Need

by K. I. Lynn

  Chest pounding with fury, I head straight for my room and proceed to stay there for the next ten hours straight, under the guise of resting.

  In reality, I’m desperately trying to convince myself that Kira ignoring me is a good thing. That it’s necessary.

  Three days later, she’s doing such a goddamned good job at it that I’m ready to explode.

  Twice. I caught her stare twice. And each time, what looked back at me ignited the fury in me. I’m the one that can’t stand seeing her hurt, that would kill anyone stupid enough to do so.

  But again, I’m the one who did it. The only one that can fix it. Fuck. Me. I just want to drag her into my arms and make it fucking better.

  Christmas dinner is a quiet affair. Just Ryan, Kira, me, Sonia, and my father. Who is currently on Kira’s ass for not engaging anyone in conversation, and if he says one more thing instead of not leaving her alone, I think I’m going to stab his hand with my fork.

  Yes. My own father.

  The only good thing about her not talking to anyone is that no one can guess the problem is really me.

  Fuck that. I rather deal with everyone noticing the truth, I realize, than see her like this. If it meant she was smiling at her mother, her brother—fuck, even my father could get one and I’d be happy.

  “Steven, you know she hasn’t been feeling well for weeks now,” Sonia says softly, a bit of an edge in her tone, and I feel like she just jammed my fork into my chest. “Let her be. I’m just happy she’s down here with us.”

  Merry fucking Christmas to me, right?

  It’s almost time to head into the living room to hang out and exchange presents when Kira offers to take the plates to the kitchen and gets out of her seat.

  I last three minutes. Three whole minutes.

  Ryan stands, heading out of the room to answer a call. It's probably Dana.

  Sonia and my father walk together in the direction of the living room, obviously expecting me to follow them.

  I last exactly another twenty-six seconds after that. Then I’m out of my seat, fueled by pure instinct, heading into the kitchen.

  I shouldn’t do this. I think even God knows that at this point.

  I’m not thinking about that. Not thinking much at all. My body is in starvation mode. Past the point of common sense. I can’t stand the emptiness, can’t stand the distance anymore.

  Can’t stand being so far when that look’s in her eyes.

  Don’t know what I’m going to do about it, but fuck that. I’m doing something.

  My body pounds as I fight not to rub my thighs together. The panties I’m wearing are soaked. My heart has gone haywire. This is pure, white-hot lust, and once again, it’s searing every one of my nerve endings.

  It's the most alive I've felt in months. All because I want a man that isn’t mine. A man someone else now has full rights to, in every sense. I couldn’t even taste my food during dinner. It’s as if knowing that someone else has him made my desire for him rocket to a whole other level.

  How can I want to claim someone that doesn’t belong to me so badly?

  Sitting at the table next to him was worse than any hell I’ve been put through yet. I don’t know what the fuck possessed me to wear a skirt.

  When I’d crossed my legs under the table in a desperate attempt to ease myself, I saw Brayden’s gaze flicker toward me again. I could swear I saw something flash across his eyes . . . then nothing. His expression had gone utterly stoic.

  Had he caught a glimpse of my pain? What I was failing to hide? Every one else could see it. He probably could too.

  He chose to ignore it.

  That thought hurt more than anything.

  I shot up and offered to take care of the dishes. Had to get away. I wasn’t made to handle this much pain; a wild, primitive part of me was bubbling up, demanding I lash out at the person that caused it.

  Mad at myself, but most of all, mad at him, I take my sweet time washing every dish in the sink, trying to lose myself in the task.

  I’m four months away from turning eighteen. As soon as it happens, I’m gone. I pray that whatever college accepts me, it’ll be the one farthest from here. Distance. That’s what I need. I need to move so far away, that Brayden becomes nothing more than a whisper in my life.

  I refuse to stay this broken hearted. If running as far away as I possibly can is the only solution, then I’m going for it.

  Hell, I can move across the Atlantic eventually. I’ve always wanted to visit England—

  “Kira?”

