by Nikki Ash
He can't be more than an inch in before I wince, and he does exactly what I didn't want.
He fucking stops.
“Emery.” My name sounds like a prayer and a threat all at once.
“Harland.”
His eyes narrow, as if he's trying to figure it out, but never in a million years am I going to admit that I'm a virgin. I'm eighteen. He'll think I'm a loser. He'll stop. He'll never touch me again. So, instead of being honest like I probably should, I mask over my fear with determination.
“Are you going to fuck me, or should I go find someone else?” I question boldly.
He growls, and with two hands on my hips, he slams inside of me in one fluid motion. I feel like every part of me is going to explode. With pain. With pleasure. With everything.
Harland doesn't let up as he slams inside of me over and over, and I don't want him to. As soon as the sting wears off, I'm arching my hips up and meeting him thrust for thrust. His fingers lace into my hair and hold me steady as his tongue tangles with mine in every way that I need.
“You're so goddamn tight,” he moans. “Fuck, baby. I need you to come.”
He uses his free hand and presses his thumb against my clit, rubbing circles in a way that gives me no shot in hell at resisting.
“Give me it, Emery.” His voice is like a growl as he moves his lips to my ear. “I want every fucking ounce of your pleasure. Cum on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”
My hips grind into his touch, and on one particularly hard thrust, I go over the edge. My orgasm rips through my body at a rate that threatens to tear me apart. I can't even stop myself from screaming out as Harland rushes to cover my mouth, which somehow just enhances the pleasure.
As I clench around him and he works me through my high, I watch as he bites his bottom lip hard and his movements halt, his dick pulsing inside of me. He collapses on top of me and pants heavily as we both catch our breath. It isn't until we both feel something warm start to leak out of me that our eyes widen.
“Fuck,” he sighs. “Please tell me you're on the pill.”
My brows raise as I look at him like he's lost his mind. “With my parents, who swear my soul will be damned to hell if I so much as kiss a boy before I'm married? Right.”
He pulls out, and there it is, clear as day—the condom broke.
Harland runs his fingers through his hair as he tries to figure out what to do, when he suddenly picks me up and jumps into the pool. The water feels cold against my heated skin, and I swim to the surface and sputter.
“Harland! What the fuck?”
He swims closer and pulls me toward him. “Wash it out of you.”
I cough on some of the water that made it into my mouth. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” His movements are slow, but I flinch when my back hits the cold side of the pool. “You want me to do it for you?”
I don't think I could trust my voice, so all I do is nod. He smirks as two fingers meet my sore pussy and push inside. My head falls against the edge as the intense pleasure takes over again. It's like every part of me that was sensitive before is multiplied from my recent life-changing orgasm.
“Does this even work?” I question.
He shrugs and continues to work his magic on my clit. “I don't see why it wouldn't.”
I smirk, tilting my head to the side. “It would probably work better if you fucked it out of me.”
Throwing his head back, he chuckles. “Your confidence in me as a man is flattering, but I don't think I can get hard again right now.”
Well, that sounds like a challenge.
“Want to bet?”
I wrap my legs around his waist, and it only takes a minute before I feel him start to thicken.
Fuck, yes. Round two.
I wake in the morning, thoroughly exhausted and completely sexed out. The sun shining in my eyes makes me wince, and I roll over to find Ashlyn already awake and at her desk. My brows furrow as I look at her and sit up.
“What time is it?” I ask sleepily.
She glances over at me and chuckles. “Almost noon. You were sleeping like the fucking dead.”
Noon? “Ugh, I have to pack today. Why'd you let me sleep this late?”
“I tried to wake you. You wouldn't budge.”
“Fuck my life.”
As I go to stand up, the sore feeling left from last night causes me to stumble and memories flow through my mind. The way he touched me on the lounge chair. The feeling of his lips on mine. How we couldn't get enough of each other in the pool.
I have to see him.
“I'm going to get a drink,” I tell my best friend. “Do you want something?”
She shakes her head and holds up her Starbucks latte. “Your iced coffee is in the fridge.”
The corners of my mouth raise. “You're a goddess.”
“I know.”
I go to the bathroom first, just to make sure I don't look like a total train wreck. The last thing I want to do is scare him away the second I finally have him. I run a brush through my hair and resist the urge to put a little makeup on then deem myself acceptable.
My feet pad down the stairs in search of my coffee, and hopefully Harland in the process, when the sight in front of me stops me in my tracks. Harland is sitting on the couch with a total blonde bombshell.
Lindsey.
I'm frozen in place as I watch this nightmare unfold. It looks like they're talking about something, but I'm too far away to hear what. I inch closer, unable to stop myself. It isn't until she sighs and pulls him in for a kiss that everything inside me shatters.
“I love you,” she tells him.
As he wraps his arms around her and holds her close, his eyes meet mine. I can’t stop the tears from falling, but I bat them away as soon as they hit my cheek, furious to show him this weakness.
I'm sorry, he mouths at me, and then his eyes focus on Lindsey’s face as he responds.
