Breaking Bennett

by Anne Jolin

  She furrows her pretty, auburn eyebrows at me in confusion.

  “Does loving him so much so quickly make me weak?”

  Rushing to me, she grabs my shoulders. “Love isn’t a weakness, sis. It’s the weapon to be most feared, because a person in love has the world to lose and they’ll do anything in their power to protect that love.” She kisses my forehead. “Loving him and being loved by him will give you more strength than you ever thought possible.”

  I guess I was wrong. I have more tears in stock, because they fall again when she hugs me.

  “I don’t give a flying fuck,” Jay roars when we reenter the room.

  Peyton is squirming on the bed. Well, as much as someone with three cracked ribs can squirm. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. They won’t come back for me,” she pleads.

  “I won’t take the risk of you being collateral damage, Jackson’s already packing your shit, sugar, so let it go. It’s happening,” he says matter-of-factly.

  Huffing, she purses her bottom lip. “I want my own room.”

  “Sug—” he argues.

  “My. Own. Room,” she growls at him. “Or no deal.”

  Once he moves from the foot of her bed, he presses his lips to her forehead. “Fine, sugar. Your own room.”

  I think it’s safe to say I missed something.

  We stay until the nurses finally kick us out so Peyton can get some sleep. Frank, who was sitting in the waiting area the entire time, drops us at the estate before returning to his loft in the city.

  “I’m exhausted,” I breathe, leaning back into Brax’s chest.

  He scoops up bubbles on top of the water and starts to knead my heavy breasts. I whimper, letting my head fall back farther to rest it on his shoulder.

  Brax undressed me in the foyer the moment we got home and carried me upstairs. “Bath and bed,” was his instruction.

  Feeling his hard cock against my backside, I wiggle against him. So he slides one hand down my stomach and cups my pussy.

  “I think your punishment is over,” he purrs as his index finger pushes inside me.

  “Oh,” I moan, splashing some of the water onto the floor.

  Thrusting another finger inside my tightness, he teases my clit with his thumb. All the while alternating between twisting and pinching each of my hard nipples.

  “There’s only one thing left to take care of until I can fuck you,” he growls, nipping against my neck. “And when I do, your pussy will be sore and raw from my cock. You’ll be filled with my seed and I’ll be the last man to ever touch you there.”

  “Yes!” I scream when he presses down on my clit. Partially in response to his words and partially in response to pleasure he’s giving me.

  “Say it, Beth.”

  I know what he wants to hear. “I’m yours. No man will ever touch me again.”

  Possessive as ever, he responds only with his body, sending me headfirst into the orgasm my body has been craving since the night before.

  The night that seems so long ago now with all that’s happened.

  Upon draining the massive Jacuzzi, he wraps me in a towel before laying me down on the bed and folding his large body around mine.

  “Sleep, babe,” he says against my neck.

  And I do sleep—for nearly an entire day.

  The sun is pouring in through the large windows, and I protest, burying my face into the pillow under my head. Reaching out with my hands like a starfish, I feel around the bed next to me. Empty. Opening my eyes, which are still puffy from crying, I look around the bedroom. Nothing. I finally locate the clock on the nightstand. It’s seven o’clock in the morning on a Sunday. I’ve slept solid for almost twenty hours.

  Stretching my arms over my head, I make my body as long as I can, waking up some of muscles that are still at rest. Then I brush my teeth and twist my messy hair up into a bun before slipping one of Brax’s shirts over my head.

  It’s angelic the way the light shines through all the bay windows in the house, the morning rays ricocheting off the black surfaces and warming the honey-colored wood. Ducking into the kitchen, I peer around but don’t find him. I do, however, find a pot of hot coffee. After finally opening my sixth cupboard, I locate a mug and make myself a cup.

  Walking out into the living room, I see his frame leaning against the porch railing through the window. He’s on the phone, so I quietly slip out the French doors as not to disturb him. Then I sit down in the wicker couch in one corner of the deck, stretching my legs out across it.

