Slowly, I walk around the room, carefully studying each painting. Each one is of something damaged, broken, life breathed into it again. “These are…” I shake my head, trying to find the words that fail me at the moment, “good, Em, really, really amazing.”
“Thank you,” she replies shyly, causing my gaze to turn towards her and admire a different masterpiece, one that I want to get my hands on like a sculptor molding his priceless sculpture.
“Turning back to the painting of the building, I feel saddened at how it’s now gone, destroyed like I said it should’ve been. “I don’t know how you turned what we saw that night into something as amazing as this.”
The soft peach on her skin fills my senses as she steps in front of her art. “This is what I saw,” she states simply, “that building was more than just bricks and mortar, it held a quiet strength, a beauty that I wish others would have seen so they could’ve fixed the broken pieces instead of letting it fall.”
Her words slam into me with a staggering intensity and I struggle to take a deep breath. “Do you always see beauty in shitty, hopeless destruction?”
“Yes.” Her eyes meet mine and there’s a truth behind her words that completely fucks with my head, my ability to focus.
There’s a painting next to the window that’s covered with a sheet; I turn to it and glance over my shoulder at Emma. Her cheeks flame and her eyes darken. “Can I see this one?”
I watch as she swallows long and hard, biting her lip as she joins me. “This one is for you,” she whispers with a soft hesitance in her voice that makes me want to kiss her.
“For me?” I ask, grabbing the sheet, “but it’s your birthday.”
“Well, actually, it’s for both of us.” Emma takes a deep breath and, for a second, she looks like she’s going to bolt straight from the room, but she stands her ground. Desire and fear are burning so damn bright in her eyes.
With a flick of my wrist, the sheet billows to the floor. The last of her innocence falls with it.
Chapter Sixteen
Cruel Contradiction
Emma
Speak. Say something. At least breathe…dammit! I want to move. I have to see his face but I’m frozen. I’m a spineless coward. It seems like forever before he finally clears his throat. That can’t be a good.
“That’s you and me…making love.”
I’m not sure if it was a question or a statement. I stare at the painting that has haunted me, pulled me from my sleep to recreate what I dream about every night, and the image that I can’t get out of my head. On the canvas, I’m lying on his bed, my hair spread out like an angel’s wing on his blue sheets, even though that depiction is grossly false. My breathing is shallow as I find the courage to step next to him so I can watch his eyes as he takes in the imagery of him holding one of my wrists against the sheets as his other hand is caressing my face. My lips are parted, like they are now, and my eyes are closed.
His raw emotion grips me as he stares at the painting, matching the intensity of my emotions as I spent countless nights painting and fantasizing about enkindling the still depiction into existence. The air is tangible from the charge electrifying the unspoken current between us when he turns around. The wanton lust in his eyes ignites the charge, singeing me with the sensuous awakening rebelling through every inch of my being. “What are you trying to tell me right now, Emma?”
The absurdity of his question catches me off guard and I stare at him incredulously, “Do I have to spell it out for you?”
His eyes roam over my body greedily, hungrily. Leaning forward, he takes a long chestnut strand, twirling it around his finger, “Yes, spell it out. I need to hear every single word of you telling me exactly what this means.”
Pushing all thoughts out of my head, I lick my lips, trying to moisten what has suddenly gone dry and almost laughing out loud at how another part of me is just the opposite right now. Wrapping my hands around the bottom of my shirt, I pull it over my head, dropping it to the floor, as I unhook my bra, letting the black lace slide off my finger before undoing my jeans and slowly sliding them off before doing the same with my panties until they are a heap at my feet. “This is me wanting you,” I breathe, “I don’t know how I can make it any clearer.”
“Emma, we don’t have to,” his words are forced and my confidence slips.
