ZADIE, who looks like she’s been fighting a bear in her sleep based on her wild hair, swings the door open. Her tired eyes widen when she sees it’s me standing in her doorway, and her shoulders tense.
“He just showed up on his own,” she blurts. “So don’t be mad at Posie.”
“I’m not mad.”
Her head cocks. “You’re not?”
“No, I’m not.” Not bothering to wait for an invitation, I push past her and into the apartment that smells of the sugary citrus scent that clings to Posie. Zadie follows close on my heels as I walk farther inside and toward the closed bedroom door on the left.
“Just so you know, there’s nothing romantic going on between them. You don’t need to be jealous or mad she let him stay. It’s clear she loves him, but it’s not the same way she loves you,” Zadie may talk in hushed tones, but her comment has my back straightening like she’d screamed it at me.
I don’t look back at her when I ask, “How could you possibly know that?”
“I don’t know all the shit you’ve pulled with her, but I know enough, and despite all of it, she’s still not ready to give up on you. She said so herself just earlier tonight. The only reason a person would hold on to someone like you so tightly is if they loved you. Unconditionally.”
In this moment, I hate you almost as much as I love you. That’s what she’d told me after I cut her with the knife. This whole past week, I haven’t been able to get the look on her face out of my head. It’s haunted me when I close my eyes at night and there’s been a crushing weight on my chest. I saw myself reflected in her honey gaze, and I didn’t like what I saw. Or more so, I didn’t like who I saw. How can she not be ready to give up on me after that?
Not knowing how to respond to Zadie, I turn the door handle and step inside the dark room. Careful to not make too much noise, I close the door behind me with a soft click. The only light comes from the small window on the far side of the room. The moonlight streams in, casting shadows on the space.
There’s just enough light for me to make out their curled-up shapes on her queen-size bed. Sometime during my twenty-five-minute drive here, Posie had fallen asleep too. In the middle of the bed, her back is pressed to Pax’s, and her head rests on her hands. Pax’s tattooed arm is flung off the side, and his chest rises and falls with each of his steady deep breaths. His sleep is peaceful, but my guess is he’s actually passed out cold from the alcohol. I doubt he’ll remember how he got here tomorrow.
The only person I ever tolerated sharing Posie with was Pax. Their friendship and connection have been solid—unbreakable—since they were toddlers. Zadie’s warning about there being nothing romantic between them wasn’t necessary. That’s never been something I questioned, but none of that can stop the twinge of jealousy that flares in my veins at the sight of them sharing a bed.
Walking to the side of the bed Posie is facing, I crouch down and reach for her. My knuckles trail down her face, and when my thumb swipes across her bottom lip, she jerks awake. She’s tense for a moment before she relaxes with a soft exhale across my fingers. In so many ways, this moment reminds me of those mornings I woke up next to her in bed. It was in those first few moments of the day when my only focus was on the gentle look in her eyes and the peace that surrounded us. I knew what would be waiting for me outside my bedroom door, and I savored every second of those quiet minutes I had with her.
“Don’t make him leave,” she whispers her plea. “He needed this.”
“I’m not making him leave.” Pulling my hand away from her, I stand to my full height and toe off my boots.
She lifts up on her arm, and I can feel her eyes on me in the dark. “What are you doing?”
I take off the charcoal sport coat I’d worn to appease Claire and fold it in half, placing it on top of the leather shoes. ‘I’m not leaving either.”
“What do you mean you’re not—”
Her question is cut off because I answer it when I lie down next to her on the bed. It’s a tight fit, and there’s barely an inch between us, but unless she demands I leave, I have no intentions of moving from this very spot until morning.
“What are you doing?” she questions, lying back down on her side with her hands tucked to her chest.
Even though I know it’s not the full truth, I tell her, “He must have been in a really bad state to show up here. I’m not letting him out of my sight.” I turn on my side, so we’re basically nose to nose.
She’s facing the window and the dim light illuminates the soft angles of her face.
“Do you want me to go?”
She hesitates, brows furrowing. “Are you going to yell at me again?”
“No.” I tuck her straight hair behind her ear, and she leans into my touch. “Not tonight.”