“I love you, too.”
Three Weeks Later
I walk into our dorm room and collapse onto my bed. The last few weeks have been exhausting, and my classes haven't made it any better. It's as if I can't seem to find the energy to stay awake, and no matter what I do, I can't focus.
“You look like shit,” Ash tells me. “But still a little better than before.”
After finding Harland with Lindsey and witnessing their reunion firsthand just hours after he took my virginity, I was a wreck. I managed to hide it from Ashlyn, telling her that I had some sort of stomach bug, but it sucked. I hid from the world as I let my tears soak the pillow, thankful that we were in our dorm instead of back in our hometown where I could do something I'd probably regret.
Suddenly, the urge to vomit rips through my stomach and sends me rushing to the garbage can. The contents of my lunch spew from my mouth as my best friend comes over to hold my hair back.
“Jesus, Em,” she says, rubbing my back. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were pregnant.”
Her words send a chill right through me, and I instantly heave into the can again, but this time for entirely different reasons.
Oh, fuck.
Chapter Two
Harland
Nearly five years later
Picking up more of my clothes, I shove them into the bag with a little more force than necessary. This is fucking bullshit. All of it.
I look around the tour bus I've spent the last few years in and admire the awards that line the walls. Platinum records. VMAs. Grammys. The thought that all of that could be done now pisses me off beyond belief.
The sound of Vance and Rhys laughing echoes through the bus as they climb on board, but the second they see me, their smiles drop off their faces.
“Packing?” Vance asks.
I nod and throw another thing into my bag. “It's fucking stupid.”
Rhys snorts. “You don't need to tell us. We know.”
Sitting down on the bunk, I run my hands over my face and groan. “I'm sorry, g
uys. I feel like I ruined everything.”
Rhys goes to say something, but Vance throws a hand over his mouth. “It's not your fault, dude. So, you got engaged to a psycho. We all make mistakes.”
“Psycho is an understatement,” I tell him as I'm pulled back into the memory of what happened.
There's nothing better than the buzz that runs through me as we get done with a show. The screaming fans all shouting our songs back at us…It's unlike anything I've ever felt in my life.
The guys all head back to the bus, but I'm going to the hotel. Lindsey has been traveling with us and really doesn't like staying on the tour bus. She says it's too stuffy and crowded. I don't really understand it, but whatever makes her happy. I know she's been doing a lot with planning our wedding, and still managing to follow me around the world. The least I can do is give my girl what she wants.
I step into the elevator and wait for it to make its way up to the penthouse suite. All I want to do is drink a beer and climb into bed, but as I walk through the door, something feels off. There's a jacket thrown across the couch that I don't recognize, and a pair of shoes by the door that aren't the right size.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
It doesn't take long for my mind to figure out what's going on. Hell, I've suspected it for a while, but I always told myself she would never. She's not that cruel. Stupid me for thinking better of her time and time again.
The second I open the bedroom door, I see exactly what I've been denying. Lindsey is on top of some guy, riding his dick while her tits bounce. Fucking bitch.
I throw the door open further with a force that threatens to break it. The sound of it slamming against the wall pulls both of their attention toward me. Lindsey's eyes widen, but the guy who I recognize from a band we beat out this year at the VMAs just smirks.
“Harland,” my fiancée pleads.
I put a hand up to stop her and focus on him. “Get the fuck out before I throw your ass off the goddamn balcony.”
He doesn't need to be told twice as he jumps off the bed and scurries out of the room. Once I hear the door shut, I turn all my attention to Lindsey.
“We're done,” I tell her. “The wedding is off. You can keep the ring, but I want you gone by morning.”
She shakes her head as tears rush down her face. “No, baby. No. Don't do this.”
I scoff and roll my eyes before making my way toward the exit, but she's hot on my heels.
“It didn't mean anything. I was just jealous of all the girls who throw themselves at you,” she tries. “I thought you didn't want me anymore.”
Bullshit. It's all fucking bullshit, and I have no interest in hearing it.
I continue my way toward the exit when she screams my name, and a slap echoes through the room. I stop in my tracks, thinking maybe she hit me, but no part of me feels anything. I turn around with brows furrowed and stare at her. She looks at me with a manic gleam in her eyes as she raises her hand again and punches herself straight across the face.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
She smirks, blood pooling at the corner of her mouth by her own doing. “You don't get to leave me.”
Un-fucking-believable. “You're psychotic.”
“I'm the love of your fucking life,” she growls. “And the woman you're marrying next spring.”
Laughter bubbles out of me as I call her bluff. “Not a chance in hell.”
I turn around and walk out the door, flashing her the middle finger just before it closes.
Good fucking riddance.
Thinking back on it now, I should have stayed and called the cops. I should've filed some kind of protection order. But I was mad and went back to the tour bus to get drunk off any alcohol I could find. It wasn't until the next morning—when I woke to fifteen missed calls from my publicist—that I realized I fucked up.
Apparently, after I left, Lindsey proceeded to beat herself to the point where she looked like she was jumped by a gang. Both of her eyes were black and blue, her lip was split wide open, and she managed to break her own cheekbone.
