Always (Cape Hill Book 3) Read online

  Pure. Untainted. Beautiful love.

  I breathe deeply. Sucking in Sy’s masculine scent, I absorb it with each inhale. As I muster a little bit of strength with each exhale, I realize how pathetic it is that I’m not stronger. I’m weak, so goddamn weak for this man.

  A good girlfriend wouldn’t be caught in this situation. A good girlfriend would shove him away. I’m obviously not meant to be anyone’s girlfriend.

  I love Sy. I’ve always fucking loved him.

  “We can’t do this,” I beseech.

  In those soft, gray irises of his, I witness an endless amount of emotions. This man confuses me every time we’re in the same breathing space. He’s hot. He’s cold. He’s demanding then forcefully pushing me away. Emotional whiplash is his skill, and I’m his helpless puppet.

  His eyes narrow at me. There’s hunger there and a dissatisfaction that makes my stomach curl. Sy seems exhausted, but it’s been months since we’ve been this close.

  “Te necesito tanto que me duele el corazón,” he rasps, closing his eyes tightly. I need you so much it hurts my heart.

  I’ve never witnessed this side of Sy. He’s always demanding. Always. He’s forceful and ruthless, not kind, not sweet, and never anything akin to loving, yet he just served me a morsel of intimacy on a dingy antique silver plate for the taking and in a fucking bathroom no less.

  My heart feels like it’s lodged itself in my throat, and suddenly the palm he has against me feels suffocating. But I won’t push him away. If I do, he may actually leave, and regardless of what my head says, my heart has missed him. Him leaving me in this gross bathroom to be alone, to not get this fill may break me.

  His confession still has me reeling as he strokes my face. It’s not like him to use any emotion unless they’re feral and untamed. I’ve always needed this side, this softness, almost tenderness, but I didn’t know he’s capable of it.

  I nod, gnawing on my bottom lip with guilt for how greedy I am for him. I long to feel this man inside my aching body, to feel how he completes me in a way no other man can.

  “Escúchame, niñita,” he whispers huskily into my throat, gripping harder.

  My core clenches, aching for him, needing this part of him. His demands, his relentless obsession with forcing me to bend to his will, and his animalistic aggression both frighten and excite me.

  It’s been so long since he’s fucked me, since I’ve felt his cock deep inside me.

  “I’m going to fuck your tight little pussy, and you’re going to let me.”

  I moan, sweat forming at the small of my back. There’s something about this man’s asshole commands that make me restless and hungry. I’m so wet it’s embarrassing. For a man who isn’t mine to have, I shouldn’t be this desperate.

  “I’m going to cum inside you, stain you with my body, and make you feel good. ¿Escuchaste?”

  “Y-Yes,” I mutter, my breathing picking up with each passing second.

  “Yes what?” he commands, his voice as gravel as concrete.

  My core clenches and in turn has me squeezing my sweaty thighs together. They slide with the moisture, and I can’t keep them together to save my life.

  I won’t say what he wants. I can’t. It’s wrong, and he knows it.

  His hand still holds my throat, his other tracing swirls until he hits my heat. He cups it roughly, bringing euphoria and pain with a single motion.

  “Say it,” he barks, nipping my chin aggressively.

  “No.”

  My defiance making him smirk, he glides his tongue up my cheek, then bites.

  “Ahora mismo, niñita.” Right now, little girl.

  There’s no room for arguing. He won’t give me what I want unless I give him what he wants.

  “Yes, daddy,” I croon, not cringing nearly as much as I thought I would.

  I’ve barely got out the words, and already he strokes my cleft, kissing my mouth with the hunger of a starved man. I moan around his tongue, vibrating my lips with the strength. His mouth absorbs each sound, consuming each whimper like they’re his to have. I can’t believe he made me call him that.

  It should disgust me, turn me off, and make me run away.

  Every wrong thing we do should make me be regretful.

  He’s my stepdad. He’s twice my age. He’ll never keep my heart safe.

