Amber to Ashes (The Torn Heart #1) (44 page)

I dip my hand into the boiling pot of H
2
O, sure Amber’s flesh’s melting from her bones. “It’s
you
who’s the twentieth-century cave
woman
.” I yank my hand out of the water and give her a shit-eating grin. “We’re simply innocent bystanders to something you just
assumed
was our intent.”

Amber sits up and wraps her arms around her bubble-covered knees. “Are you trying to get one past me by saying you two had
no
intention of having sex with me when you dragged me in here? Hmm, wiseass? Is that what you’re
attempting
to do?” Before I can nod in agreement,
I’m
the one who’s swathed in bubbles as Amber splashes me. “’Cause if so,
that’s
what I think of your failed attempt.”

With my free hand being utilized as a towel to dry my face, the other curses me out as I sink it into the awaiting lava, scooping a decent amount into my palm.

I smirk, enjoying the flash of fear in Amber’s eyes. “We’re going
there
, are we?”

“No!” Amber half squeaks, half giggles, regret painting her ex
pression as she gauges mine. She cautiously reaches for my arm, rests it on the edge of the Jacuzzi, and pets it, seduction showering her tone as she turns on her charm. “I don’t know
whatever
could’ve
come over me.” She bats her lashes, a coy pout puckering her lips. “I’m sorry,
master
. I
truly
am.” Another bat of her lashes, her pout turning into an
I’ve got you now, prick
smirk as she draws tiny figure eights along the inside crease of my elbow. “Maybe it’s sexually induced insanity? I mean, considering all the
delicious
things you boys did to me this evening, it’s quite possible I’ve sustained
some
kind of injury to my brain.” She lifts my hand to her lips, kissing my knuckles. “
Puh-lease
forgive me. I couldn’t go on without it.”

It’s enough the girl’s a walking eye-boner, but add knowing how to seduce a man—and seduce him very
well
—to her already-long list of appealing physical and mental attributes, and you’ve got yourself a deadly combination. Cock on heightened alert, unable to resist the cute yet sinful look on her face, and officially welcoming myself into the
Amber’s turned me into a
pansy
club, I grin, caving like a certified pussy as I let the water slip through my fingers.

“I’ll let you off on this one,” I say with a mock frown, “but you
severely
missed the mark on your assumption. Having sex with you wasn’t in the playbook when we brought ya in here.”

“But in our defense,” Brock cuts in, twirling a strand of her hair between his fingers, “you make it impossible
not
to turn into a predator. So, in my opinion,
you’re
the guilty one, not us.”

“I’m not convinced. Not even close. Still, I gotta give you both kudos for attempting to
swoon
me into believing your bullshit story.”

“It’s not bullshit, Ber.” Brock tucks a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear, his voice soft as he leans over, resting his lips on the crown of her head. “Like Ryder said, we didn’t bring you in here to sexually attack you.”

She pulls her brows together. “Well, why
else
would either of you bring me here, if not for the purpose of having sex with me again?
Makes no sense. I mean, that’s what tonight was about. Sex. Nothing more, right? The two of you taking out your anger, frustration, fear, and stress on me, using my body as an outlet to bring you back down to the somewhat stable mental level you were at before . . .” She trails off as she gnaws on her thumbnail. “. . . before what you two were forced into doing to those men that night.”

Her eyes glass over as she looks between Brock and me, trembling. “I shouldn’t have brought that up. I—I apologize.” She takes a breath, her shoulders slumped as she shakes her head. “The point I’m trying to make is that neither of you has to make me
feel
like tonight was anything more than what it really was.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and plops into the water. My heart splits open as the raw pain emanating off her causes a swell of torture to rip through my muscles. “To be honest, all this . . . this
act’s
doing is making me feel like an idiot. So just cut it out, all right?”

