Always (Cape Hill Book 3) Page 5

  Immediately, I harden in my work uniform. She’s wearing a short, navy blue and white dress that makes her even more beautiful. It’s almost poofy, the white bodice tight and sweet with a heart neckline, making her breasts push out. The blue tulle material makes her appear innocent and princess-like. I fucking love it.

  Her hair is natural but with that special curl stuff that makes her hair bouncier. Mousse is it? She’s beautiful however her hair is styled. Whether it’s messy pigtails, buns, or even bed-tousled, she’s gorgeous. My girl is beautiful.

  Her lips have a hint of some red matte lipstick. Her eyes have makeup, and the devious glint in her beautiful blue eyes has me unruly with more than craving, more than love, more than yearning. Just more. “Wow,” I comment dumbly, at a loss for words, my gaze perusing her frame like she’s a prize, and she is. She’s the best kind of prize at an award show only one person gets. She’s the fucking winning lottery ticket.

  Instead of joking like she normally does, she slides her knees apart, showing me exactly how panty-less she is. Her bare cunt is out for me to worship. Her wetness begs to be smeared around and played with, to be enjoyed and used like she likes. Her eyes are half-lidded with intention, her lips pouty and slightly parted, waiting to be kissed.

  “Lele,” I groan, my voice hoarse and heady. I’m near desperation—near insanity—nearly losing every ounce of self-control.

  “Yes?” she asks coquettishly, like she didn’t just open her thighs, showing me her dripping cunt. Like she isn't parading that smirk, knowing full well that I'm stiffer than I've ever been, that I could just sink into her and finally have what's mine.

  I kneel beneath her, showing her how much I believe she’s my goddess, how much I will praise her body with my mouth.

  Leaning forward, I bring my nose to her heat, inhaling. Sweet. Decadent. All woman. It’s the sexiest fucking thing drawing in her scent, all while seeing how thirsty she is for my touch, my kiss, my cock.

  “I’m dirty, babe, greasy as shit. I should really clean up.”

  “No, no, no,” she begs, her voice brazen with temptation. “I like when you’re all sweaty and manly. It makes me hotter.”

  And that’s all it takes for me to stuff my grease-covered face between her folds, matching her salty sweetness with mine. There’s something irresistible about dirty bodies crushing together, frenzied in the lust shared between each other, unable to keep our limbs from connecting.

  “Brax,” she moans almost in embarrassment.

  She’s intoxicating. As much as my crutches, she sustains me. I shut her up with one swipe of my tongue across her wet pussy, her feminine taste making me groan.

  If my balls ached before, they’re near combustion now. It’d only take a couple pumps, a couple perfunctory thrusts between her thighs…

  “Right there,” she croons, her hands gripping my hair, pulling hard enough to rip strands out. The pain mixed with the intense feeling I get every time I plunge into her wet opening has me growing dizzy with desire. “Yes, Brax!” she nearly yells on a moan.

  When I plunge my tongue inside her, making it stiff with each penetration, she’s releasing on my mouth, and I lick that up too.

  No matter how many times I eat her out, the rush of making her orgasm on my face has me reckless. I stand tall, undoing my work jumper, watching her as she devours me alive with her eyes. I don’t even take the time to undo her dress. I hike it up her hips, my skin flaming with each spot I touch. She’s tearing at my wife beater, her mouth suckling at my skin in tandem of mine at her throat.

  The more she sucks, the rawer my skin feels. I love it. I love that she takes what she wants, what she needs, and doesn’t take any prisoners.

  She pulls my boxers down, pulling me into her. Right as I’m about to breach her, I remember I’m not wearing a condom.

  I know how she feels. She got caught up in the moment before. If I allow that now, she’ll feel washed up and used again. Leia eventually told me about how careless she and Sy were. When she got back, she took a day after pill, and immediately made an appointment to have herself checked.

  “Are you still on the pill, baby?” I pant, my voice breathless. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her take her birth control. I’d never risk her health for my gratification.

  “Y-yes.” She sighs, her forehead lined with sweat.

  I lick a droplet from her head, needing to taste anything she gives. She’s my cure. She’s my cure. She’s my cure.

