by K. I. Lynn
Moving closer, I shake my head, begging her with my expression to let the hurt go. To let me back in. “I love you, Kira.” I'm on my knees, both figuratively and literally—worshipping in the most basic sense that a man can worship anything—and those three pitiful words are the only thing I have to voice just how necessary she is to me.
My stubborn kitty clenches her jaw and shakes her head.
A denial.
So be it.
I nuzzle her mound, the slick soaked material of her panties making me groan deep in my throat. Gripping her hips, I bring her closer, pressing my tongue flat against the source of that delicious scent.
She fights it, but there's no hiding the shifting of her body against the door, the way her toned legs part for me. I swirl my tongue across her panties, sucking softly on each pussy lip.
Her hips jerk, offering me more of that luscious cunt.
My teeth bare on a snarl and my head snaps around so I can latch onto her inner thigh. Biting her. Sucking on her.
Marking her.
Fucking mine.
Sliding my thumb into the crotch of her panties, I pull them to one side, baring plush, pink, swollen flesh. She's glistening for me, her clit throbbing.
“I missed this pussy, baby. You have no idea how much.” I'm fucking panting with hunger.
Kira says nothing. Her eyes burn with anger and need as she glares down at me. Pink cheeks. Parted lips. Panting just as hard as I am.
This is our truth. The only truth I've ever known, even back when I did everything in my power to deny it to myself. Neither of us can escape the electric pulse that connects us on the most primal fucking level.
I'm hers. She's mine.
And our bodies know it. Knew it long before our minds could comprehend it.
“This is my pussy to love. To lick.” I flick her clit lightly with my tongue. “To suck,” I groan, tugging on it with my lips.
She cries out my name, fisting my hair so she can pull me right where she needs me.
My cock leaks. I moan right into the wet core of her body, losing control. My tongue laps slow and thick into her dripping pussy lips.
She chokes back a loud cry, pulling on my hair.
I snarl, sucking her harder.
I'm going to fucking make her scream, whether she wants to or not. Drive her so wild with the need for my cock that her shouted pleas will be heard all the way downstairs, above the pumping music that's currently shaking the walls. I don't give a fuck if we get caught anymore. My only purpose in life in this moment is to make her drench my tongue.
“All I've thought about for years is this little pussy,” I confess, using the tip of my finger to tease her entrance. Her whole body trembles for me, telling me every single thing she refuses to tell me. Her walls suck my finger right in.
Tight.
Unbelievably hot.
Her eyes roll back, her body arching along the door again. Help me God, she's the sexiest thing I've ever seen. Felt. I'm losing control, sanity being vaporized with every sweet breath and dick-twitching moan that leaves her.
She's so ready to be fucked. It takes every bit of my willpower to ignore the painful throbs of my dick. I press my open mouth between her legs, lapping at her clit slowly and add another finger inside her.
“Oh God. Brayden.”
Fuck. She clamps down around them instantly, her pussy so greedy. I look up at her as I eat her. She's lost, unseeing eyes and a body moving, searching, needing just a little more. I start pumping my fingers into her, slow and hard, exactly how I plan to fuck her with my cock at first.
Another whimpering moan leaves her as her head falls back on the door. Her sexy sounds are growing in volume, intensity. Muscles strain against me, the walls of her pussy tightening so much I can barely move my fingers. Her legs are shaking.
So close. So fucking close to having her all over my hand, my tongue, then all over my leaking dick. “That's it, baby. I want you to come for me.” I speed up, driving it home.
Her head falls forward, and I'm hit with that beautiful, blissed-out expression. Her gaze holds mine. Broken little moans seep out of her parted lips.
“Yeah, baby. That's it. Look at me when you come.” I suck her clit back into my mouth.
She freezes up on me, the orgasm breaking through her so hard she can barely move. My name crashes out of her lips, a broken litany that leaves my hips rocking, almost shooting off right there.
She's still coming when I blast up to my feet and wrap my arm around her, thrusting my fingers into her as the tremors continue drumming through her walls. Her teeth clamp down on my neck, silencing her helpless cries, but they reverberate through my body.
Her teeth bite down, marking me, whether she knows it or not.
I love it.
Her body goes limp against mine, all the fight drained out of her. The walls of her pussy are still fluttering around my fingers.
She missed this—needed the contact—as bad as I did.
Her head's tucked into the crook of my neck. I feel every panted breath that leaves her.
My bed's behind me. My old bed. The same one I spent countless nights imagining her on. I promised myself I wouldn't fuck her here, in this house, where anyone can hear us, interrupt us. That's what the room I rented is for. But I'm not making it out of this house with her. My cock's raging, ready to burst.
This time, I'm staining her walls with me. Not her dress, her skin. She's taking every last drop I can give, into her.
I tighten my arm around Kira, squeezing her. Her walls tighten around my fingers in response, ripping a hiss out of me. I swirl them around inside her, loving her small high-pitched gasps, that I can hear how wet she is. She moves against me, her body languid in my arms.