Seemingly aware that she’s spilling her vulnerabilities—every one of her disturbed thoughts on display for Brock and I to dissect—a bolt of horror strikes through her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I overreacted. But it’s okay, really. I’m used to it. Sex has always been that for me. Just . . . sex. A mindless physical act with nothing attached to it.” Her hands shoot to her cheeks to swipe away her tears, her meek voice feigning composure as she continues to tremble like a withered leaf caught in a storm. “Before Brock came along, I was never treated special afterward. No flowers, chocolates, or calls the next morning. No spooning, following a long-winded proclamation of how much I’m needed. No . . . nothing.” She hugs her knees to her chest, a noncommittal shrug tugging her shoulder. “I guess I became used to it, and prefer it that way. So please, just . . . just keep it at that, okay?”

I glance at Brock, his expression as lost as mine—if not more—as I try to digest every warped word she bled out. Head tripped the fuck up, I find her shoulders and gently turn her to the side, my breath disintegrating as I take in the defeated woman before me. I swallow
hard, the final piece of who I was before tonight disappearing, the man who’s left becoming an extension of Amber’s bruised soul as I watch her rock back and forth.

It’s as though she’s embarrassed to look at me, her attention focused on the water. I hook my finger under her chin and lift her beautiful face to mine, my heart sinking the second I catch her eyes. There’s so much pain and hurt drowning in them—pain I want to erase from her brain forever. I touch my lips to hers, trying to understand why this jewel doesn’t see herself worthy of anything more than being used for some asshole’s sexual satisfaction.

The afternoon I kidnapped her away to the diner, it was apparent she’d lost herself somewhere between the filthy pages of her life’s story, her corroded past enough to fill a novel. How could it not? The last toxic memory her asshole father gave her left the girl a hollowed-out mess, visions of that sick, twisted day something I’m sure is on constant replay in her mind. Still, the exact moment she gave up on her self-worth, the number of dickheads who helped strip it from her, and why she continues to close herself off, never allowing anyone to truly break down the steel cage surrounding her heart, is something I fear she’ll never let me in on.

But hell if I won’t die trying to crack her open.

“Sorry, but we’re
not
keeping it at that,” I whisper over her lips, my hand cupping her nape. She attempts to pull back, her battle fought in vain as I tighten my grip, preventing her from moving. “You can spew
your
bullshit lies to me all day long about how you don’t wanna be loved, respected, or treated the way you should be because you’re not
used
to it, but—as usual—I’m calling you out, Moretti.
I
ain’t buying
your
story. Nice try, but it ain’t happening. Not with me. Not now, not . . . ever, peach.” I press my forehead to hers, our sporadic breaths intertwined as I thumb away her tears. “And based on our earlier conversation, you know I’m one big, fat, persistent prick, so good luck at any wasted effort you dump into trying to change my mind.”

She shakes her head, an exhausted sigh falling from her mouth. “Ryder, please. I don’t—”

“You don’t
what
,
Amber?” I hold her gaze, challenging, testing. “Don’t want us to show you our thanks for what you gave us? Christ, you
shared
yourself with us. Willingly handed over not only your body
but
every one of your beautiful, fragile, fucked-up emotions, trusting that we’d do right with all of it, with all of . . .
you
. Do you know what that means to two assholes like us? Can you even begin to understand what that made us
feel
like? And I’m not just talking about the physical part, peach, because this shit goes beyond that. Sorry, you might not want it to, but it does. You were right when you said tonight was about sex. True indeed, a small fraction of it was. But you were
dead
wrong when you skewed it into something that was
only
about sex. Sex is the easy part.” I press my nose to hers, doing one of those Eskimo-kiss things girls love. “It doesn’t hurt that it’s one of the most . . .
interesting
parts of getting to know someone.” I move my lips to her jaw. “It was more than . . .
fun
getting to explore you inside out. I could be wrong, and I apologize if so, but I think you feel the same way about your experience getting to know
every
 . . .
single
 . . .
inch
of me.”

She gives me a hesitant smile, its glow lifting the boulder weighing down my heart as she nods. “I definitely enjoyed it.”

