Break Me (Brayshaw High) - Meagan Brandy Page 0,94
slow, lazy, and long. And somehow, this kiss is more than the ones before.
It’s honest.
It’s an apology.
It’s us.
It’s him.
It’s more.
When he pulls away, he rests his head in the crook of my neck, and my fingers come up to glide along his fade.
“My little Tink,” he rasps. “Help me fly...”
An unquenchable tingling stirs low in my stomach as he brings himself closer.
“Help me fly, ‘cause this lost boy is on his way down, baby girl...” He quiets, his hold tightening.
Those tingles, they turn into fireworks.
He’s on his way down...
He’s falling.
My pulse thuds wildly in my ears, anticipation of what this could mean and fear of what will likely follow sending a shudder through my heated body.
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 24
Brielle
Holy 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.