  But it doesn’t. It makes me needier, hotter, even more desperate for him, and that confuses and infuriates me at the same time.

  His lips are on my throat again, and I’m barely able to let out stable breaths. I’m overwhelmed with Silas. He’s always consuming me.

  Never in my young nineteen years did I think calling him that would turn me into a puddle beneath his goliath form, but fuck, if I don’t want this man more.

  This man who’s married to my mom.

  This man who isn’t my boyfriend. Fuck.

  What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I be a normal teenager who loves her best friend and doesn’t need a man like Sy to mess me up?

  “Again,” he growls.

  His teeth scrape across my kiss-swollen flesh. A groan escapes me from the bite of pain that shoots through me.

  “Yes, daddy.”

  When my whimper echoes, I remember we’re in public, a dirty-ass bathroom at my workplace, no less. Goddammit.

  “That’s right, niñita,” he praises.

  His thumb rubs deliberately against my swollen clit. He’s rough with his strokes, making my back bow into him. I arch with both pain and pleasure, and he loosens the pressure.

  Then altogether, he stops his tantalizing circles. The hand that only moments ago forced pleasure upon me grabs my hips, kneading and massaging the dips in my waist.

  “Jesus, Sy,” I complain haggardly. “Just fuck me already.”

  I meant it as more of a jab, for the teasing and greed overstimulating me, but he takes it as a given.

  A lilt in his lips is my answer, his eyes gleam playfully at me, torturing me without the satisfaction of his touch. Sy lifts me, and out of habit, I wrap my legs around his middle, holding on with all I’ve got.

  My legs, still sweaty as can be, make me grip his t-shirt clad chest without trying. This is where I’m meant to be, in this man’s arms, the man who has captured me with one look and continues to make me love him with his personality.

  “Patience, mi corazoncito. I want to enjoy it this time.”

  This time.

  Walk away. You can still leave, my heart and mind begs me. This will hurt Brax. This will ruin everything.

  “We don’t have time to be patient, Sy,” I nearly cry, begging for something I have no right to beg for.

  “You’re right,” he agrees with a grunt, and then he’s using the wall as leverage, freeing his engorged length and slipping my panties aside to come home.

  As he enters me, we both groan in satisfaction. It’s nothing like I remember. It’s more. More powerful. More intense. Just more.

  He stops when he’s fully seated. Leaning his forehead against mine, he breathes deeply. On the other side of the door contains not only my boyfriend, but the entire world, unaware that a girl is fucking her stepdad, loving him in a way that shouldn’t be allowed.

  A way that’s forbidden.

  “I need you in every way I can have you, Leia,” he breathes against me.

  He never uses my name, not unless he’s feeling emotional.

  “Then have me.”

  He pulls out enough to make me miss him then slides back in. I expected him to slam into me like always, to push into me with abandon, but he’s tender, forgiving even. With each thrust, my heart resurrects its bond with him, claiming what it has no right to claim. But I let it, and tears slip from my eyes, welcomed.

  When his gaze catches them, he licks them away, reminding me of the beast within him, the depraved soul I’ve grown to love and be very fond of.

  “We can’t do it like this,” I beg, not allowing myself to go any other route. I’m just a quick fuck, and that’s al
l I’ll ever be—an itch to be scratched, a possession to be collected, an empty cunt to fill.

  “Fine,” he grunts, pulling out and making me feel emptier than before. He releases me from the door, but there’s no lock. If anyone as much as needs to piss, I’m fucked.

  Literally.

  He takes me to the mirror in front of the stalls and bends me over the sink.

  “Hold your tits while I fuck your cunt with my fingers,” he orders, the sweetness gone.

  His hands are already teasing my throat again with feather-like caresses.

  We watch one other in the mirror. Every movement, breath, and subtle drag of his fingers, I feel it, feel him. I witness it all—his struggle, his need, and the desperation in his expression. His eyes stare straight into mine, almost through me. It’s like he knows my entire soul with one look. They’re so commanding I’m transfixed.

  “Watch me as I’m inside of you. Feel me as I take back what’s mine.”