And of course she blamed me.
Police rushed onto the tour bus and took me into custody before I even had time to take a piss. I was dragged down to the station and interrogated for hours. No one wanted to believe that she did it to herself. Who would? The story itself is outlandish. No one is that psychotic, right? Wrong. Apparently, the girl I've spent almost the last decade with is.
Lucky me.
It took a few hours before they came in and said that she dropped all the charges, but that doesn't change the fact that all the media outlets already had a story printed. She told them that I beat her when she tried to leave me. Now the whole world sees me as a woman-beating prick with abandonment issues.
The guys and I tried to rough it out, wait for it all to go away and continue to do our thing, until the night of our show at Madison Square Garden. A fight broke out between a bunch of girls—some saying I was an abusive prick, and some trying to defend me. It was then that we knew we needed to take a break.
Two platinum records.
Nine VMAs.
Three Grammys.
All thrown down the fucking drain because I decided to get engaged to the devil herself.
Our publicist said that the best course of action was to go on hiatus. Basically, to take a few months break, maybe even a year or so. At least until everything dies down. She even tried to use the whole Chris Brown and Rihanna situation to ease my worries, but it didn't, because I didn't do anything fucking wrong.
The only bright side to this is that I'm heading home for the first time in almost five years. Maybe it'll be nice to lay low for a bit, out of the eyes of paparazzi and fawning fans. Where everyone loves me because I'm H, and not because I'm Harland Storm of Sound the Sirens.
Pulling up to the house, it almost makes me laugh at the way it looks exactly the same. No matter how much I tried to bribe my mom to move out to LA, she refused. And now that I'm back here, I can see why. This humble abode is our home. It's the place I learned to ride a bike. The place I got my first guitar. It's every memory of my childhood all inside beige walls.
I walk through the door and toss my bag down. “Anyone home?”
My mom's squeal from the living room brings a smile to my face as she comes running toward me. My mother has always been a tiny little thing, but I love that about her. My 6'4” towers over her, and she needs to arch onto her tiptoes to hug me.
“I've missed you so much,” she tells me, kissing my cheek.
“I've missed you too, Mom. It’s good to see you again.”
“I wish it were under better circumstances,” she answers.
I drop my head and nod. None of my family ever liked Lindsey. They all swore from the start that she was bad news, but I didn't listen. I really wish I had.
Looking around the house, I notice someone is missing. “Where's Ash?”
My little sister graduated college last summer and still ended up moving back home. It's no secret that she's been mad at me since I missed her graduation. I tried to be there, but it was rained out and changed to a day where I had a show. No matter how many pleas I made to change the date of the show, they couldn't. Tickets had been bought and people had already flown in for it. I was stuck.
“Oh, she'll be home soon,” my mom tells me. “Come. Let's sit down and talk. It's been a while.”
I follow her into the living room, but while she sits down, I can't help but look around at the small differences of this place. Framed pictures of me on the wall aren't from my childhood anymore, but from award shows. She even has the article of when we sold out MSG for the first time in a frame on the mantle, next to one of the VMAs I sent her to hold onto.
“So, other than everything with that wench, how have you been?” My mom questions.
I chuckle at her choice of words. “Can't complain. It's exhausting but exhilarating. I love it so much.”
“I always knew you wou
ld. Ever since you first picked up a guitar at five years old.”
Looking over at her, I smile. “The yellow Fender Strat. You bought it for me for Christmas.”
She gleams back at me. “And you did nothing but play it for years until you got a new one for your ninth birthday.”
That's one thing I've always loved about my mom—she’s supportive to a fault. No matter what Ashlyn and I have ever wanted to do, she was always there, cheering us on and pushing us to be our very best at it. Being a single mother to two rambunctious kids couldn’t have been easy, but she never faltered.
I go back to looking at the mantle when one picture catches my eye. It's a little boy I've never seen before, but something about him is oddly familiar. He can't be any older than two in this photo, but I think I would’ve known if my sister had a baby. Or at least I hope someone would have told me. I stare at it for a moment before finally asking.
“Who's this little guy?”
My mom gets up and comes to stand next to me. “Oh, that's Hollis, Emery's little boy.”
I damn near choke on air at her words. “Emery has a kid?”
With her parents' strict religious rules, I can't believe it. I used to think there was actually a chastity belt under those jeans of hers, or that she would end up being a nun. Then again, I know differently, don’t I?
“Yeah,” my mom answers. “Poor thing ended up pregnant a few years ago, no father to be seen. Her parents dropped her like a hot potato.”
“Fucking seriously?”
She nods. “Ashlyn and I have been there for her as much as we can. You know that girl is like family to us. But she ended up having to drop out of college to raise him. She's done an incredible job, though. I just wish she could have at least gotten through school. Dropping out only months into her freshman year was rough on her.”
Everything freezes inside of me, and time stands still. My eyes meet the little boy in the photo, and all the familiar things about him stare back at me.