His words, from the night we met, haunt me, I will be inside of you, Emma, doing all sorts of forbidden things that you have never even heard of, and you will be the one begging me to….you just don’t know it yet. Breck’s reduced me to my knees. I want to curse my weakness but I’m not strong enough, not when it comes to him. Damn him, if he wants me on my knees, that’s where he’ll have me. Taking a shaky step backwards, I feel as if the wind has been knocked out of me, “You don’t want me?”
Breck shakes his head, scowling, “How can you even think that?” His lips curve beguilingly as he takes my hand, lowering it to the top of his protruding arousal tenting his jeans, “This should show you how much I want you.”
My cheeks flame when I feel his length throbbing against my hand, “I know that you’ve tried to be a gentleman. Don’t. You’ve turned me down twice already – don’t turn me down again - Please.”
My feet leave the floor as Breck scoops me into his arms. His jaw is tight, his eyes on fire, as he walks with a determined purpose to my room. He drops me on the bed, unbuckling his belt, ripping off his jeans, before he crawls over me, his muscles bulging as he holds himself above me on the bed. Wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, he fists my hair in his hand as he pulls my mouth to his, growling, “Fuck chivalry.”
His kiss is deep, conquering, as he brands me with his lips. His tongue lavishes mine, claiming me and setting me free at once. The power in his kiss demands my submission so I surrender, opening fully to him, returning his passion with a flame of my own. He tugs my hair, dragging my head back, and I gasp as he runs his tongue across the line of my jaw, going lower until his mouth finds my breasts. I arch, pressing my nipple further in his mouth as he devours me. His touch is rough but so damn good as he touches me everywhere, not missing one curve or recess. He tortures me with his mouth and hands until my head spins and the tingling heat between my thighs ignites.
Suddenly, he stops, and I literally ache for him. He’s on his knees, towering over my flushed, panting body as everything inside of me screams for him. In an instant, I’m pulled from the bed, his hands gripping my arms as he pins me against him so we are both on our knees. “Touch me,” he softly orders, his voice so thick and husky.
If I had enough sense left, I would be ashamed at how quickly I submit to his demand, but he’s stripped me of any reason and I’m too far gone to care as I wrap my hand around his swollen length, my eyes widening at how hard he is.
“That’s what you’ve been doing to me since the first time I saw you and every damn time you arch your brow,” he grins, wrapping his hand around mine, moving it up and down, teaching me what to do before letting go and lowering me to the bed. “I want inside of you now, Emma.”
Chewing the edge of my lip, I nod. He grabs his jeans, reaching for his wallet. I hear the rip and watch as he rolls the condom over what’s getting ready to be inside of where I’ve never allowed anyone to be. Closing my eyes, the poignancy of the moment hits me.
“I want you to look at me, Emma,” he demands, his voice softening.
Obeying, I look up at him staring down at me with such intensity, I feel like I might cry.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks one last time.
“Shut up and just make love to me already,” I breathe, finding him again and sliding my finger down his magnificent length.
“I’ll go slow. I swear I’ll be gentle with you.”
Those darn tears threaten to fill my eyes again and I wonder what the hell is wrong with me as I bite my lip and nod. His fierceness is gone, replaced by a gentleness that is every bit as passionate and full of hunger as before when he press
es his swollen tip against the entryway of both gain and loss, carefully easing inside. His eyes never leave mine and he immediately stops when I tense, knowing that I feel the burn of all of him trying to fit into me. I tangle my hand in his hair, pulling his mouth flush to mine, “Make me yours, now, please.”
A soft gasp escapes as he eases the rest of the way inside and begins to slowly slide in and out, his hand cupping my cheek. I watch as he studies my body’s responses until he lets go, his mouth trailing tender kisses up my neck and across my chin and mouth while his body collides against mine. My body builds and he thrusts harder, pulling in and out until I’m writhing underneath him. His mouth leaves a trail of fire on my skin, down my neck, over my heaving breasts, down my sides and across the soft flesh above my navel. My skin is on fire. I dig my fingers into his shoulder and he wraps his right arm underneath my back, pulling me flush to his hard chest while he balances us with his left arm, his fingers digging into the sheets.
