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 were eight we had been living in a group home, and he'd been the shit head who picked a fight. We beat each other senseless, but when it was time to take the fall, neither of us was willing to throw the other under the bus. It was the first time in my life someone had my back and I never forgot it.
We were separated a year later, tossed into separate foster homes that got progressively worse. But for that six months, we had each other. We weren't so fucking alone.
We were miserable little shits the world didn't want, but we were fucking happy.
I let out the breath I’ve been holding and nod at him. "Thanks, Scott."
***
The crowd is high on the music. Scott played through our first set, setting the tone and getting them riled up with anthem after anthem, an ode to the summer that is fading away. Lindsay is swaying in the corner booth, next to a pale Peyton in a tiny dress that's driving me to distraction. She's got a drink in front of her, but she hasn't touched it.
Scott flicks a look at me when the song ends and his eyebrow lifts in question. I nod, and hit the cymbals. The girls on the dance floor sway and scream, and he laughs, a low, husky noise that will have them squirming in their skirts.
Fucking player. If he's not careful, Lindsay will rip his balls off and feed them to him.
I laugh at that thought.
“We’ve got a treat for you tonight. My boy Rike has been working on a new song. Most of the time, he lets me do the singing, but I think it’s time to remind you all that the boy has mad skills that don’t involve the sticks. So. Give it up, ladies. Rike it’s all you, brother.”
I come out from behind the drum set and Scott wraps me in a quick, rough hug. “Kick ass, bro,” he mutters before dropping off the stage.
I let out a breath, and sink onto the stool. Adjust the mic. I can feel the entire room, all of them waiting for me to say something. Anything. But I can’t see past the glare of the house lights.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t need to see to know where she is and that she’s watching me with big, sky blue eyes. I close my eyes, picturing her.
And I sing.
I’ve always been good at creating and shit at saying what I feel. Maybe because of how I was raised. But tonight, I’m trying my best to let go of that.
Perfect girl,
She sits and listens,
And I can’t help but see everything that she’s hiding.
She’s beautiful and broken,
Tears she tries to hide,
And I can’t help but wonder what’s on the inside
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
Everyone said she was wrong,
When she danced to a song only she heard,
And I just want to sing along to the music of her soul,
Because she’s beautiful and broken, with the tears she tries to hide.
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,
But the payoff is worth the price,
Because you’re everything to me,
Yes, you’re everything to me,
Perfect girl.
And all of us are broken, all of us are flawed,
All of us have battles, and times when we fall.
And I will love you always, with scars and broken heart,
You’re beautiful and broken, my perfect girl.
You’re broken and lovely,
Fire and ice,
And holding you is painful,