what the fuck?
No, I know he's a liar.
You're both liars.
Like I slapped her in the face.
No, I did. I didn't just lie to Emma about this. I stomped the ground and dug my heels into it. I dug a fucking grave with my heels.
Now it's time to lie in it.
Light peeks through the dark curtains. First a deep shade of blue. Then lighter. Some mix of red, pink, and orange. Then enough to keep the stars from shining.
I give up on sleep and crawl out of bed.
All the downstairs lights are on. Brendon is on the couch in his jeans and t-shirt, his head on a pillow, his eyes closed. A bright, colorful infomercial flashes on the TV. Some sponge. It's a happy face that makes it easier to clean. So you can drag happiness over dirt until it's as grimy as everything else.
I let him sleep. Brush my teeth. Wash my face. Shower. The water is hot, but I don't feel it. The release of last night is gone. It keeps replaying through my head.
Emma is never going to forgive you.
I press my eyelids together, tilt my head back to rinse my hair. Water streams down my face, off my chin. Still it screams in my head.
Emma isn't going to forgive you. And whatever's happening with Grandma—you're going to have to get through that alone.
I know I have my parents.
But I still can't get over them keeping this from me. And I know how awful it feels—someone keeping a secret to protect you. Only I don't know the reality. I don't know how much of their words are sugar coating and how much are straight up lies.
I guess it runs in the Hart family.
After I towel dry, I finish packing. There. That's everything. Meds. Clothes. Kindle. Laptop. Toiletries. It's still hot here. But what about in New Jersey? I check the weather report, pack a few sweaters just in case.
I find my phone and text Emma for the hundredth time.
Kaylee: I'm sorry. Can we talk? Please.
Nothing.
I stare until my eyes are dry.
Nothing.
It's still early. She's probably not even up. Brendon's here. That must mean she's still at Walkers. That she's still okay.
It means more. I don't know. My head is fuzzy. Full. My thoughts are going in circles. They're fast but they're slow. I need sleep. And tea. In that order.
It's not an option.
I lug my stuff downstairs and put the kettle on.
Brendon stirs. I can't see him from here but I can hear him.
"Fuck. What time is it?" he asks.