I feel his breath hot against my neck, his breathing ragged as he takes me higher. My heart pounds and my skin moistens as he continues to hold me against him, thrusting harder and harder inside of me. He fills all of me to the core with each thrust, expanding my tightness, and I am utterly lost with how good it feels to have him inside of me. Being so close to him as I build into a delirious high feels like heaven and I explode, my body arching violently into his as my body shudders, shattering exhaustedly in his arms.
His hand cups the back of my head as his movements intensify, going deeper, harder, as he thrusts inside of me. His fingers tangle in my hair and his mouth falls against mine when his body tremors just as violently with his own release. We’re breathless as we fall against the bed, the weight of his body gloriously crushing me. I feel his heart pounding against mine and I kiss him with everything I have, giving him all that I am.
“Happy birthday, Emma,” his lips curve into a smile before he collapses next to me, pulling my body against him until I’m cradled in his arms.
I snuggle my head between his chin and chest and breathe him in deeply, never wanting this moment to end. “That was the best damn present, ever.”
His shoulders shake softly when he laughs. He brushes his lips against my forehead and exhaustion takes me while I wrap my arm under his, over his side, and press my hand against his back as I drift into the most exquisite oblivion.
“I have to go, Emma,” Breck’s voice pulls me from my dreams of what we did last night.
I reach for him, but he’s not next to me. Blinking against the harsh morning light, I open my eyes to see him standing next to the bed, fully clothed, with his keys in his hand. “What time is it?”
“7:15,” he answers in a hurry, sounding agitated.
“Where are you going so early?” I sit up, panic bubbling inside as he avoids my gaze.
His voice is cold and detached as he rushes, “I just have to go.” He finally looks at me with that damn dark guarded look he had the day we met, and my chest caves. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Catch up with me later? No. No. No. This can’t be happening. My fingers grip the sheet until my knuckles are white, “Breck, wait!”
He stops at the bedroom door, hesitating before he turns around, “Happy birthday.” He doesn’t wait on a response before he’s gone.
I don’t have one anyway; I can’t even breathe. The door slams and my head falls against the headboard. Panic pricks my skin as I replay last night over and over in my mind. Everything seemed perfect, and I refuse to jump to conclusions. Throwing the covers back, I storm into the kitchen to find my cell phone, intent on calling Breck and finding out what is going on. My heart drops to my stomach when I see the door to the hall closet open, the two angel paintings I purposely didn’t show him in full view. He can’t handle the beliefs I’m failing miserably at keeping right now.
A soft rap against my door echoes through the hall. Wrapping the sheet around my body, I rush to answer it, praying Breck’s going to tell me his reaction to me a few minutes ago was just a misunderstanding. The warm Spring morning breeze blows the sheet as I open the door but I feel nothing but cold when I see Justin standing outside. The look in his eyes reduces me to nothing. “W-what are you doing here, Justin?”
He pushes me inside and slams the door behind him. “I came here to see you on your birthday but I just saw a hell of a lot more than I ever wanted to. Who was that leaving your apartment at dawn, Emma?” Justin yells at me, the anger in his voice sounding so out of place coming from him.
I want to tell him it’s none of his business but my head is too clouded and preoccupied at the moment.
“What the hell is going on? You came to the door in a sheet! Are you sleeping with him?”
I grip the sheet, pulling it higher, and he knows that I just left the same bed Breck did. He grabs my arm, then stops when he sees the tattoo and he releases me like I burned him, “Get your things, we’re going home.” His rigid body brushes roughly against mine as he storms past me.
Shock stalls my reaction but only for a few seconds. “I’m not going anywhere Justin,” I snap, following him as he yanks open my drawers and starts taking clothes out, throwing them on the bed. “Stop it, Justin!”