I don’t know how or if I can promise her I never will again. Letting go and moving past the anger that’s satiated me for all these years isn’t an easy task. Forgiveness also isn’t something that comes naturally to me. It’s foreign, and it still feels in many ways like it’s a betrayal to my mother’s memory, but I can’t ignore the piece of me that wants to try. If I don’t want to become my father, I need to figure out how to do what Claire said and let go.
“Then you can stay.” Between us, her fingers absentmindedly play with the thin cotton of my black shirt. “I want you to stay.” Her words are so quiet, they’re barely audible to my ears, but they make my heart pound in my chest.
“I don’t understand how you can still want that.”
“Me neither, but it’s the truth.”
She shifts closer and her nose brushes against mine. Posie’s movements are soft—gentle—but they’re like a wrecking ball to my defenses. Each soft breath of hers across my lips breaks down another one of the bricks I’d built around myself. We’ve been physically close since she’s been back, but this is different.
We’ve been at war. We’re bloodied and scarred, but tonight we’re waving white flags. I’m not sure if the battle will restart when the sun rises, and I’m not sure if I want it to anymore. All I do know is that surrender doesn’t sound all that bad.
Eyes closing, my forehead drops against hers. Between us, her fingers tangle with mine. We stay like this—still and calm like those mornings when we were teenagers—and I allow myself to remember what it’s like to feel something other than anger toward her.
I remember that it feels good.
“For just a moment, can you be honest with me?” she asks, nose running along mine again.
“Maybe.”
There’s a long pause, like she’s trying to talk herself into speaking. “Did you ever miss me?”
It would be easy to lie—I find it’s usually the simplest path for me—but something about the innocence and sincerity of her question has me wanting to be honest. “Every day, Butterfly. Every. Fucking. Day. And it only made me hate you more.”
Eyes still closed, I feel her lips ghost against mine. A calming heat travels through my veins from the brief contact. She’s always found a way to be a sedative to my chaos.
“I don’t want you to hate me anymore. It hurts me that you do.”
My hand, on its own accord, reaches for the place on her chest I’d cut. She only wears a camisole and my fingertips brush across the exposed bandage. The heavy weight returns to my chest as I relive that moment in my head. Instead of allowing my rage to fuel me, I’d allowed it to control me. The precision planning I’d put into her return went out the window and I became a passenger in my own body that night. Posie had handled me with as much grace and bravery as she could until I drew blood. That was both of our breaking points.
Freeing one of my hands from her grasp, I cradle her face in my palm and thread my fingers through her soft hair.
“I know,” I tell her in a barely detectable whisper before pressing my lips to hers.
My overall plan for showing up here wasn’t fully thought out, but I know I didn’t come here with the intention of kissing her. After what happened last week, the possibility Posie would want that seemed wildly unlikely. It appears I was wrong, because at the first brush of my lips against hers, she sighs as if in relief and her body relaxes into mine. The sliver of space that has been between us vanishes as she melts against me.
It turns out this is exactly what she wanted and exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
I’ve never been good at putting my thoughts or emotions into words, and all week I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell her I haven’t completely turned into my father. That I haven’t been fully corrupted and that I’m still here somewhere under the veil of darkness. I could be given six months to come up with the appropriate words to tell her but they’d never come to me.
What I can do—what I’ve always been able to do—is show her.
They say actions speak louder than words, and I can only hope she can still hear me in my silence.
Running my tongue along the seam of her lips, I coax her to open for me. Posie, who’s always enjoyed following my lead, does as she’s told. The kiss deepens, our tongues sliding against each other as our hands begin to wander. Her lean muscles are strong beneath my fingertips from hours of dedication to her art form and her soft skin is warm against mine. Her hand dips beneath the hem of my black shirt and my abs tighten under her delicate touch.
I thought I remembered what it felt like to kiss her, but as she gives in to me and her soft moans fill my ears, I realize I’d forgotten. More importantly, I’d forgotten how much I liked it. I didn’t enjoy making out with girls before Posie, and I liked it even less after her. The act itself became a sloppy stale tequila tasting event that I simply went through the motions of doing to get to what I really wanted. Mindless fucking with faceless women.
With her it’s different. I’m certain I could kiss Posie all night and not get bored of it, and I don’t think I would give a shit if we didn’t go any further than this even though my dick is already straining against my zipper.