And this, right here, the utter surrender of her body, almost makes all those years of bullshit worth it.
I nuzzle her hair, using my face to move it out of the way, and start licking up and down her delicious throat. “Fuck, baby,” I murmur, sucking wetly on her earlobe. “I wish I could get you out of here, back to the room I rented for us tonight.” She shifts. I grab her arms, my hips rolling into her. “But I can't wait to fuck you. Need you. Now.”
I don't recognize the sound I hear at first, almost confusing it for a moan.
Another roll of my hips, my body seeking any sort of friction for my aching dick.
That sound again. Low.
Sad.
Kira shifts one more time.
She wants me to let her go.
That sound . . .
She's fucking sobbing.
My arms go slack with shock. I let her go, not because I want to, but because I can't remember the last time I actually heard her make a sound like that.
No. I've seen Kira cry before in the past, but I've never heard that specific sound from her before. Not that one.
My fingers slide out of her. She's in front of me now; another sound leaves her, making my fingers twitch at my sides because it's wrong, so fucking wrong.
One lone tear leaks out of her eye, and I stand here like a fucking moron, eyes fixated on the path it makes down her cheek, unable to stare at the source of that tear because it's starting to dawn on me what I'm going to find there.
“Don't you get it?” Kira's voice is raspy, trembling. She angrily wipes away the tear. “You can make my body come against my will, thousands of times if you want, but that doesn't change anything.”
It’s a gut punch, my stomach twists inside me, ripping me apart. Her words . . .
The tone of her voice is also different than any I've ever heard from her. There's no anger. No pain. It's just a dead intonation. A mere stating of facts.
I'm shaking my head before she even starts speaking again, because I know what she's going to say. I've heard it before, but never in that tone. It'll make it too real, and I won't fucking accept it . . .
“It's too late, Brayden. Too. Late.”
I clench my jaw and shake my head harder. “No.�
�
“It is. Even if I give in and sleep with you, you'll never have any actual piece of me.”
I step toward her. “Then let me sleep with you. Have me, Kira. Let me prove to you how wrong you are.”
She laughs, the sound bitter. Jaded. There's an ugliness inside her, too old for someone of her age. An ugliness I put there. “Give the almighty Brayden Hunt another notch on his bedpost? No thank you.”
I shake my head again. “No. You're not another notch. Never you. I told you, I love you, Kira.”
My face doesn't even register the pain of her slapping me.
“You have no fucking clue what love is, Brayden, so don't give me that bullshit.”
I can't argue with that, because we both know my history. My dysfunctions when it comes to love are the real reason my girl's turned into this bitter, heartbroken woman before me. Not the fact that she's my stepsister.
It was all about me and my stupid fears.
“You might be right about that, but I also know that it's the only word that even comes close to describing whatever the hell it is that suffocates me every time I think of you. See you. Hear your name.”
She looks like she's just barely holding herself back from hitting me again.
“Do it,” I whisper to her. “I told you, hit me all you need to. Hurt me. But stop pushing me away.”
“You want that, don't you?” She narrows her eyes, studying me. “You want me to hurt you because somewhere in that sick mind of yours, it'll mean I still care.”
“You do still care,” I grind out, but that little voice of uncertainty is awakening, whispering dark doubts into my mind. Her eyes are too dead. Unfeeling.
Cold.
Kira gives me a small, mirthless laugh. “Keep lying to yourself. How could anyone still care after everything that's happened? After everything that you did?”
She has to be lying. She has to. I know I messed everything up, but fuck if I'm going to accept that it's over.
“Get it through your thick head, Brayden. I have no interest in being with you. We would never be able to work it out. Move on with your life, and get out of my way so I can do the same.”
“There's one little problem with what you're saying, Kira.” I flex my drenched fingers at my side. “You still need me as much as I need you. You're all over my fingers. My mouth. You would've been all over my cock if I'd given you that instead.”
“I told you, it's only my body! Lust. Nothing more!”
Ah, the sweet undertone of denial.
My hope reawakens once more.
“I'm not giving up on you, little liar. This isn't over. It never will be, if I have a say in it.” Let her make of that last part what she will. It's the truth, anyway. Maybe I'm not meant to have her tonight. That's fine.
It's clear now that I won't be getting anything from her until I prove my love.
So be it. Challenge accepted.
Kira adjusts her dress and huffs. “Well, it's a good thing you don't have a say in it.”
Oh, but I do. She can deny it—fight it—all she wants, but I really, really do.
When she storms around to exit the room, I'm tempted to block her path.
I don't.
Watching her over my shoulder, I wait until she's opened the door and is almost out into the hall before I speak. “The hell I don't, baby. You're mine. And I'm going to do anything necessary to prove it.”
She slams the door closed on her way out.
Her walls may be up, to guard herself against me and all the shit I put her through. But I’m a mother-fucking wrecking ball, an unstoppable force, and I’m going to tear them down.