Spinning around, he grabs me tightly, jerking me towards him, “I let you leave Pickens. I let you go on this ridiculous dream to move to Boston to try to sell your paintings. I came here to see you, to spend some time with you, and you’re having sex, getting tattoos, and God only knows what else.”
Jerking my arm away from him, I step back, fire blazing in my veins, “You let me? You don’t control my actions, Justin. Moving here was my decision. If I have sex with-” I choke back tears not able to say Breck’s name, “someone, or want to get a tattoo or whatever in the hell else I want to do, that’s my decision to make, not yours!”
He grabs a shirt and a pair of shorts and throws them at my face, “Get dressed. We’ll see what your father has to say about your decisions.”
Guilt immediately impales me but I push it away. I’m twenty-two, no, twenty-three, dammit, I can make my own decisions, no matter how screwed up and scourging they are. “Leave, Justin.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you. We are going home.”
“There is no ‘we’ anymore, Justin.” The pain in his eyes sends a sharp ache straight to my already damaged heart, “You knew that I was never in love with you. I never said I was, even when you told me that you loved me.” God, the truth of everything that I’m saying to him cuts and burns like venom, knowing that Breck never said he loved me either. “I tried, but I couldn’t, I can’t.” Breck tried, I know he did, I saw it, I just wasn’t enough, like Justin isn’t enough for me. Tears spill from my eyes as I look at him full of regret, “It was never my intent to hurt you.”
Justin’s back straightens, his face contorting in anger and pain as he looks at me, the one girl that I ever knew he loved, and I can’t love him back. The seconds tick by torturously, making the pain so much worse. “Whether or not you love me is irrelevant right now. You’ve made a spectacle of yourself and your father. Look at you, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”
“You never did to begin with, Justin, not really. I tried to tell you but you wouldn’t listen.”
“That’s because all you ever talked about was leaving!” he yells before raking his hands through his hair, struggling to calm down, “I know you want to paint. You didn’t have to come here to do that.” He pauses. His head drops before he turns it away then slowly looks at me, “I would’ve taken care of you. I can give you a good life. You don’t have to work, you can continue your hobby.”
“My hobby?” I yell, not able to take anymore right now. I push against Justin’s chest, pushing him backwards through my bedroom door, “Get out!”
“Stop it, Emma!” He grabs my wrists, holding them so I can’t push him away, and I struggle to get free. The sheet falls to the ground, and Justin drops my hands, glaring at me.
I grab the sheet, covering my naked body.
“He’s tainted you, Emma,” he states with pure contempt. “You were always the one telling me to wait, that your beliefs were to be married before you gave yourself away. I waited years on you and you’re already giving it up after mere months here? Who is he? How long have you even known him? Maybe he’s not even your first!”
“That’s none of your damn business, Justin!”
The contempt drips from his words, “Your daddy should’ve checked the color of water before he baptized you in it.”
My hand lands hard against his cheek before it flies to my mouth, red and stinging from the harsh slap. Justin stands there, the veins in his neck bulging as he glares at me, and for a second, I’m a little scared of what he might do. I hear his shallow breathing as he touches his cheek before grabbing my wrist, jerking me towards him, “You’re not the same girl you were when you left. I don’t know who you are!” Letting me go, he pushes me, and I stumble backwards as he walks away, my door slamming for the second time.
Shakily, I reach for the phone. I call Breck, desperate to hear his voice and needing to prove myself wrong. It goes straight to voicemail. Hours pass, and I try a few more times throughout the day, leaving him a message and sending him a couple of texts but he never responds. Jess calls. I don’t answer. I’m supposed to meet her tonight. We were supposed to meet her, Jason, and Gavin tonight for my birthday. I try to wait on the time Breck had said he would be here to get me but I can’t stand the waiting, the not knowing, it’s driving me insane. Other than Jess and the message from Dad wishing me a happy birthday, my phone has been silent, and I’m so close to losing it.
Ash to Steele Page 27