  This morning, he’s wearing blue jeans that hang low on his hips and a white T-shirt. The shirt is of stark contrast to the blackness of his hair and the vibrant colors of his tattoos. I’m an awe of him—so much so that it takes me a while to pick up on his rigid posture and the tone of his voice.

  “By any means necessary, Charles. I mean it,” he barks into the cell phone. The muscles in his back tighten as he runs a hand through his inky locks. “I want to see everything,” he snaps before ending the call and sliding the phone into his back pocket.

  I wait for him to turn around, but instead, he picks his coffee mug up from the railing and launches it out into the yard. “Fuck,” he curses to himself.

  After placing my cup down to save it from meeting the same fate of its brother, I pad across the deck. “Morning,” I greet him when I’m a few feet away so as not to startle him.

  “Morning, babe,” he says, turning around.

  Snaking my arms around his waist, I stand on my tiptoes and press a kiss on his lips. “Who was that?”

  Ever the talented lawyer, he evades my question. “No one. How are you feeling?” he asks, running the pad of his thumbs underneath my eyes as he cups my face.

  “Like I’ve been hit by a truck,” I laugh.

  Inspecting my face further, he shakes his head. “I spoke to the hospital. They are releasing Peyton this morning.”

  My face lights up like the sky on the Fourth of July and I launch myself into him. He catches me effortlessly, his large hands settling on my ass as I wrap my legs around his waist.

  “Babe,” he growls. “What are you wearing?”

  Pulling my head up from the crook of his neck, I cock my eyebrow at him playfully. “Your shirt.”

  “And,” he rumbles, sliding his hands underneath the shirt.

  “And nothing else.”

  In one swift movement, I’m hanging upside down with my bare ass in the air.

  “Braxton!” I shriek, trying to flail, but he’s holding my legs under the knee with his arm and I don’t budge.

  He spanks me with his other hand as we ascend the stairs. “That view is for my eyes only.”

  “What? The trees?” I sass, although it’s hard to gain the upper hand—literally and figuratively—when you’re being fireman-carried while naked.

  “No.” The hand that just spanked me skims over my ass. “This,” he hisses, pushing a finger inside me and pulling it out just as quickly.

  I flail around again, but this time for an entirely different reason. “We’re in the middle of nowhere,” I whine. “No one can see me.”

  When he flops me down on the bed, he cages me in with his arms. “Frank and some men will be here with your things soon.” Nipping at my throat, he demands, “Get dressed. Now.”

  “And if I don’t?” I challenge, sliding a hand down between our bodies.

  “You’ll wish you had,” he chides, pulling my hand back up. “That’s mine. No touching.” Standing up, he crosses his arms over is chest and simply waits for me to oblige.

  “Asshole,” I quip, glaring at him.

  Grabbing me by the back of the neck as I stand, he drags my lips into his for a quick kiss. “I washed your clothes,” he says before walking out of the room, leaving me wanting more. Again.

  Such an asshole.

  Stepping into the walk-in closet, I see my yoga pants and his sweater folded in the centre. I don’t waste any time getting dressed, and by the time I make it b
ack downstairs, we have company. Frank, three gigantic men, and an even bigger moving truck having taken residence in the driveway.

  “Morning, love.” Frank smiles, pulling me in for a side hug.

  I hug him back, thanking him for yesterday. “What is all this?” I squint, taking in the scene in front of me.

  Then I remember Brax’s words from earlier. “Frank will be here soon with your things.”

  “Oh my god,” I gasp out loud. I was so busy teasing him that I didn’t pay attention to what Brax was saying.

  After bolting out onto the driveway, I run around to the back of the truck to confirm my suspicions. Right on the money.

  “This is all my stuff!” I screech.

  “You can’t move in without your stuff, babe.” Brax snickers, coming up behind me.

  I elbow him in the gut, turning on my heel to wave a finger in his face. “We just talked about this yesterday, and now, all my shit is here!” I yell.

  Cocking an eyebrow at me, he grins smugly. “You said yes.”

