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This wasn’t what I expected when I got home, and the overwhelming greetings suddenly weigh me down. I need a minute or two. A breather. Or I might cry. I feel like our lives have levelled out on a plain of contentment and stability. That’s a lot to accept when we have been through so much.
So, I’ve got Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, but that’s a liveable state. I can manage it. I will fight it. And my mum and our legacy might have made the monster inside me, but I broke myself to feed it. The disease will come for me one day, pull on my memories, and torment my reality, but that’s not today. That’s not tomorrow…
And my brothers, Max and Bronson—hell, even Clay—have families to keep them alive, safe, and living for a better future. That is all I ever wanted for us.
Pulling away from Bronson, I tap his beanie and he taps mine, then I stroll casually to the bar. Overwhelmed, I hold my tears in, but my body weakens with the need to set them free.
With a drink soon in my hand and a moment of reprieve, I look out over the room scattered with my family. Clay is staring at a glass of water with expectation, while Fawn lifts it to her lips and drinks from it.
She huffs at him. “I’ve had two glasses already, Sir. I’m going to pee myself.”
“I would rather youpeeyourself, sweet girl, than be dehydrated.” Clay taps the bottom of the glass. “Now, let me see you take another mouthful and then you can do as you wish.”
Shaking my head at him, I finish my whiskey, finding Kaya’s eyes on me suddenly a boiling hot distraction. My near tears evaporate as I heat up. Her gaze penetrates my skin, a sultry hint at something I am desperate to give her. Have been for fucking days now.
She is across the room beside Konnor, her burnt-caramel hair lit from behind by the moon. She is staring at me. I set the glass down on the bar top, narrow my gaze on her, and watch her squirm under their lust-filled meaning.
Come here, Baby.
CHAPTERFORTY-FOUR
kaya
Concerned this was too much,too soon, I follow Xander through the party. He nearly died. He could have. But they just wanted to show him they care. That they listened to him and want to be real.
We walk down the hall, but as we pass a door, Xander swings it open, grabs me by the elbow, and drags me inside the small powder room. It’s adorned with more marble tiles and red-wooden cabinetry.
Before I can react, I am eating his groans as they gush into my mouth, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifts me by my arse, gripping his shoulder muscles as they flex and pulse.
“Xander,” I pant, taking his air and feeding him mine.
My dress rides up and his erection bruises between my thighs, firm and hot against my knickers.Fuck, he is always so hard and hot where I am soft and cool.
I close my eyes and let him take what he needs. What I need. What feels so utterly comfortable now, as though he is meant to be here, between my thighs, kissing me.
That is his place.
And mine.
His mouth devours my ear, throat, dragging messily down my chin and to my lips again. My hothead is a noisy lover, growling and groaning. “Kaya.” My name is uttered with darkness and yearning, dangerous and possessive. “You look so fucking tasty in this little dress.”
People might hear us. I gasp as his hands squeeze my thighs, drawing my attention to their intent to slide upwards and reach for my underwear. My hesitation dissolves in devastating need when he drags the fabric aside so he can push two fingers inside me.
“Fuck!” I cry out at the quick invasion that begins with a punch from his fingertips and continues without pause, diving in and out, making me wet and ready.
“Do you want my cock?” He taunts darkly. “Do you want my piercings rubbing inside your juicy pussy, collecting up all that sweet wetness, so they glisten with your cum?”
My back hits the wall of the powder room, hard tiles knocking a beat of air from me.
He goes on roughly, “I want you walking around that party smelling like me, with my cum dripping heavily from your hot, plump cunt.”
God, his mouth.
“Hothead.” I allow him to position me, and move us around. “Slow down,” as I say it, though, I know it’s stupid—it’s not in his control to slow down. This is how he exists.
His fingers slide out wet and hot. He presses one palm to the wall beside my head, the other long powerful arm banding around my waist, cupping my backside, and holding me up. I work on his jeans, the button and zipper open and down in a frenzy of movements.
Too fast, I have his heavy, dripping cock in my hand, the ladder beneath snug as the skin bulges. He lowers me onto his cock, impaling me in one utterly brutal thrust that scatters my vision into a starry haze.