  I should wrap up anyway, but she’s grinding her pussy onto me, making me as miserable as I am eager. My pleasure isn’t more important than her body, her choices, her health.

  “Do it, Brax. Take me.”

  Before I can tell her no, that safety is more important, she pushes herself on my throbbing head, sliding barely past the tip. It’s fucking tight, more than I could ever imagine. I’m not used to so much pressure, and I’m scared of coming in seconds. She tries wiggling me inside her more. I grip her hips tightly, almost too tightly, almost too aggressively. There will be marks, and the thought has me ravenous.

  “Wait, wait, wait,” I grunt, trying to hold in my orgasm. Releasing too soon isn’t how anyone wants to lose their virginity. I’m here for this, to absorb all her tightness has to offer me.

  When the pressure in my balls calm, I move into her at the slowest pace known to man, treasuring how she molds around me, sucking me in entirely.

  “Fuck, baby. Fuck,” I grunt, finally seated fully in her.

  If I didn’t know, I’d believe we were both virgins. She’s squeezing me, making pressure seize my swollen length, tickling my spine with awareness. She whimpers above me, trying to move for me.

  “Do you need it, baby? Beg me,” I command gently, my voice hoarse, while my body stays still, unwilling to move until she does.

  “Please, please, please,” she pleads, her hands gripping my hair, forcing me to lean forward. “Fuck me, mi amor.”

  With that pet name, I’m pulling out enough to slam back in. We both heave relieved sighs, our chests bumping into each other. I work my hips, pumping into her in fast and short strokes. It’s like nothing I pictured. It’s better, rougher, unversed.

  I rest on one arm, gripping her leg with the other, raising it above my shoulder. This gets me a moan, forces me deeper, and has me feeble with urge to let go.

  Lifting her other leg, I wrap both around my neck, gripping her hips in unison. With each thrust, I dig my fingers in harder. Soon, I’m leaning down, defiling her dress with my grease-covered palms and then suckling her nipple into my mouth. It’s beautiful in its filthiness, listening to the music we make. Skin slapping. Groans of euphoria. Sluicing whooshes of moisture from our bodies connecting. After I release her hips, I watch in amazement.

  “Brax, Brax, baby,” she hums, her eyes rolled back, her mouth parted beautifully.

  With this angle, I hit a bumpy part inside her, my piercing titillating. It drives her as wild as it does me.

  I take her mouth with mine. I bite. I suck. I pull her bottom lip, feeling her squeeze me with the motion. Sweat lines her brow, and it’s sexy. With each thrust, her face morphs into one of pure ecstasy. She’s beautiful.

  I reach for her throat, licking the throbbing vein on the side uninhibitedly, marking her as mine. When my teeth graze her, biting into her flesh, she squeezes around me harder than before.

  “I’m going to come,” I growl, feeling the moment it teases my balls, zinging up my spine like a livewire.

  Her eyes connect with mine, and the love and sex-satisfied glint have me releasing with a loud grunt.

  “Leia, Leia, Leia,” I repeat over and over again, leaning into her ear as I fill her with my hot seed. She lets out a little noise full of relief.

  “So goddamn beautiful,” I whisper into her neck, breathing in her sweet as sin musk. “You were such a good girl, Leia. Fucking me so good.” I’m breathless as I kiss her throat.

  “You were perfect,” I breathe into her nape, holdi
ng my weight above her, unwilling to crush my girl with my exhaustion. “You’re so fucking perfect, Lele.”

  Her eyes gloss over with affection and emotion. Tears tumble out of her eyes, and I’m worried I’ve upset her.

  I release her hip, moving my weight completely off her. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  Her tears come harder. She wipes at her eyes furiously. “No, no, no. I’m just emotional because it was everything I wanted it to be. You took my breath away, Brax. You treated my body with respect and love and adoration,” she cries softly. “I love you.”

  As those three words tumble out of her, it’s the first time in these six months that they register, that they feel real, graspable, and true.

  I pull her face to mine, holding her centimeters from my lips. “I love you, too, Lele. So fucking much.”