  The plate I’ve been washing falls out of my hands, splashing into the soapy water below.

  Another tightening in my womb distresses me. Infuriates me. How dare he stand in this kitchen with me, saying my name in that quiet, almost intimate tone?

  I ignore him, jaw tense from fighting my own fucking soul and its yearning for him. Reaching into the water, I search out the plate I dropped, making sure it didn’t shatter.

  “Kira, I’m talking to you.”

  And, clearly, I’m ignoring you.

  Maybe I should shatter the plate . . . right against his damn face.

  I know he can see I’m hurting. He of all people would know the real reason why. I mean, come on—stupid, pitiful me had been more than obvious about my feelings for him all these years.

  So why is he here? Why is he doing this to me? Does he have no mercy, no concern when it comes to how much I hurt?

  I continue washing the dishes, fighting the urge to turn. To look at him. Attack him. Hurt him.

  Bite into him, claw him up, so his girlfriend knows another woman had her hands on him. So she feels an ounce of the agony ripping through me right now.

  Look at what he’s turning me into. Petty. Mean. So freaking angry that I want everyone to share in my suffering.

  The insane awareness I have of him lights up, sending mini-flares through my system. His steps are silent, but he's getting closer. The pounding in my body magnifies. I grind my teeth together, determined not to let him see anymore of what he’s doing to me.

  The same thing he probably does to her. His girlfriend.

  Man, she must be riding so high. Ecstatic to own a guy like him, have the right to privately and publically claim him. I wonder if she knows what a special place she holds: his first girlfriend. The first girl he’s deemed worthy enough of actually having that title. The one he spends all his free time with, takes on dates . . .

  I’m going to cry. Again.

  He’s right behind me, and the tiny little stitches holding the pieces of me together are starting to unravel. I’m going to break, and he’s going to be there to witness it.

  “I don’t like being ignored, Kira. You know that,” Brayden says in a hard, low tone.

  I almost jump, he’s so damned close.

  Shaking, I finish rinsing the plate and place it on the dishrack. There’s a reason I didn’t use our dishwasher; I foolishly thought I could buy some time away from Brayden if I did them by hand.

  God. Why is he in this kitchen with me right now?

  “You’re mad.” His breath hits the skin of my shoulder.

  His scent tears through me, sending my senses reeling out of control. One step, and he’ll be up against me. One step, and we’ll be touching.

  Adrenaline slams through my veins. I close my eyes, shaking.

  I want it.

  God.

  I want it so bad.

  It’s like a dark, desperate famine inside me; the hunger of a thousand nations, all shoved into one throbbing, too-small body. My body. The body that swells in every secret place, demanding the feel of him all over it.

  It takes every bit of trembling effort I can manage, but somehow I find the strength to remind him of the truth. “I’m pretty sure there’s someone who wouldn’t appreciate how close to me you are right now, Brayden. Move.”

  “There are many people who wouldn’t appreciate it.” His tone is odd when he speaks. It’s that tone that always fools me into
thinking he feels exactly what I feel.

  That he, too, is dying with want.

  It’s a lie, I remind myself. I don’t care what his words are telling me. Yes, the entire world shifted to stand between me and him ever being together—that doesn’t change the fact that he’s found someone special enough to give that part of himself to. “Either way. I said move.”

  His breath bathes the back of my shoulder again. Did he move just a tiny bit closer? Please, God. Please, no.

  “I think I know why you’re angry, but I want you to tell me, Kira.”

  Like. Fucking. Hell.

  I never pegged Brayden for a sadist, and even if he had been anything of the sort, I never imagined it would be toward me.

  In that moment, I realize that he must like to see me suffer. He must somehow take some sick pleasure out of seeing me like this. Why else would he be asking me to say those kind of things out loud? So he could be amused at the stupid girl that is pining away for him while he’s off being with another woman?

  He’s playing with me. Purposely toying with each fragile emotion, like a curious child pressing buttons on a brand-new computer. Oo, what does this one do? I slam the plate I’d been desperately hanging onto into the dishrack, panting with rage.