I’ve already made up my mind.
And I don’t give a damn if she thinks she’s made up hers.
by
K.I. Lynn
&
N. Isabelle Blanco
Take
Copyright © K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This work is copyrighted. All rights are reserved. Apart from any use as permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part may be reproduced, copied, scanned, stored in a retrieval system, recorded or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.
Cover image licensed by shutterstock.com/ © Gabriel Georgescu
Cover design by L.J. Anderson/ Mayhem Cover Creations
Editor
Marti Lynch
Vanessa Bridges - PREMA
Publication Date: January 6, 2016
Genre: FICTION/Romance/New Adult
ISBN-13: 978-0692610312
ISBN-10: 0692610316
Copyright © 2016 K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco
All rights reserved
Thank you to all our fans. Your support means so much to us.
As we said in Need, we fucking love all of you.
~K.I. Lynn & N. Isabelle Blanco~
Part 2
“Heav’n has no Rage, like Love to Hatred turn’d. Nor Hell a Fury, like a Woman scorn’d.”
- William Congreve
“And I’m ready to walk through that hell, a thousand times over if necessary. I’ll walk through it with no clothes on, let the flames singe every bit of flesh on my body. But I’m fucking getting my girl back, no matter the cost.” - Brayden
April 18th, 2015
“Don’t you get it? You can make my body come against my will, a thousand times if you want, but that doesn’t change anything.”
It’s only been about an hour since I heard those words, maybe less.
It feels like they’ve been haunting me a lifetime already.
Or is this merely a taste of what’s to come? Is this anger and impotence swirling in my chest just the beginning?
It’s funny how a matter of a few minutes can completely change a person’s perspective. I was so sure upstairs. Grounded. Cocky, even.
But the words, man. They keep digging deeper and deeper with every minute that passes, burrowing past all of my beliefs. All of my common sense.
That’s the power of words, though. Isn’t it?
Did she mean them? Was that just her anger talking?
I don’t know what would be worse: knowing she meant them, or this sick speculation that twists over and over in my head.
“It’s too late, Brayden. Too. Late.”
I spent years playing a stupid game, trying to deceive myself. Always convinced that I was ready to let her go. Ready to move on and live without her.
Yet I always knew, didn’t I? I always knew I wasn’t really letting her go, that I wasn’t ready to do so.
That I never would be.
That’s why I kept coming back. Living without her isn’t a possibility, and subconsciously, in the pit of me where there was actually some truth, I’d known that.
This insane despair crawling up my throat right now, the dark rage that’s choking me slowly, one breath at a time at the thought of truly losing her is the final piece of evidence.
I was never going to let her go.
I can’t do it, no matter how much she asks me to, especially not now with the certainty infecting every cell in my body.
That’s why I’m here, back where I started out the night. Hiding in the shadows at the side of the house, a drink in my hand, my chest in slivers inside my leather jacket. I’ve probably had four drinks in the last ten minutes alone.
Am I trying to get drunk? Maybe. I shouldn’t, but I also can’t help but try to chase the feelings away.
I haven’t seen Kira again. I’m not sure a part of me wants to just yet. She had every right to slice me up the way she did, every right to continue doing so, but I’m too raw right now to face her.
Too hooked to leave her completely alone.
Even though I’m not staring
at her—in fact, I have no clue where in the house she is right now—this is my way of keeping an eye on her. Making sure this party doesn’t get really out of control and she isn’t dragged into anything too sordid.
I know what she’d say if she heard my thoughts right now. How she’d throw in my face that, until recently, I was all up in the sordid, partaking like a true hedonist.
The thought actually makes me smile.
She’s right. I’m willing to change that now, to be better, for her, but it doesn’t change who I’ve been all these years.
Where I’ve been and what I’ve been up to.
That’s the real problem, isn’t it? Who I’ve been. It isn’t so much a matter of getting Kira to forgive me, it’s a matter of getting her to believe I’ve really changed. For her to believe I don’t want anyone but her.
I throw back the rest of my drink and take out my phone. I don’t know what I’m hoping for, or why I would even hope for it. After I changed my number for Kira, only she, Ryan, my parents, and a few of my college friends have it.
None of the girls I ever fucked in the past have it. Yeah, I did that shit on purpose. I meant it when I said I was closing that door permanently.
Not seeing a message hits me with disappointment. Especially because, despite all logic, I know what I was hoping for.
Time for another drink.
I retrace the same path I’d taken earlier, heading toward the front of the house. Someone set up a garbage bin right at the end of the path, obviously anticipating that some people would hang out where I’d been.
So far, it’s only been me. That I’ve seen anyway.
I deposit the red Dixie cup in my hand into the bin. One step in the direction of the front door and I see a metallic black BMW peeling down the road. The car turns sharply into the driveway and parks behind another black car.
I’m knotted inside, warped, but even on my best day I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of that car.
The sight of its owner.