  I don’t correct him that I’m going home to Brax, that this is for the guy blackmailing me. We both know it’s a lie. As he traces the marks Brax left me, I know he’s plotting how to leave his own.

  His hand moves slowly down my naked flesh while I hold my breasts. I start to let go, to force him to move faster, to make him touch me again. A rumble escapes his chest, a warning I don't take. I reach for him, but before I get there, he yells.

  “¡Espera!” Stop!

  “Please, Sy. You're killing me.” I hate that I sound as sad and desperate as I do, but he’s making me shake with built-up tension, and he revels in it.

  “You asked for this, so watch me, niñita. Pay attention as I pleasure you in a way he can’t. See me make you come with an intensity he cannot offer. Listen to yourself as I make you scream, and hear me make love to your body in a way Brax never will.”

  My chest rises and falls with that, my ribs expanding with each exhale, reminding me that this is real. This isn't just a fantasy anymore. Sy is here. He’s touching me. No, he’s loving me. Regardless of his twisted delayed gratification, he’s showing me in his own way that he cares. Right?

  “Do you love me, Sy?” The betraying words slip out of my lips. Even I recognize the smallness of my voice.

  Is this fear normal? I’m absolutely terrified he'll tell me no, that this is just lust, a sexual conquest, a way to get off and nothing more.

  “Mi corazoncito.” His voice falters, his eyes softening a smidgen.

  “Don't,” I warn. “Don't take pity on me, please.” I didn't realize until now how much I need those three words, those stupid eight letters that mean so much when said out loud.

  “Those words don't mean what you want them to,” he explains. “What is love when only said out loud?”

  I stare at him in the mirror, his eyes never leaving mine.

  “Isn't love the way I touch your heart in the way no one else can? Is it not the way my lips caress your skin tenderly? Love isn't three words that can be said at any time and in such a simple way. It's the way your heart beats faster when our flesh connects, the way your lips slightly part in preparation of a kiss from me.” His mouth trails to my throat, and he feathers kisses while goosebumps cover my flesh. “Love is the way our bodies connect when I'm fucking you. How you consume my every thought when I should be working. How no matter what is going on in life, you're the only thing that calms me. You’re my solace, corazoncito.”

  Tears stream down my cheeks, cold, hollow droplets that prove how much I understand him, understand all he's trying to say without the words I'm desperate for.

  “And for now, that’s all I’ll give. It’s all I have.”

  And I let that be enough.

  For now.

  He thrusts into me from behind, and his hips hit my ass aggressively. With each slap of our flesh, I unravel. I fall. And I love him more. When the door to the bathroom opens, he doesn’t stop. It closes quickly after, and I don’t know who entered. He shoves into me continuously, grunting and jackhammering me the roughest way possible. As I come around him, he comes with me, leaving a piece of him within me.

  It’s when he pulls out and cleans me up with his shirt that the guilt makes me sick. I run to the stall, falling to my knees on the disgusting tiled floor, and chuck my guts into the toilet.

  How will I recover from this?

  He slips my shirt over my head and somehow dresses me. I’m in a haze as he carries me out of the bathroom and into his car. There’s no argument, no excuse for the way I’ve acted and shutdown, or even an explanation to how I left Brax at the bar, without explaining how to close or anything else. Yet, when Sy carries me into a house I don’t recognize, into a bed even less recognizable, I don’t brook an argument. I just fall into him.

  Being reunited should feel perfect. It should make me feel complete and whole and satisfied.

  But as I sit here the next morning, I realize something is missing. Maybe it’s because she asked me if I loved her, and I didn’t tell her yes like I should’ve. It didn’t feel right. The timing was off, and it needs to fit.

  When I finished inside her, filling her up, she seemed regretful. Her eyes swam with emotions that had her shutting down. No one gave me a second glance when I carried her out of the Den. Maybe they thought she was drunk. I didn’t see Brax, and that confused me.