The second she started to trace the defined muscles under my shirt, I was done for, and with each stroke of her tongue against mine as she ventures lower to my waistband, I only grow harder for her.
Tonight, I have my control in a death grip and I’m not letting go until she tells me to. But that doesn’t mean she’s making it easy for me.
When she hooks her leg over my hip and grinds herself against me, every muscle in my body stiffens as my restraint is tested.
Breaking our kiss, she breathlessly pants against my lips. “Touch me.”
Eyes opening for the first time in minutes, I look at her and then at the back of my brother’s head. If I was selfless, I would be more worried about waking Pax, but because I’m selfish, I’m more concerned about the possibility he will hear the noises she makes. I may be willing to share her attention with my brother, but I will not share the sounds she makes as I bring her to the brink with him. Those belong to me and only me.
At my hesitation, she shifts her hips again, urging me. “You told me before I had to come to you when I was horny and ask you to take care of me. I’m asking now.”
Wanting to give her what she craves, I nip her bottom lip and lick the burn away. “If you make too much noise, I will stop. Do you understand?”
She nods before crushing her mouth to mine once more and sighs happily when my fingers dip below the waistband of her thin cotton pajama shorts.
When I find she’s not wearing panties, I can’t stop the rush of possessiveness that washes over me. “I’m going to look past it this one time that you’re pantyless with another man in your bed.” I don’t give a fuck if the man is my own brother.
Whatever her reply was going to be is silenced when my fingers delve between her thighs and find her already wet for me. She sucks in a breath, hips rolling against my palm as I begin to make circles around her clit.
For the first time in a long time, I’m prioritizing someone else’s needs. My dick is painfully hard and eager for her touch, but it’s the last thing on my mind. My only thought is making sure Posie feels good. The desire to do this is a foreign sensation and contradictory to the way I’ve been operating for these years, I know it’s what I need to do for her. It’s what I want to do for her.
Her hand threads through the strands of my hair, pulling ever so slightly, and I swallow the needy sounds that are starting to form in the back of her throat. I kiss her deep when I sink two fingers inside of her and she grinds against my palm in whatever rhythm pleases her best.
Posie’s movements become more erratic as she closes in on her high.
“Easy, baby,” I warn, skimming her delicate jaw with light kisses. The term of endearment falls from my mouth effortlessly, like I’d never stopped calling her that. I don’t allow myself to dwell on it too much because I know what will happen if I do. I’m enjoying this—enjoying her—and I don’t want to ruin it.
As she begins to shake, ecstasy cascading over her, she throws her face into my shoulder and bites down in a desperate attempt to muffle the sounds I force out of her with my fingers. It’s not enough to break the skin, but I know I’ll be wearing her mark tomorrow. A month ago, the idea of being marked—claimed—by Posie Davenport would have filled me with disgust. And now… Now I find myself liking it.
Panting, she pulls back and looks at me. In the darkness, I can’t pinpoint what emotion is reflected in her eyes and I wish I could. I want to know what she’s thinking. Is she as conflicted over the whole thing as I am? Does she regret letting me in her bedroom tonight?
Smoothing her hair off her face, I press my lips to her temple. She clings to me as I do, her hands holding me like she’s afraid of what will happen if she lets go.
The storm from earlier continues outside her small bedroom window, and as lightning flashes across the sky, it momentarily lights up her face. Eyes hooded and lips pulled in a sly smirk, she swings her leg completely over me and gracefully climbs off the bed. Confused, I turn onto my back and watch her walk toward the door. Over her shoulder, she looks at me briefly before reaching for the hem of her camisole and pulling it over her head. Once the cotton fabric is on the floor, she bends at her waist and pulls her shorts off.
“We both know you’re not done with me.” With nothing but her leather butterfly collar on, she opens her bedroom door and turns her head again. “Coming?”
She walks out the door before I can say anything. Posie knows she doesn’t have to wait for my answer. We both already know what I’m going to do.
I’m off the bed and pulling my clothes off, leaving them in a pile next to hers, before leaving the room after her. The small living space connected to the open-floor plan kitchen is empty when I close the door softly behind me, but the slider leading to their balcony is open. The sound of the pouring rain gets louder the closer I get to the glass door and thunder rumbles in the distance.
