Beneath His Darkness (Healing Hearts #3) (29 page)

“Oww, fuck!”

I lay still for a minute, allowing her to adjust to the fullness.  “Your first time isn’t supposed to feel good, buttercup, but I promise you, every time after that starts to feel better,” I whisper in her ear.

I set a leisurely pace, making sure I’m not causing her too much pain.  It’s killing me because I want to slam into her and teach her what a true fucking is.  But, with the way she’s hugged onto me, I know I need to continue being gentle.  Her breath on my neck and her little nips here and there are driving me fucking crazy, but I somehow manage to keep control.

Her face is one of glorious happiness when I orgasm.  This was supposed to be all about her, but you’d think I gave her the world by going over the edge.  I don’t know whether she thought she wouldn’t be enough for me, but apparently, she doesn’t know how much of my brain she occupies.

I’m not able to let her leave my side.  I need to make sure she isn’t too sore from her first time.  She didn’t mind my suggestion of spending the night and I even agree when she asks if we can both stay in my bed.  She curls into my arms and before she falls asleep, she quietly says, “Thank you.”

I couldn’t say anything back.  I still don’t feel worthy of the gift she gave me.  Guilt is a motherfucker and I’m drowning in it.  When I know she’s fast asleep, I whisper, “I’m sorry, buttercup.”

Chapter Thirty

Grant

It’s a quiet Christmas afternoon as I sit on my couch watching Avatar for the second time.  I’m torturing myself over missing Cammie.  She called me this morning when she woke up.  She wanted to be the first one to wish me a Merry Christmas.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her she’d be the only one.  Well, I guess I should count Gloria amongst my well-wishers, but I never accept her call on this day.  I don’t feel that she deserves to talk to me today of all days.  She lost that right.

I keep staring at the pictures of Cammie and me during our snowball fight.  I can’t believe it’s me in these pictures.  The smile stretching my face tells a story of happiness.  I can’t deny it and that scares the shit out of me.  When I’m with her, I can’t hide my feelings and it was all captured through the lens of one of those assholes.

I’m still in shock that she called me out on loving her.  I didn’t confirm it, but I felt every word she said.  And, when she said she loved me…fuck.  My heart nearly stopped beating.  The most perfect being on earth said the words I’ve needed to hear and I sat there wishing she would take them back because I’m afraid what my level of damaged will do to her.

When I touched her skin…fuck that, when I entered her warm wetness, I could have died and I would have known what heaven was.  I’ve never known such bliss before and I don’t know that I ever will again.  Even the next morning, when I took her again, it didn’t compare.  You can only see heaven for the first time once.

That next morning, when I woke up to her leaving my bathroom, her hair wet from the shower, wearing my mistletoe t-shirt…I had to have her again.  The t-shirt said it all and I sure as hell kissed everything below the arrow.  I wanted her to know that it felt better the second time around.  I really wanted to show her how it felt the third, fourth, and thousandth time, but she still had to celebrate Christmas with Eddie and go back to her apartment to pack.  She was leaving that afternoon to go back to her parent’s until after New Year’s.

I’ve been missing her since.  I can’t forget the silkiness of her skin, the taste of her on my tongue, or the way she screamed my name.  She’s like a drug I’ve become addicted to and now I’m going through the worst stages of withdrawal.  My body hurts, I can’t focus, and all I want is her—more than food or drink, even more than the air necessary to breathe.

A hard knock comes on my door, shocking me from my thoughts. 
Who the hell can that be?
  I pause my movie and drag myself from the couch, suddenly aware that I haven’t showered.  I’m wearing the clothes I had on yesterday.  Too late to care about that now.

A quick look through the peephole reveals Benny from the front the desk.  What the hell is he doing at my door?  I open it to him holding a package wrapped in foiled green paper and a red bow.

“Good evening, Mr. Andrews.  This package was left for you at the desk,” he says, holding it out to me.

“Thank you, Benny.  I would have come down for it if you called me,” I offer.

“It’s no trouble, sir.  It’s pretty dead at the desk today, but I should get back.  Merry Christmas,” he says with a smile as he turns and heads for the elevator.

“Merry Christmas,” I call out after him, even though I don’t feel the sentiment at all.