  I’m sure I saw him when I first showed up. I hid until Leia was alone. After that, I didn’t see him again. If not for the other two bartenders, the bar would’ve been vulnerable. How could they be so reckless?

  Not your place.

  Leia passed out nearly as soon as her head hit my bed. She didn’t bat an eye when I carried her in here, undressed her, cleaned her up, and then tucked her in. Her eyes remained open momentarily before she closed them and drifted off.

  Every fiber of my being wanted to hold her all night, but her odd reaction of us being together for the first time again made me keep my distance.

  Something in me tells me she wasn’t ready to be with me again, and the feeling that I forced her into it has anxiety and guilt riding me hard.

  Her phone hasn’t gone off once, not that I’ve snooped. I just want to make sure no one is worried about her.

  Like her boyfriend.

  He should be worried. He should care. He should be fucking better.

  Leia begins to stir, her body moving sluggishly as she turns to me. Her eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, her skin painted with that fucker’s brands. I need to erase them, replace them with my own, and decorate her like a pretty little canvas.

  “Sy?” she whispers, covering her eyes from the sun shining through. I lean over, not wanting her to see how sleep deprived I am. She blinks away her sleepiness but keeps her eyes mostly closed. “Where are we?”

  “Home,” I return without a second thought.

  And it is. It’s the home I bought us when I got back to Cape Hill. It’s beautiful, newly built, and everything she’s always wanted.

  “W-What do you mean?” she asks, her voice almost frightened.

  “It’s ours,” I repeat, slowly this time, softer somehow. It’s the same answer but spoken differently.

  “I don’t understand,” she levies.

  “This,” I gesture to the room, “is mine and, in turn, is yours.”

  “Sy,” she balks, suddenly wide awake. She sits up, unease covering her features. “This can’t happen again.” She looks at me, sadness, heartbreak, and something akin to displeasure reflecting in her entire form.

  “Mi corazoncito—"

  “No!” she bites. “Don’t.” There’s no malice behind the words, just rampant defeat that carries across the threshold.

  “Goddammit, Leia. Stop walking away from this, from me, from us,” I practically beg, my voice strained and so thickly accented I’m sure she had to try to understand me to get what I meant to say.

  “You don’t deserve me, Silas!” she snaps, her voice higher. Her face morphs into one of certainty. There’s no indecision left, no doubt lic
king her features. Just absolution.

  It’s then I decide I’ll do anything except give her those words, especially now. They’ll be cheapened, lost of their meaning if I give them now, even when there’s nothing truer. No concept that’s more accurate.

  I love Leia, and one day I’ll tell her.

  She looks me directly in the eyes, and I notice how much hers are filled to the brim with sadness, and I know it’s from acceptance—acceptance that there’s no us.

  But I won’t let her go. Not this easily.

  “Then let me earn you,” I prompt.

  She flinches as if hurt, as if it’s too late, and she can’t wait around for me.

  “Please, baby. Let me at least have a real chance to deserve you.”

  She cries and grabs the pillow to muffle the severity of them. Not willing to give up, I haul her into my arms, kissing her head fervently. I give her whatever I can with that kiss, desperate to show her she’s mine. She just has to let me prove it.

  Her slender arms snake around the pillow blocking her from my chest and wrap around me. I wedge the pillow from her chest and bring her to mine. I hold her, praying it’s enough for now.

  She’ll pick me. I know it.

  “I can’t leave him.”

  I barely hear her with her face smooshed against my chest.

  That’s not what I asked. If she needs Brax too, then for now, I’ll share.

  Because there’s no doubt who will come out on top in the end, even if there’s a crossroad named Braxton along the way.

  “Then have us both,” I offer, trying to give her an opening, an inch, anything. I need her to be receptive about this, regardless of how much it hurts to see her with him too.

  She pulls away from me, her face morphed with confusion. “You’d share me with him?”

  “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want to have you. If this is how it has to be, then so be it.”

  Her mouth falls agape, her eyes wide as saucers.

  Pressing two fingers to her chin, I close her mouth. “Unless you want me to fill that mouth, you should keep it closed.”