  My voice is raw and emotional, and when she closes her eyes tightly, I kiss her with everything.

  All my doubts.

  All my feelings.

  All my lust.

  All my love.

  With every ounce of me. In hopes this is forever.

  That we are forever.

  He takes his pounds of flesh. The smack, smack, smack of his wet knuckles colliding with my blood-slickened skin has me near delirium. My face has several broken bones. I can feel—yet, can’t truly feel what he’s done.

  It’s like I’m no longer a part of my body. I’m a prisoner to the emptiness. I’m not sure when I last ate, last slept, last spoke.

  The blood from repeated torture is dried, caked on me like a second skin. He’s exhausted too. I can see it in his eyes. The first day, his anger consumed him. He cut into me, making my skin weep with each slice. The second day, his eyes were haunted, like he finally realized it was me he cut into.

  By the seventh day, the more he hit me, the more emotion clouded his vision. Then the tears came, and there haven’t been many times I’ve seen him cry. D isn’t a crier.

  Now, as he takes his pound of flesh, his eyes are closed tightly shut, almost like it’s unbearable to hit me. I’ve lost count of time. It could be months, or it could simply be only days after the first time he cried. Either way, I’m losing my mind, my blood, and my life.

  After the last crack, when my head lolls to the side, he drops to his knees. The thud barely registers in my mind, barely makes a spot in the fogginess that was once a clear head.

  “Why mi hija? Why mi hermana and hermano? Why mía?” he practically whimpers.

  He couldn’t understand why I love them all, why they fill parts of me my parents left behind.

  I can’t talk. As much as I try forming words, they’re garbled and unintelligible. His eyes finally reach mine. The hurt and devastation there is almost too much to deal with. Almost too much to feel.

  I’ve hurt him almost as much as he’s hurt me.

  He’s had his pound of flesh.

  He’s had more than his pound.

  “Lo siento, hermano,” he breathes, scrubbing a palm down his face. His face screws down in a grimace as he rises to his feet. “I’m so fucking sorry. You’ve always been a brother to me, but fuck, I lost everything. And everything I lost, you gained, and you left me behind.”

  I attempt to nod, but there’s no movement there either. I’m paralyzed from pain and numbness. He tries lifting me, but I let out a howl that has him letting me go. I can’t imagine how much he’s broke. I can’t imagine how I’ll survive. Does Xo know what happened?

  I hope she’s not worried.

  I hope he spared her and Leia.

  Leia.

  She’s the one thing that has kept me alive this entire time. She invades my every dream, my every thought, and every time he hits me, it’s her who tells me to hold on. It’s her who begs me to be strong for us and to remember our love.

  Love.

  It took me a long time. I’ve gone through every emotion out there. But now, after my sanity is nearly stripped, and she’s all that’s left to hold onto, I realize it.

  I love Leia. I’ve been in love with this fucking girl since we first met.

  I’ve gone through the motions, the doubt, uncertainty, denial, even the refusal that it even exists. In the end, being nearly beaten to death day after day had made me grasp on the only thing I knew—her. Us. Our love. I’ve battled it. I’ve protected her and fought demons she doesn’t even understand that live behind closed doors. All for her. All to protect her. To protect Xo.

  All for fucking love.

  Something I didn’t know I was capable of feeling anymore.

  I lost my first loves. I believed if I loved Leia, it would replace what the twins and I shared. It would taint the first time I’d been accepted and cared after. I’d replace those emotions with something fraudulent, something I wasn’t even capable of having again.

  I was wrong, so disturbingly fucking wrong.

  I’ve realized that first love with the twins, that first taste of true power, that first fucking obsession and lustful adventure—it wasn’t love at all. It was a taste of affection. A displacement of a love that was meant for them alone, but eventually bled onto me in the process.

  Love is what I feel when Leia sleeps in my arms. It’s what it feels like when her body is connecting with mine while my cock is buried deep inside her. Love is knowing I’d give up anything and everything to make her smile. To save her, I gave into Danté. I gave her up and got my life nearly taken in the process. Now that I’m aware of my true loss, it’s apparent that love was the reason behind it all.

