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Punky snickers while tonguing his cheek. “Ya think yer sweet pussy was the last I had, Babydoll?”
My cheeks instantly blush at his words. But they also heat because, what does that mean?
“I hate to disappoint ya, but yer cunt is a distant memory. There were quite a few who tended to me in more ways than one.”
I don’t let my emotions betray me, but does this mean hedidsee visitors in prison? Or that the prison staff crossed the line? Either way, I see red.
“Nice story. Tell it to someone who gives a fuck.” I try to push him away, but he slams my back into the wall and raises my arms above my head. He secures my wrists in one hand.
“Good to see you’re still a fucking asshole! Let me go.”
He clucks his tongue as I fight him fruitlessly. “Still got a filthy mouth, is it. What else is still the same?”
He bends low and inhales deeply along the column of my neck.
Humming, he utters, “Sweet as always.”
The low neckline of my dress exposes the tops of my breasts, rising and falling rapidly, betraying my arousal. The more he talks, the wetter I become, and the further I hate myself for it.
“Sweetness your best friend enjoys over and over again.” I go on the attack, needing this to end before I do something I’ll regret for the rest of my life.
Punky smirks, but there is nothing pleasant about it. “Fair play.”
I’m expecting him to let me go, but he doesn’t. He examines me slowly while I quiver under his watchful eye.
“Yer heart is racing.”
“Is not,” I uselessly argue because when he lets me go and places his hand over my chest, he can feel how my heart betrays me.
With the tips of his fingers, he gently brushes over the tops of my breasts. Millions of goosebumps prickle my skin. “Ya used to be such a good liar. That’s something that has changed.”
Instantly, I lower my gaze, embarrassed and ashamed. It’s because of my lies Punky lost ten years of his life.
“Regardless of that big rock on yer finger, I know somethin’ that’s not changed.”
“Punky, don’t,” I caution when he lowers his lips to mine. But the warning is weak because I want this—I want him.
“Don’t what?” he asks, inches from my mouth as he places a hand against the wall. His breath is warm and sweet, and I want to be lost in it forevermore.
“Please don’t dothis.” He needs to be the one to stop this because I don’t have the strength to.
“Don’t drop to my knees and bury my head between those parful legs of yours?”
A whimper escapes me because I want that and so much more.
“Don’t lift yer dress and fuck ye up against this wall how we both want me to?”
He presses his erection into me, rubbing over me deliciously slow. My gown’s thick material acts as a buffer, but I can still feel him, and my mouth waters at the sensation.
“No, we c-can’t.” But my resolve is failing.
“Why?” he questions, those blue eyes looking deep into my soul. “Because we’re kin?”
Yes, that’s a big reason, but I’m afraid if we cross that line, I will lose myself to him again, and this time, the damage we cause will be irreparable to so many.
“No, because Rory doesn’t deserve this. Just because we’re fucked up doesn’t mean we have to take him down with us.”
My confession has Punky squeezing his eyes shut. A moment later, he slams his fist against the wall. I flinch, afraid of what comes next.
He places a chaste kiss on my cheek before pulling away.
I wait for him to pounce, but he doesn’t. He turns his back, his shoulders rising and falling with the deep breaths he takes. I should be relieved, but I’m not. I’m disappointed he stopped. That’s how fucked up I am.
“Aye, yer right. Let’s not speak of this again.”
I wrap my arms around my middle, holding back the torrent of tears. Doing the right thing has never felt more wrong.
With a deep breath, Punky unlocks and opens the door, but when he hisses and instantly retreats back, guarding me with his body, my sadness is replaced with terror when I see what or, rather,whohas caused him to respond this way.
“Ach, together at last,” says Brody Doyle, our father—the man who destroyed our lives.
