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Bronson quickly yells back, “Lady-napping. Talk soon. You good? Good boy.Love you.”
He is all smiles and easy-going conversations, but the firmness of his hold on me and the speed of his heartbeat sing a different song. My heart isn’t fast, though. It feels slow, like my mind. Lethargic. Not interested in action, but merely keeping me alive.
Confused, I lift my hands to touch my face, feel it’s still there, still mine. My palms feel rough and strange. I pull them away and stare at blood caked on to parts of my skin. I know whose blood it is. The information isn’t missing. I know what happened. I just don’t feel anything about it. Nothing at all.
Perry.
Bronson lowers me to the floor, my boots land on tiles. I chant his name in my head -Perry, Perry, Perry- trying to invoke a stronger response. I turn to watch Bronson fill up the bathtub.
The ensuite is large.
Polished Carrara tiles run down the walls and across the floor. Gold tap ware. Freestanding bath. It’s modern and not the bathroom I remember from childhood. Bronson said Max is an architect, perhaps he designed them a new home.
My eyes land on Bronson, who is now standing in only black pants. He walks towards me. I back up, my feet moving away from him as he closes the gap between us.
“Shhhh.” He cups my cheeks when the wall behind my back halts me from moving any further. Tears mist over my eyes. “You’re in shock, baby.” He steers me towards the tub. “Lift your arms.” I do as he asks, watching him as he removes my dress, my bra, my knickers.
Our eyes stay locked.
He unbuttons his pants and slides them down. I am in his arms in an instant, and we are stepping into the bath. Sitting down in warm water, he positions me onto his lap. I can feel his length below my arse, slightly hard. He starts to wash me, his gentle big hands lifting the water up to my shoulders and pouring it over them. Little streams rush down my back and over my breasts.
“Everything is different, baby,” he says smoothly. “I want you to know. I’m notwithJimmy. . . I’m against him.”
I register his words, lifting my head to look into his eyes. They soften at me. My mind fog still moves between us, between the words, making them hard to completely understand. Why were we there then? Why was Perry?
Perry is dead. Dead.Dead.
He’s been lying to me. . .
A surge of fury hits me, and I twist to face Bronson fully, planting my knees on either side of his thighs. His cock presses against my pussy. A groan vibrates in his throat as I slide my folds along his length. The warm bath water sloshes around my body. His pupils dilate as his gaze drops to watch my breasts sway, his thighs tensing beneath my rolling hips.
I move my lips to his, hovering over them. I can kiss him now. I can do anything because it is all over. The past eleven years. Everything I built with Perry. Lies. All the lies. And Akila, she’s already dead inside. I weep, feeling my entire life falling down around me.
Cupping his neck, I mash our mouths together, using him to self soothe. He hisses against my bruising lips, his hands massaging up my back, arching me into him. His tongue lashes out, entering my mouth as I try to breathe and sob.
I hate Perry. . .
I hate every night that I let him fuck me and all the while he was lying to me. Hate every time he threatened to take Akila away. Hate that I loved him once. Hate that he might have loved me. It doesn’t even matter. Not anymore. He’s dead. Dead.Dead.God, stop it! I start to pant as we kiss, panic swallowing me, consuming me.
“It’s all lies,” I say into his mouth. I break our connection, blinking at him, lost in thought. “I’m alone. There is no one left. I’m alone.” I cry softly.“You won’t like where I send your sister,”I hear the echoes of his words moments before Jimmy shot him. “You won’t like where I send your sister,” I say, letting his betrayal move through me.
A dark shadow drifts across Bronson’s eyes. He lifts me from his lap, turns me to face the wall, and places me on my knees in front of him. I grip the bathtub, the cold ceramic hard within my crushing grasp. I try to break it anyway.
Break it apart.
My head is suddenly yanked backwards, causing my neck to lengthen, raising my chin to the ceiling. He bends me to his desire. His fingers slide up between my legs, stroking between my folds.
“Hard,” I whimper, pushing back on them.
The growl he releases is one of agony. As he grips my hip with his other hand, he drives his cock into me. The full length of him from this angle steals my breath. I let out a long cry. He doesn’t wait for me to adjust to him, to catch up with his motions.
His hips drive into me hard and fast.
I gasp and moan, yelp and cry, with each slap of his pelvis to my arse. The rawness of his fast pace keeps all the messages, lies, and questions out of my mind.
Out of my reality.
“I. Am. Here!” he grunts, fisting my hair tighter, curving my spine further, fucking me harder with his powerful body. “Can’t you feel me, baby?” he hisses, tugging on the long dark strands in his unyielding fist, causing a sting to race across my scalp. “Feel. Me. Fuck. You. Deep inside you. You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone again.”