“Mm. That’s what I thought.” I kiss each of her cheeks, praying I can get this girl to understand what she means to me, how just a single look from her unhinges everything I am. “It’s
after
the sex is outta the way that the hard part comes. The mental ride, if you will. The part where you’re learning to trust someone with your feelings, secrets, past, present, and future. The part where, right as you start to feel yourself falling for them, you wanna bounce because you’re afraid of where your heart’s gonna take you, but mostly scared to death of what
they’re
gonna do to it. How much they’re gonna hurt it, leaving you numb to ever loving again. But something tells you to stick around, that they just may have something to offer you, something to
teach you. Something that—if shit doesn’t work out—you might be able to use with the next person who stumbles onto your path.”

She knows it’s she whom I’m referring to, my words telling the story of us. “Still you don’t let go. You keep at it, fighting the fucked-up thoughts diseasing your head, all the while trying to hold on to the small bit of hope you have for you and that person. The hope that shit’ll work itself out, that the two of you will find your way through to the end. The hope that there’ll never
be
another person who stumbles onto your path. That they’re it for you, and you for them. That you’re each other’s . . . forever.”

Amber takes me in for several silent seconds before surrender douses her features, one last tear sliding down her face as she pulls in a shuddered breath. She nods, her muscles going lax as I work my fingers into her shoulder blades.

“Let us spoil you,” I whisper against her forehead, watching as Brock stands, drops his towel to the ground, and sneaks into the Jacuzzi with Amber, positioning himself behind her. “You gave us a gift most men can only
dream
about, let alone experience. You can deny us anything you want, whenever you want. But hell if we’re gonna let you take away our
right
as men to worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped.”

“The way every asshole before us should’ve worshipped you, baby girl,” Brock adds as he too starts working away her stress. Caressing her neck, arms, and shoulders, his touch releases the last remnants of tension from her limbs. “The way we’ll
always
worship you before, during, and after sharing yourself with us.”

Amber rests her arms on Brock’s knees, cushioning her back against his chest. “I’m not used to this.” She sighs in contentment, a wary smile playing around her lips as Brock strums his knuckles up and down her spine. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’ll
ever
get used to it. Again, before Brock, it wasn’t my norm.”

“Ah, don’t worry about that one. We’ll make
very
,
very
sure ya get
used to it.” Grinning, I reach for a washcloth and squeeze a dot of vanilla-scented girly shit onto it, my hand screaming out in pain from the searing temperature of the water as I dip it below the bubbles. Trying to avoid sounding like a pussy by whimpering, I quickly lather up the cloth and rub it over Amber’s shoulders, around the back of her neck, and down by the sides of her breasts, enjoying the sound of her little gasp as I circle it around her belly button. “And what the fuck’s up with the entire female population taking baths and showers that make running into a burning building look appealing?”

Amber giggles and reaches for a razor blade, shaking her head as she perches her leg on the side of the Jacuzzi. “It’s relaxing.” She slides the blade down her thigh, her knee sneaking up from beneath the fading bubbles as she shrugs. “Who wants to sit in a lukewarm bath? The thought gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“I agree,” Brock says, taking the razor from Amber. With her back remaining pressed to his chest, he shackles her ankle in his free hand, lifts her leg from the water and touches his lips to her ear, a grin surfacing on his face as he cautiously runs the blade up behind the silken bend of her knee. “Nothing beats a hot bath.
Except
,” he adds, his whisper spoken against Amber’s neck, “shaving your insanely
hot
girlfriend’s legs and other delectable body parts while she’s in that hot bath. Not even the finest green can trump that shit.”

Grin turning sinister, he lifts Amber’s leg higher and trails the razor down the contour of her calf, back up over her thigh, the asshole ultimately sinking the purple, flower-dotted weapon below the water. No longer in my line of sight, its final resting place is a mystery to me. However—and I’m just throwing this out there—judging by the little gasp that shoots past Amber’s lips, I can pretty much figure out which “delectable” part of her body he’s giving attention to.

“You good, baby girl?” he asks as Amber relaxes back into him.

“Better than good,” she purrs, her lack of fear heightening mine as her eyes flitter closed.