  “I was under duress!” I shout, waving my arms around at my sides.

  “A confession nonetheless,” he says, moving around me to pick up a box.

  As he walks towards the house, I lift up one of the couch pillows and chuck it at the back of his head. “You are insufferable!” I holler when my launch connects with its intended target.

  The bastard doesn’t even turn around. He just chuckles as he walks through the front door.

  “Lucky shot.” Frank laughs, lifting another box from the truck.

  Once I grab another pillow, I raise it up in the air like I’m going to throw it. “Are you sure about that, chuckles?”

  Lifting his hands up in mock surrender, he shakes his head.

  “That’s what I thought,” I murmur, walking back towards the house.

  “I take it back!” Franks hollers from behind me. “You’ve got too many shoes to be the Prince Charming in this relationship.”

  Turning on a dime, I launch the other pillow straight into the Irishman’s gut. “Oh, shut it,” I sass, jumping a little in joy when he looks disoriented. “Lucky shot my ass.”

  I am not allowed to help with anything. No lifting boxes. No putting away clothes. Nothing! I shit you not. Right now, a man who looks like the human version of King fucking Kong is hanging up my wardrobe.

  So instead, I spend the entire day on Brax’s house phone. I call Peyton to see how she is settling in at Jay and Jackson’s house, but what I end up getting is an earful from Jay about how she needs to rest and would call me later. Moving on, I spend another two hours on the phone with my parents. Hannah called them back later on Friday night and assured them that there was nothing they could do by coming home early and everyone was fine. Needless to say, I’d expected my parents to put up more of a fight about my moving in with a complete stranger, but honestly, they didn’t seem all that bothered by it. I guess I’m not the only one who thinks of Brax as my hero and is happy that he seems set on making himself a permanent fixture in my life. Oh, and the fact that he already called them helped. Micromanaging ass.

  Now, I am sorting through old mail Frank brought over when Brax places a box onto the kitchen island in front of me.

  “Are these important?” he asks, looking adorably confused as he holds up a bag of tiny plastic babies.

  I burst out laughing, clutching my sides as he eyes the box. “They’re for Hannah’s baby shower!” I smile, taking the bag from him. “It’s a game.”

  “Oh.”

  My laughter gets caught in my throat when realization dawns on me. “No,” I breathe sadly.

  Immediately jumping to attention, he cups my face. “What’s wrong?”

  “We were supposed to host the shower at the condo in two weeks. The invitations have already been sent out. I can’t host a shower with no furniture.”

  Placing a finger underneath my chin, he lifts my head to look at him. “You’ll have it here.”

  “What? No, I can’t. This is your house.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “No, it’s our house. You’ll have it here. End of discussion.”

  Leaping up from the stool, I almost tackle him to the ground by peppering kisses all over his face. “Thank you. Thank you.”

  “There’s a computer and a phone in my office. Make whatever arrangements you need to get everything swapped over,” he says, kissing my forehead and placing my feet back on the ground.

  My mind is racing a mile a minute about the changes that need to be made when he calls me from across the room.

  “Does she know what she’s having?”

  Remembering Greyson and Hannah’s decision to be surprised, I smile. “No. They’re waiting.”

  Knocking the doorjamb with his knuckles, he grins. “Okay, babe.”

  “HOLY MOTHER OF Troy,” Lennon whistles as she walks through the front door of our house. “You didn’t tell me we were hosting the baby shower of the century, Beth.”

  Rolling my eyes, I close the door behind her. While I spent the Sunday two weeks ago letting guests know that the location for the party had changed and giving them directions, Brax was planning a little something of his own.

  The entire driveway up to the house is now lined with pots of yellow flowers. He hired a caterer, who set up round tables outside on the deck with matching yellow flowers in the centre of each. He also transformed the entire house into the type of baby shower you’d see in a magazine. So while Lennon was being sarcastic, she wasn’t that far off base.