  Because love is selfless.

  Love is Leia Soltero.

  Leia is the fucking definition of love.

  And it took me far too goddamn long to see it.

  It’s too late.

  It’s far too late.

  Danté, against my groaning protests, lifts me up. He nods over to someone in the dark. The figure comes over. It’s Silva, and I feel another part of me break, the part that believed he once loved me, the part of me that hoped he’d choose me.

  He grips one side, and I struggle to avoid his touch, his unwarranted care.

  “Stop fighting, idiota,” Danté barks harshly.

  I’ve lost all strength to fight, so he takes me to the van, nearly carrying me the entire way. When I’m seated, he rushes me to the emergency room and drops me off at the door. It takes several minutes before anyone comes out.

  “¡Socorro!” a woman screams. Help!

  The sound pierces my ears. I’m cringing, and the cringing has me groaning in pain.

  “¡Ayúdanos!” Help us!

  She continues to yell for help, and I’m not sure what’s happening. My eyes are nearly swollen shut, and the light from the warm sun blinds me too.

  It all disappears when my body shuts down.

  The last thing on my mind is her and her citrus seductive scent that never quite left my clothes.

  When I wake up, it’s to an incessant beeping noise that makes my head throb with each beep, beep, beep. My eyes widen at the bright fluorescent lights. I attempt to cover my face but can’t move my arms without feeling excruciating pain.

  The monitor, I think, must warn the nurse because an older woman comes running in. Her face lights up with relief, and I’m unsure why she’s happy that I’m okay.

  I blink several times, my eyelids heavy and painful to move.

  “¿Señor, estás bien?” she asks tentatively.

  If the noise would escape me, I would laugh. Why ask if I’m okay if I’m in a hospital?

  The most I offer her is a nod. For some reason, I can’t find my voice. My throat feels like sandpaper after being scraped across a block of concrete. Water. I need some water. She eyes me, checking my vitals, smiling like it’s the best day at her job.

  “¿Duele esto?” she questions, while pressing on my right shoulder blade. I grit my teeth, trying not to be disrespectful to her for testing my pain levels.

  “Sí!” I try not to yell but fail miserably, the word more garbled t
han it should be, and I start to worry about my throat. Did Danté cut it open?

  “¿Qué pasa con este?” she asks while pressing on my ribs. What about this?

  I literally yelp in pain. It’s misery. The tendrils of agony zip through me, slicing through my body like a blade to the gut.

  “Yes!” It comes out as an aggressive shout.

  I hope my eyes convey an apology. She’s older than me, and I’ve never disrespected my elders.

  “Por favor, pare. No más,” I plead, wishing she’d let me die rather than press all the places that hurt.

  “Please,” I implore one last time. “It hurts too much.”

  She nods with a look of understanding then calls in the doctor.

  After about ten minutes, a woman in a white lab coat, appearing important, enters the room. She, too, has a big smile, like I’m some miracle.

  “Hello,” she says, “I’m Dr. Rodríguez. About fifteen days ago, you were dropped at the front entrance of the emergency room. Immediately, you slipped into a coma. There was so much hemorrhaging we didn’t think you’d make it.”

  She huffs out a breath, eyeing me warily. Her pen makes notes across the paper and clipboard she’s holding, and I’m sure it’s about my unresponsiveness.

  “You have five broken ribs, a fractured tibia, and five broken fingers. Your collarbone is completely destroyed, and a spiral fracture in your ankle…”

  She drones on as I lose focus. I’m so tired I just want to sleep and not listen to all these medical terms for bones I don’t understand.

  “…a punctured lung, near sepsis…”

  “What day is it?” I mutter, opening my eyes momentarily.

  She seems taken aback at my voice. It does sound huskier than normal, almost pure gravel in its deepness.

  “Sir,” she starts then stops, clearing her throat. “From what I can tell, you’ve been—”

  I slice the air with my palm. “¿Qué día es hoy?” I demand, the nervousness in her facial features has me worried.

  “It’s July twenty-second, sir.”

  It feels as if the air has been stolen from my lungs, as if life itself was sucked out of me, willing me to finally die.