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What would he say if he knew I hit the ground long ago?
He hums against my skin, his tongue flicking me there, and I feel him grin against me.
Slowly, he lets my legs drop, his hands coming up to cup my face and hold my eyes on his.
He stares a long moment, and then leans in, his lips pressing into the corner of mine. He doesn’t let go or pull back, but a strangled, whispered, and maybe even unaware, “What are you doing to me” follows.
My breath lodges in my throat, and I don’t respond. I don’t think I’m meant to.
And then he’s gone.
I go to bed having no clue what tomorrow will bring, but knowing one thing for sure.
Royce Brayshaw has the ability to feed my soul... or feast on it.
And me?
I must be as sick as my mother was... because I’m pretty sure I’d let him do both.Chapter 24BrielleHoly hickey!
I gape at the mirror, pushing my hair aside and lean closer.
It’s big, like the size of a freaking baseball big!
How?!
He was only there for a few seconds, right?
But he has skills, Brielle.
I turn my head more.
Okay, maybe not the size of a baseball, but definitely a golf ball. It starts farther back on my neck and higher up, almost to my hairline, and comes down like a jacked-up J, right into that sweet spot he found.
My core heats at the thought of last night, at the taste of his lips, the strength behind them.
He was all in, giving me a taste of what he can do to me, and I gladly accepted, begged on the inside, not that I’d be opposed to begging on the out.
I’m starting to realize, though, Royce can only work off what his mind allows.
No one can dictate his next move for him, maybe not even him half the time. To try and force something on Royce messes with his mind and leads to frustration. Annoyance. And that’s when the hardheaded, foul words follow.
He’s kind of like a child in that way, unsure of what’s coming at him, so he acts out, but not for attention.
It’s the opposite really.
“Oh, you think you see me?” —fires a missile, straight to the jugular— “well how about now? Did you see that coming?”
It’s the only way he knows how to keep out what he’s afraid to let in.
Possibility.
Hope.
Love?
He’s afraid to feel. Afraid to hurt once he does because he believes that’s all that follows. So, he spends his time with gorgeous girls he has no desire to know, who have no wish to know him either, and he tells himself he’s okay with it.
He’s not.
I see it when he looks at his sister-in-law, at Victoria, and his brothers.
He craves what they have, but he doesn’t believe he can have it, too.
This world, it can seem tame at times, but there is always more going on under the surface waiting to be weeded out. The boys’ past is only one example of that.
Royce is no stranger to darkness, the pain it can bring, and the unscalable mountains that rise from ash.
Pain recognizes pain.
I run my fingers over the purplish-red marking he left behind for me to find this morning, knowing I’d replay how it came to be.
It’s dark and angry, like him.
The corner of my mouth lifts, and I glide my fingers from the hickey to my lips. I trace over them with the pad of my middle finger. I think they’re still a little swollen. Raw.
I look into my eyes, at the turquoise within them, at the hint of red fogging up the edges, but I don’t care.
The light will still shine through.
My hand comes up to my hair, subconsciously reaching for my scar, but I spot it in the mirror and force it back down.
I step back, smiling at the girl in the mirror, and unexpected moisture fills my eyes, because for the first time, the girl who smiles back?
I believe her.I help with breakfast at the home but skip out on the chores since Maybell continues to remind me it’s not my job to help. I feel bad about it, but not bad enough to stay behind this time.
I walk to the main street of town, grab a donut from the donut shop Raven told me about, and spend some time checking out the shops.
As a kid, I don’t remember ever coming to town. Our parents kept us on the outskirts, away from people, so it’s all new to me.
The stores are smaller, independent-like places. There is nothing commercial or mainstream here, not even the grocery stores. They’re all family named and owned, if I had to guess. Members of the Brayshaw community who understand the rules and want to be a part of it, following generations before them.
I walk across the park and into the market located beside it to grab what I came out for. Once I have it, I head back for the house.