  It was a gorgeous, sunny afternoon in September, and more than that, it celebrated two weeks for us. Two weeks since I moved in and two weeks of no further threats from Kyle. Brax and Frank decided that was likely due to my increased security. I drive with Brax to work every day, and if I’m not with him, I am escorted by Frank. Despite all of that, I figure it has more to do with Kyle finally moving on from the loss of his shiny toy.

  I’m just about to follow Lennon into the living room when I hear commotion outside the door.

  “Quit manhandling me!” Peyton snarls as I yank the front door open again.

  “It takes twice as long for you to walk as it does for me to carry you,” Jay laughs, setting her down on her feet in front of him.

  The bruises on her face have healed, but her arm is sporting a bright-pink cast and her ribs still make it hard for her to move around.

  “It’s not my problem you have no patience,” she smarts off, pressing down her yellow dress where he wrinkled it.

  Lennon and I are still watching them bicker on the front stoop, neither of us wanting to break up the entertainment, when I feel Brax’s tattooed arms wrap around my bare shoulders from behind.

  “I’m all set to go, babe. Do you have everything you need?”

  Snuggling into him, I nod. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “Frank will be here the whole time if you need anything, and I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he says, turning me around his arms. He looks handsome as ever today in a grey Ralph Lauren golf shirt and black pants.

  “Have fun,” I grin, pushing up on my wedges to kiss him on the lips.

  His hands fall to the small of my back and he holds me to him while I thread my fingers through his hair. “I love you,” he whispers in my ear when we finally pull apart.

  Wiping the lipstick off his mouth from our kiss, I smile. “I love you too.”

  As I watch the boys disappear down the driveway in Brax’s black Dodge pickup, an uneasy feeling creeps over me. I suddenly wish I’d kissed him so much harder.

  An hour later, the guests have arrived, the food has been put out, and all that is left is for our girl of the hour to arrive.

  The boys’ tee time meant that Greyson wasn’t able to drive Hannah, so instead, Brax ordered a car to pick her up and drive her to the party. Normally, he’d have sent Frank, but since the break-in, Frank hasn’t been allowed to leave my side unless Brax was by it.

  “This is so fresh.” My drun
k aunt Berta bumps into me laughing at her own reference to the Bridesmaid movie and sloshing her drink around.

  I see it coming, but it’s too late. I can’t stop it from happening, so I just watch as her pink champagne dumps all down the front of my blue dress.

  “S-s-orry,” she hiccups.

  After passing her off to my mom, I excuse myself to the kitchen to retrieve some paper towel. Dabbing the wet patches of my dress, I frown. I’m going to have to change. This outfit is unsalvageable. Giving up, I toss the wadded up balls into the trash, careful not to bump into one of the twelve caterers moving around the room.

  I’m almost out of the room when the house phone rings. Seeing as I still don’t have a working cell phone, those calls are usually for me.

  Plucking the phone out of the cradle, I see Hannah’s cell number on the call display.

  Pressing the talk button, I lift the receiver to my ear. “Where are you, butthead? Aunt Berta is about to open your presents for you,” I laugh.

  Silence.

  “Hello? Hannah?”

  Silence.

  “Did you pocket-dial me? I hope you’re on your way here and didn’t stop to pee somewhere.”

  Silence.

  “Beth!” my sister wails into the phone.

  Every hair on the back of my neck stands up at the sound of her voice in full-fledged panic. “Hannah, what’s wrong? Is it the baby? Are you okay?”

  I only hear soft whimpering now.

  “I have your attention now, don’t I, you little bitch?” a distorted voice plays through the line and a cold chill ripples through my entire body.

  Looking around for Frank, I start to run from the kitchen, but the voice on the other end stops me.

  “Tell a single person and I’ll kill them both. Your whore sister and her baby.”

  My feet immediately come to a halt. “Please don’t hurt her, Kyle,” I beg.

  The menacing laugh sounds even scarier with the distortion and I shudder.

  “You’ll listen to me very carefully if you want to see her while she’s still breathing,” he hisses.

  “Yes. I’ll do anything.” I plead.