  “I haven’t seen you this mad in a while . . . I forgot how beautiful you are when you’re angry.”

  My entire body stops.

  Time itself seems to freeze.

  Chest racing, I stare out the window above the sink, out into the cold, dark night, at our ghost-like reflection, and try to make sense of what I just heard.

  It wasn’t only the calling me beautiful part. It was the honesty behind it. That tone that is a perfect echo of every painful yearning inside me.

  His breath. On my skin again. What feels like a light brush of his lips along my shoulder.

  My knees go soft.

  “You remind me of a lion about to attack,” Brayden growls.

  He takes that last step.

  A hungry little sound rips out of me as all that heat and those muscles come in contact with my back.

  Brayden groans and reaches up to move my hair out of the way. “A cat.”

  A legion of goose bumps break out all over me.

  What is he doing?

  God, please don’t stop.

  He can’t stop. I’ll die. I don’t care anymore that he belongs to someone else. How she might feel about this, or how morally wrong it is, doesn’t compute in my mind. I’ll take whatever he wants to give me, but I need something, damn it.

  A shiver tears through me, and before I can stop myself, I’m arching into him.

  Brayden growls under his breath and his hands appear on either side of me, fisting around the sink’s edge. “An angry, hissing kitty cat. Dangerous and adorable. That’s what you remind me of when you’re like this.” He sounds lost in his own head. He inhales me, lips grazing my shoulder. Harder this time. Longer.

  “Brayden,” I whisper, trembling so hard my knees crash against each other.

  He moans into the skin of my shoulder, and I feel it everywhere. A violent, living pulse that shoots straight to my pussy.

  His hands move from the sink to my hips and pull hard, his entire body pressing me into the sink.

  He grinds into my ass.

  I bite my lip, my throat so thick I can’t breathe, let alone make a sound.

  He’s hard. So, so hard.

  I think I just fainted.

  That cock . . . I remember that cock. Felt it. Almost had it.

  Need it now.

  “Fuck, Kitty.” He presses a wet kiss onto my shoulder, his hips rotating again as if out of his control. “This is wrong. Tell me to stop.”

  Never. Who gives a fuck if it’s wrong? His swollen dick tells me he does want me, even if it’s just for sex, and I’m desperate enough—pathetic enough—needy enough to be okay with that. “Brayden,” is all I can say, my nipples so hard they hurt as they strain against my bra. “Please, just do something.”

  “I can’t,” Brayden whispers angrily, his forehead landing on my shoulder. But even as he says it, his cock continues to push against me in agonizing strokes.

  His teeth come down on my skin, dragging across.

  Another thrust.

  I nearly lose it. “Oh fuck.” Whimpering, I meet his next thrust with one of my own. I’m yours. You might not be mine, but I’m still yours. Take me.

  “Kira . . . I . . . still—”

  “Kira? Have you seen Brayden?” Mom calls from the living room.

  No. No.

  Not again.

  Brayden shoots back from me so fast, I almost fall backwards.

  I don’t have a chance to search him out. To stop him. The door leading out to the backyard slams closed, and I catch a glimpse of his back as he leaves the house.

  Agony hits me, so much of it that I know I only have a few minutes, at most, before I lose the battle against my emotions, curl into a ball, and cry.

  What just happened?

  Why did he do that to me?

  I convinced myself that Brayden is consumed by his new girl, since he made her his girl and all that. But, apparently, a part of him isn’t.

  A part of him still wants me.

  Does all of this go back to the fact that we can’t be together? Is that why he’s with someone, even though he wants me as badly as he obviously does?

  Or am I just trying to convince myself here?

  My mother walks into the kitchen. “Kira, honey, where’s Brayden?”

  I’m shaken. Too shaken to hide it. She stops mid-step and I see the concern flare in her eyes.

  Unable to speak, I point at the door leading to the backyard.

  Her eyes flicker toward it.

