Before & After - Nazarea Andrews Page 0,34
tongue circling, until I have my hands in his hair and my body is moving, writhing against him as he uses lips and tongue and teeth to drive me fucking insane.
My whole body is tight, and I gasp when he thrusts into me with his tongue, my vagina clenching down when he pinches my clit, a delicious agony.
His fingers are against my ass, smoothing over my cheeks as his tongue fucks into me, and he slaps me, a sharp hard slap, and I splinter, screaming as I come, a wave of sensation that rips through me. He’s rising before my heartbeat slows, and he kisses me.
And despite the tiny voice screaming at me to stop, I lick at his lips, at the taste of me on his tongue.
He slams into me while we’re kissing, and my body goes tight, arching off the chaise against the delicious pressure, the exquisite fullness of him inside me. He groans, and drops his head down against mine. I fucking love the feel of his beard bristling against my breast as he struggles to catch his breath.
“You’re fucking tight, baby,” he whispers.
I shift, my hips moving in a tiny circle and he groans. “Don’t,” he begs. “Go slow.”
“Fuck slow,” I snap. “Fuck me.”
It breaks whatever control he has left—his hand catches in my hair and he pulls my head back, kissing me hard, a bruising kiss that has my head spinning as his big body thrusts into me.
He knows my body. Knows just how to fuck me. Each thrust ends on a tight twist of his hips, hitting a spot deep inside that I didn’t realize I had, until I’m panting, begging as he fucks me. “Rike,” I groan, and I reach for him, all the achy need in me bubbling up.
I bite him. Hard. And he grunts, a deep hungry noise. Shoves me down and fucks me hard, until I’m tossed into orgasm, my body writhing against his mindlessly.
“Yeah,” he groans, “just like that. Fuck me just like that, baby.”
I’m clinging to him, my nails in his shoulders as I meet his thrusts, the orgasm spinning on and out and then he groans, a long noise, goes still and tight above me. His face drops, so I can see him through the shaggy hair and the beard and—
He’s fucking beautiful. Gentle, and so fucking vulnerable, as he comes inside me with a low groan that I can feel in my toes. Staring at me while he comes.
When it’s over, he falls to the bed next to me, and gathers me into him, sighing. A content noise.
I lay awake for a long time after he’s asleep, wondering just how badly I’ve fucked things up now.
Chapter 15: Before
Here’s what I learn, reading the journal she left with me:
Who she was doesn’t matter.
Facing the truth is fucking painful.
She is the bravest girl I’ve ever met.
It takes me three days to get through the journal because it’s hard as fuck to read. There are a few times, reading it and looking at the pictures, that I have to bolt for the toilet before I throw up.
How did she go from this shell of a girl, this walking corpse, to the girl who is so vibrant and alive, whose passion and daring make my head spin? I am trying to wrap my head around something that makes no fucking sense.
I realize, with almost sickening quickness, that I loathe her family.
Seeing her past on paper, seeing the demons she fought and how much she hated who she was being molded into--I've never met them, and part of me hopes I never do. I don't know how to be in the same room as someone who had the chance to care for a girl like Peyton and who fucked it up so completely.
"I want to sing tonight," I say, staring blankly at the photo clipped to the inside of the journal.
Scott glances at me, at the picture, before he nods. "Do what you think is best, man."
I offer him a sick smile and shove to my feet.
"She trusted you," he says before I leave the room. "Are you going to return the favor?"
I look at him. I know what he's asking. "It's not only my story to share," I say carefully.
"Don't hide behind that," he says. "Do what you think needs to be done. I want you to be happy, Rike. Whatever that means. And this girl—she makes you happy. In a way I haven't seen since we were eight."
When we