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His lip lifts at the edge. Not in a smile. A sneer. “You can thank me, Pearl,” he whispers, taking his half-smoked cigarette to his mouth and pulling hard, exhaling slowly as he leans forward, his eyes dangerous slits, “when my face is between your legs licking that sweet cunt until I’m drunk on it and you’re screaming for more.”
I subtly breathe in my hurt, but I remain stoic. Unmoving.
“Only then will I truly appreciate your gratitude.”
I won’t give in to his need to be a bastard. To treat me like an object. He’s obviously forgotten in the heat of his anger that I’ve experienced him at his best, and his best was the worst he could have given me. Because I liked him, and I know everything else I see now is an act. “You don’t shock me, Brad,” I murmur, seeing the confusion he’s trying to conceal behind his steel façade.
“What would it take to shock you?”
“You admitting that you can’t stop thinking about me.”
“No,” he growls, showing nothing but disgust.
“No, you won’t? Or no, you don’t think about me all the time?”
“I don’t care about you, Pearl.”
“You’re a liar.”
“Come here and say that to my face,” he grates, flicking his cigarette away angrily, leaning forward some more. Threatening. But he doesn’t get up from his chair. I can’t help but think he’s trying to anchor himself. Restrain himself.
He’s a fucking joke.
So I go to him, the fronts of my legs touching his. I look down at him as he tilts his head far back to look up at me. “You’re a liar,” I whisper.
The mixture of anger and defeat on his handsome face twists it, and he slumps back in the chair. I step back, giving him space to absorb his unspoken confession. I still don’t know what I’m doing, but I can’t stop myself. Can’t seem to find it in myself to walk away from him. From this.
I push my hair over my ear on one side, biting at my lip ring as he pinches the bridge of his nose, sucking air through his teeth. He looks like he’s going to explode, cursing quietly under his breath over and over.
I back up some more until I’m against the glass pane of the balcony, reaching back and holding on, if only to stem my shakes. And I watch him, something inside willing me to see this through to the end.
Whenever the end may be. No matter how it ends.
His fingers grip each arm of the chair, then ball into fists.
And he looks at me.
Every inch of his face softens, and with it, I soften too, relaxing, seeing the fight leave him and free me. With no prompt, I approach him, bending and resting my palms on his thighs, lowering to my knees between his legs. He looks down at my hands and places his on them, lacing our fingers, squeezing, watching, before sitting forward and hooking his arm around my shoulders. He pulls me into him, his face hiding in the crook of my neck, his breath hot on my skin. My body comes to life. I feel life in him too.
I move my hands onto his bare chest, feel my way around his back, and hold him tight. Get us as close as physically possible.
It’s quiet but so fucking loud. And despite knowing I could be walking into an absolute nightmare, I can’t help but feel like the nightmare will be worse if Brad isn’t there with me.
23
BRAD
* * *
I’m so done with this fight. I’m out of restraint. Out of energy. And as she clings to me, relief drowns me. I listen to her breathe, listen to the track for . . . God knows how many times it’s been. I clench my eyes closed and slide my hand into her hair, gripping it hard. I can’t ignore the ache inside anymore. Can’t cast it aside as nothing. It’s something.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I whisper, my mouth at her ear, my grip of her hair getting harder. “I just can’t stop.”
She doesn’t speak, only nods, telling me she understands, as she strokes her way across my back, feeling me. I revel in the new, pleasurable feeling of a woman’s warm, soft hands on my flesh. Welcome it.
Enjoy it. Because it’s her. Only her.
Securing my hand over her nape, I encourage her out. Her eyes search mine. For what? Hesitation? Like I said, I’m done with this fight. “Get off your knees,” I order gently, helping her to her feet, resting back on the chair and pulling her onto my lap. I never want her on her knees for me. Begging for me. Subservient to me. Not like every other woman I’ve had. Pearl’s different. She triggers feelings—feelings I’ve not had before. Something beyond physical pleasure. So young but so strong. I know I have to ask her questions. She knows she has to answer them. But right now, I just need this moment of clarity. Of acceptance, because I’m experiencing the same level of relief I felt when I first succumbed to this madness.