  I’m out of there, rushing through the house and up the stairs, needing to be alone. My body is a hurricane of confusion, desire, rage, jealousy—too damned much. And to top it all off, hope has weaseled its way back in.

  Brayden still wants me, even though he belongs to someone else.

  And I’m just fucked up enough, hungry enough, to want to take advantage of that.

  I’m convinced that this is never going to go away until I appease that twisted curiosity in me, the one that fuels all my fantasies.

  I need to lock myself in my room and sift through all this. Make sense of what I’m going to do.

  I’m going fucking insane, because before I even make it up into my room, I already know what it is that I’m planning on doing.

  God help me, but I know.

  I fucked up.

  Just like I knew I would.

  What the hell did you think would happen when you went in there, jackass?

  I'd sensed the hurt coming off Kira. Skin-to-skin contact had lashed me with it on every physical level, like it’d been a living breathing being pouring out of her and slithering in to me.

  My girl still wants me as bad as I want her.

  I don’t even think of Amanda as my girl.

  That’s always going to be my problem, isn’t it? I can’t make myself let the concept go. Like it’s a universal law, equal to gravity, that can’t be changed and has to be accepted.

  Kira’s not my girlfriend, yet every molecule in my body is howling at me. Telling me that my girl is in that kitchen right now, hurting, because I’m with someone else.

  That I’ve broken my girl’s heart and it’s my job to fucking fix it.

  I tear at my hair, fighting the urge to throw my head back and yell at the moon. It’s probably close to five degrees outside, I’m wearing nothing but a thin button-down as I pace out here, but my body is on fire right now.

  On. Fire.

  I’m hers. Everything I fucking am is hers, and I’ve taken that away from her. From us both. My body knows this, and it’s furious with me for breaking that one sacred law.

  I’m supposed to be inside that house right now, letting my girl claim what belongs to her. What I know—and she knows—I’ve been giving to everyone
but her.

  Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking asshole.

  She isn’t yours!

  But I’m hers. I’m starting to realize I always will be, no matter what I do. It’s all so disgustingly futile.

  “Brayden? What are you doing out here in this cold?”

  Sonia's voice stops my pacing. Great. Just the person I want to see right now. “I’m fine,” I tell her, not turning around. “Just needed to come out for some air.”

  “In this weather?”

  I ignore that, seeing as I don’t have an answer that will make sense. Shit, nothing in my life does right now. I just want her to leave me alone, and I hope she takes my silence as a hint.

  Of course, she doesn’t.

  Eventually, I’m forced to semi-turn to her, and I stare at her out of the corner of my eye.

  Kira looks like her. Not in the eyes, but she has the hair, the facial features.

  No wonder my father couldn’t resist.

  Sonia purses her lips. “Brayden, is there something going on? You’ve been acting odd all week, and now this?”

  I look away, wondering why I still feel shame when facing Sonia. Sure, she’s been nice enough to me all these years, but she’s also one of the women my father cheated on my mom with. She helped tear them apart.

  My shame has very little to do with her, I realize. As always, it all has to do with Kira. How I keep hurting her. What I can’t give her. Everything I keep demanding from her in spite of all that.

  My phone buzzes with a text. Without thinking, I reach into my pocket.

  Merry xmas baby. Miss you so much. Call me when you get a chance ♥♥♥ xx

  I groan. Another fucking thing to feel guilty about. Bad enough I know why I’m with Amanda, but the little hearts and kisses along with the message stab me right in the chest.

  I’m a motherfucking asshole. Dating one girl to forget another. A girl that is impossible to forget.

  Maybe if Amanda was here, it wouldn’t be so hard. She’d be here to fuck—to suck my dick and stare up at me with eyes that aren’t hazel and hair that isn’t auburn.

  I’m scum, and on top of that, the thought is bullshit. How many times have I been forced to close my eyes and block out Amanda’s blonde hair? How many times have I had to imagine Kira’s eyes staring up at me, just so I could actually bust a nut with Amanda?