She explodes, the silent scream erupting into a broken, guttural cry as she comes against my lips. She tastes like honey and home, and I know I could spend fucking days there between her legs just making her come again and again.
I stand at the foot of the bed, ready to enter her, but she springs up, and I groan as I feel those perfect pouty lips wrap around my cock. She slides me deep into her mouth, like warm fucking heaven, and I growl as my hands slide into her hair. She’s aggressive and yet sensual, sucking me deep as she strokes me and moans around my crown in a way that has my toes curling the way she knows drives me fucking crazy.
And I love that we know these little idiosyncrasies about each other. This isn’t exploring the new, it’s two people perfectly in tune with each other’s bodies. This is re-familiarizing ourselves with what we already know.
I finally have to pry her away from me, pushing her back onto the bed and rolling one on before I slide hotly inside of her. Her legs are around me, her hands on my ass coaxing me harder and faster as she bucks her hips to meet mine. We move as one, rocking into one another faster and harder, until I stop holding back and just start to give it to her as hard as she wants. And I’m not sure if it’s my roar, her cries, or the ringing in my ears that’s louder as we come crashing together; both of us cresting that wave together and tumbling down the other side.
And it’s perfect.
We lie tangled together afterward; her tracing the needle track scars on my arms, me the burn marks on hers. I think about all the stories, and the jagged, broken paths it took to get to one another, and I grin. And I’m still thinking of it, and only her, as we fall asleep to the wailing of the criers on the minarets outside.
17
Peyton
P A S T
“Almost ready?”
I'm grinning; of course I'm grinning, and I feel like I haven't stopped smiling in, well, months now.
Bryce pokes his head out of his bedroom down the hall from his bare living room and kitchen; “Yeah, just about.”
I feel that glow that's been building inside for months now burn a little hotter seeing him changing like this. Damn does this man look good in a tux; even better with the shirt unbuttoned. He shoots me that cocky grin of his and ducks back into the room.
“We really ought to get you some furniture in here, you know,” I call out.
I can hear him laughing in response; “Hey, we've got a bed; what else do we need?”
I blush and smile, feeling my whole body tingling still from the thorough tour of the bed we just gave each other only twenty minutes before; “Well, I mean, you've got a fucking motorcycle in here; how about a couch or something?”
“I'll think about it!”
I roll my eyes; “Well think faster, we're going to be late for our reservation!”
We're celebrating tonight. And even though I'm almost out of my mind with nervousness, I'm also excited. Because tonight, we're going out, we're getting a nice dinner, and then we're meeting up with Quinn and my brother.
And we're going to tell them about us.
Whatever happens after that, we'll deal with it, because it's the only thing left to do. No more sneaking around, no more hiding what this is in the shadows. Tonight, we take that leap and see where we land.
I glance at the clock above the stove before I turn on my heel and head towards the bathroom. For once, life is perfect, and it's a feeling I'm still trying to wrap my head around.
I close the bathroom door behind me, and turn, only to wince as I whack my shin off the bottom drawer of the towel rack next to the sink. I frown, grumbling to myself as I lean down to rub my shin and close the drawer.
But then something catches my eye and stops me cold.
Something long, sharp, and metal.
My breath is caught in my throat as I kneel and open the drawer, and it's like breaking open Pandora's box, because everything changes.
The syringe is only half-tucked under a folded washcloth, just lying there like a damning piece of evidence that barely cares to hide itself. My mind goes utterly numb, my body drifting away from me like in a dream as I carefully, horrifyingly, reach in and pick it up.
It's full.
The damn this is actually holding the drug inside of it; primed, loaded, and ready to go. The wind goes out of my lungs as I quickly drop it into the drawer and slam it shut. The room feels cold, my vision starts to blur, and that ache inside is the sound of my heart breaking.
Once a junkie, always a junkie; always a liar. All of this, all of these feelings that’ve been bubbling and coming up inside of me for the first time - all of this goodness - is built on a lie.
He's using again, and he lied to me about it.
I'm out in the hallway, grabbing my coat and wordless slipping my shoes on.