She lives on the seventh floor of the building, and luckily the surrounding buildings are half the height. If they were any taller, they would have an unobstructed view of Posie’s naked ass leaning against the metal railing. Knowing they can’t easily see her, and the fact it’s dark as hell out here are the only reasons I’m not pulling her inside by her throat.
I’m not shy and I don’t give a fuck if they’re looking at my body, but I care a shit-ton if they’re looking at her.
“Do you remember the first time you kissed me?”
I don’t have to think hard about her question. The memory of that night with her dressed in green velvet comes to mind instantly. I step outside and leave the sliding door cracked. “I was pissed because that fucker had his hands all over you. You stopped me in the parking lot when I was leaving.” Lightning flashes over her head as I move closer to her. “It was raining then too.”
Many of our big moments happened in the rain. It was raining the night I finally stopped fighting my feelings for her and accepted them for what they were. The night the cops showed up at my house to arrest my father, it was pouring. Water soaked through our clothes when I screamed at Posie in the middle of the street surrounded by flashing cop cars. She was crying, but I couldn’t tell the difference between the raindrops and the tears running down her face.
Right now, it feels a lot more like our first encounter.
Her head tilts and she looks at me like she’s seeing past all the walls we’ve put between us. “This is kinda like a full circle moment, isn’t it?” Her hand reaches for me, her fingers dragging down my chest and then over the hard ridges of my abs. My cock jerks at the contact, still craving attention. She knows it too. Lips pulled up in that smirk of hers, she nods toward the cushioned chair behind us. “Sit down. You took care of me. Let me return the favor.”
“Are you telling me what to do?” I run my knuckles down her face, pushing her loose hair back.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
She pushes on my chest, urging me to do what she asks. I fall into the chair, and the second my arms rest on the wicker armrests, she’s climbing on and straddling my thighs. Her lips crash into mine in a quick and deep kiss, her tongue licking against mine. One of her hands rests on my shoulder to keep her steady and the other reaches between us.
My entire body jolts when her deft fingers wrap around my cock and her thumb spreads the drop of precum over the head and my piercing. When I hiss out a breath, I feel her smile against my lips. After everything, pleasing me still makes her happy. I’m not sure at this point which one of us is more fucked in the head. We might be in a tie, and I’m okay with it.
She holds my dick in her fist as she lowers herself slowly down. Inch by inch, her body stretches to accommodate me, and as it does, she throws her head back. Her moans mingle with the sound of the thunder miles away and her bare flesh heats against mine despite the cold wind.
Hands moving to grip her hips, my fingers dig into her delicate skin. “Fuck me,” I order, desperate for her to move. My hold on my control is hanging on by a damn thread.
Lifting onto her knees, she rises almost completely off my dick before slamming her hips back down. The move has both of us moaning. She does this twice more before she falls into a steady, fast-paced rhythm. With each of her downward thrusts, I match her with one of my own. We collide violently into one another, but we can both take it. We both want it.
No, we both need it.
Her temple rests against mine and her arms snake around my neck. With each breath of air I force out of her lungs, I feel it whoosh against my ear. I kiss along her neck and shoulder, licking, sucking, and biting at her smooth skin. The anticipation of seeing what kind of marks I’m leaving behind runs through me.
Her breathing turns into harsh ragged pants and her thrusts pick up speed. She’s close and the way my balls are starting to tighten, I know I am too.
“That’s it,” I encourage through clenched teeth. “It’s like you never stopped riding my fucking cock. Your body remembers exactly what to do and what it likes.” Hand fisting in her hair, I pull her head back, exposing her delicate throat. “Did you think about this—think about me—when you let those other men touch what’s mine? Did it help you get off?”
Her nails scrape over my shoulders and down my chest. “Yes,” she all but purrs. “Did you imagine it was me on my knees for you when you let other whores suck you off?”
I tried to stop myself, but I was never successful. When I looked down at those faceless women, I saw Posie’s honey eyes staring up at me. “Every time. I never could scrub the memory of you.”
“Good,” she groans before crushing her mouth to mine. When her thighs start to shake and her pussy clamps down on me, I greedily swallow her moan like a shot of alcohol as she comes for me.
I pump into her twice more before I’m overtaken by white-hot pleasure, and I spill deep inside of her. She milks me of every drop and damn near steals my ability to breathe in the process.