Closing the door, I inspect the package.  There’s no tag on it, which sparks my curiosity.  I bring it to the island and place it down.  I stare at it for a few minutes before finally giving in and opening it.  The second I have the top off the box, I wish I had left it closed.  Before me is a pair of metal handcuffs, a police hat, a pair of briefs with a police badge across the crotch, and a police man’s shirt that looks to be about three sizes too small for me.  There’s a note attached to the shirt.  I know I shouldn’t read it, but I have to know what Davyd is up to this time.

With shaky fingers, I unpin the note and steel myself for whatever is on the paper.  I slowly unfold the sheet and want to throw up at the words.

Turn around and spread ‘em, lover.  It’s time to get frisked.

He didn’t sign the note, but he didn’t need to.  His pet name for me says it all.  That motherfucker just keeps playing his games.  I quickly throw it in the trash, needing it out of my sight.  There is no way I will ever let him put any of that offensive shit on my body.

As I’m jamming the box as far into the trash as I can, another knock sounds at my door.  Benny didn’t call up a visitor.  Davyd better not have sent another fucking gift.  I stride to the door in long, anger-filled steps and rip the door open.

“What?!” I hiss.  I’m shocked when I see Melanie standing before me in a red knee-length jacket, black stilettos, and a Santa hat.

The smile drops from her face and she looks down at her feet, her hands wringing together.

“What are you doing here, Mel, and how did you get up here?”

“Th…there was no one at the desk, so I came right up.”

She tries giving me her seductive smile, thinking I’ll forget I asked her two questions.  Apparently, her blonde has dripped through to her brain.

“Why are you here?” I ask, exasperated.

Her lips form a pout and I want to scream at her to get to the fuck off my doorstep.  “I knew you’d be alone and no one should be alone on Christmas.”  She runs her finger up my chest.

“How’d you know I’d be alone?”

“A little bird told me,” she chirps as her finger trails up my neck.  A little bird, my ass.  Goddamn Davyd.

Rage blinds me as I grab her wrist and fling her into my apartment.  I slam the door and shove her into the closest wall—hard.  The air whooshes from her lungs and I thrive on the fear I see in her eyes.  They want to play fucking games with me?  Let’s see how they like it when I take my turn.

I smash my lips to hers with such force, my teeth rattle and I taste blood.  Her pained cry brings a smile to my face.  She’s wiggling beneath me, but I have her pinned to the wall with the weight of my body and my hands hold her arms in place.  I love how her eyes bug out and she tries begging with her whiney-ass mouth.  For the first time in our agreement, I’m enjoying myself.

Not caring that she’ll probably try to scratch my eyes out, I drop one of her wrists and grab onto her breast.  I dig in until I’m sure I’ll leave marks.

“Ow!  What the fuck, Grant!” she shouts, shoving me away with her free hand.

I stand before her, a hulking mass of anger.  “What’s the matter, Mel?  I thought you wanted this,” I say, cupping my cock.

“Not like this,” she whispers.  “I don’t like it like this.”

She tries to scoot to the side, but I throw my hand onto the wall beside her head.  “Maybe you and Davyd should have thought about that before you started this little game of yours.”  Her eyes go wide.  I see she’s finally getting it.

“Go tell your puppeteer that he pulls your strings, not mine.”  I turn in a circle so she gets a full view of me.  “See that, Mel?  No strings on me.  Now, run on home to your master for your next set of instructions, but make sure he knows they better not involve me because this,” I grip onto my dick with so much strength, I think I just stopped myself from ever reproducing, “will never fuck this again,” I say, running my hand over her center.

She licks her lips before she comes to her senses and remembers what I just put her through.  Storming away from me, she screams over her shoulder, “You’re a goddamn psycho!”

“You’d do best to remember that, sweetheart,” I calmly reply.

Her answer is to slam the door.

Ten minutes later, I’m back to watching Avatar and trying to lose my shitty mood, when my cell phone beeps. 
Wonder who that could be?

Davyd: Poor Mel.  That wasn’t a very nice way to treat her.

I instantly reply.

I don’t give a fuck.

Davyd: U should.  I’m taking xtra payment for that.

“FUUCCKK!”

I throw my cell across my living room.  The sound of it smashing does nothing to calm my pissed off nerves.

Only Davyd’s head on a platter would make me feel better right now.  His death can’t come soon enough.

Chapter Thirty One

Grant

It’s the first day back to work and I’m a ball of nerves.  I waited every day for Davyd to pull something, to show up, to call—hell, even a text—but he’s been quiet.  His mind fucks can be worse than actually being fucked by him.  He’s planning something awful and it’s making me paranoid.  I keep looking over my shoulder at every sound.  I even lock the men’s room when I use it now.  That bastard has me second-guessing every step I take.

To make matters worse, Cammie got stuck in Ohio.  They had a blizzard and it grounded the planes.  What I wouldn’t give to see her smile.  I think it would set everything right in my world.

In the midst of my mental ramblings, someone taps me on the shoulder.  My body goes rigid.  If that’s Davyd and he’s fucking with me out in the open like this, I may go postal on him.  I slowly turn and to my surprise, it’s Tucker.

“Can we step outside where we can talk in private please?” he asks.

There’s a strain to his words and I wonder whether this is the conversation where he tells me to stay away from Cammie.  I can’t imagine she told him we slept together, but she did tell me he’s like the brother she never had.  The irony of that statement isn’t lost on me.

I don’t respond to his request.  Instead, I simply step past him and head for the door.  We step outside and he does the most peculiar thing.  He inspects me.  He doesn’t check me out like Davyd does, but he stares at me like he’s seeing someone familiar.  That’s when it dawns on me. 
He knows.
  Guess Tucker got a brother for Christmas.

Unable to help myself, I smirk at him.  He can see I’m trying to antagonize and he huffs.  It brings me such joy to see the irritation on his face.

“How long have you known?” he blurts out.  I raise my brow at him, pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about.  “Don’t play stupid.  I know you’re not. How long have you known we’re brothers?”

I allow my eyes to grow large, like he just blew my mind, and my mouth to fall open in false shock.  He takes a step back and then he smiles in what I’m sure is meant to be a comforting way.  It’s all too much for me to keep up the act.

“Did you just find out, big brother, or did you finally get sick of little brother’s shit and wanted to put a stop to my antics?”

“What?  Why?” he stammers out.

“Cat got your tongue?  Always thought you were more eloquent than that.  The god amongst men, Tucker Stavros, can’t think when his little brother asks a question.”

Shock crosses his face, but he reels it in.  “Why do you despise me so much, Grant?”

“You really want to know why I hate you?”

He nods.  I start pacing. If I stand still, I fear I’ll punch him.  And if I punch him, I won’t stop until there’s nothing left but a bloody pile of bones.

“You had it all, Tucker boy.  I’m just the bastard child who found out when the man I thought was my dad needed a kidney transplant to save his life.  Guess what we found out when I went in to see if I was a match.  Want to guess?”

The further I get into my tale, my voice rises, but I don’t care.  He had everything.  He still does.  I’m sick of watching him have it so damn easy.

“I wasn’t his fucking son.  It gutted him.  They didn’t find a replacement in time and he was already living on one kidney.  He stopped looking at me, stopped loving me.  I was sixteen years old and the man I idolized died hating me.  But, then I found out who my real daddy was and he only lived a couple towns over.  I found out about you.  I went to your senior play and he was there watching you perform.  He walked away from me as a baby and never looked back because he already had a family.  He had
you
.”

The emphasis on ‘you’ has him staring at me hard.  My eyes and stance challenge him to step in before I finish what I have to say.  Thank God for him that he doesn’t.

“I made it my goal after that to be in all the school plays.  When I found out you went to L.A., I knew that’s where I was going.  You took my life from me so I was taking yours from you.  It was only fair, brother.”

I’m not prepared for the rage Tucker fires back at me.

“Listen, you little piss-ant, you seem to think you know so much about me, but you don’t know shit.  Mikos may have fathered me, but he sure as fuck didn’t raise me.  Not after the age of eight.  Not after my mom died and that’s because he thought karma was kicking him in the ass for leaving you.  I lost my mother and my father abandoned me in the same fucking week.  I never even knew he came to my plays until he told me a week ago, so don’t you stand here telling me how fucking perfect my life was.  Almost half of my childhood, I watched my mother fighting cancer and after that, I wondered every goddamn day why my father hated me so much that he left me.  I thought he left because I was the reason she got sick and died.  I’m all kinds of fucked up that even you probably wouldn’t understand.  You’ve been attacking me because you’re pissed at him.  Be pissed at him, I don’t fucking care.  But take your anger out where it belongs because I’m done with your bullshit!”