But apparently I don’t even have to try, because she’s doing it for me, shifting again, rubbing herself on me until my whole body tenses. My stomach clenches, and I groan, shoving my hand inside her panties, finding and parting her folds.
She’s soaked and scorching hot around my fingers. I push them deep inside her, stroking her, and she makes a mewling noise, her hips rocking.
God, she’s killing me.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I fingerfuck her, harder, faster. Her nipples are hard points pressing into my chest, the silk of her hair warm and smelling of flowers, wrapped around my neck.
She’s wrapped around me, and I don’t want her to release me.
That’s my last thought before she clenches hard, almost breaking my fingers, and lets out a small cry, writhing on top of me.
And I come.
My body seizes up, my cock spasms pressed between us, and I shoot my load with a long-drawn groan I can’t stop.
She blinks sleepily at me. Smiles a soft smile.
It undoes the last knots in my chest, and I close my eyes again, pulling her closer, tucking her against me until she’s once again sprawled like a starfish over me.
Drowsy, my every muscle gone lax, surrounded by her scent, I fall asleep once more, until morning.
Light is cutting through my lashes, stabbing my eyeballs, and I roll on my side with a grunt.
The shadow across the room turns into a pretty girl, and I blink at Octavia who’s puttering around my room, folding clothes and tidying up my meager belongings.
“I will talk to Ross,” she says, “This can’t go on.”
“What…?” I try to chase the fuzz from my brain—because I slept. Through most of the night. A fucking first. “Wait, Tay. No.”
“You can’t stop me.”
I roll this around in my mind. “Then I’m coming with you.”
How did that happen, how did I sleep when I haven’t been able to get any shut-eye for more than a couple of hours, tops, every night since Emma passed?
And then I remember Octavia’s body curled beside me, her arm over my stomach, her breath on my neck.
My fingers inside her as she came, her face flushed, her moans, and how I came all over myself like a teenager.
Damn. No wonder the front of my T-shirt is stuck to my chest.
Octavia is staring at me. “You don’t have to do that. You don’t have to come with me.”
I force my mind back to the conversation. “Yeah, I do.”
“I can do this on my own. If I took every nasty word everyone around here had for me, for us, I’d be rocking in a corner by now,” Octavia mutters, her eyes bright. “I have to face him. It won’t be the first time.”
She’s fierce. I realize I underestimated her. There’s nothing fragile about her now.
“Us? Who, your family?”
“Yes.”
“Why? What about?”
She shrugs, stops still for a moment, her expression closing up. “There are these… rumors that my mom slept around. She won’t say who our dad is, and everyone says each one of us, me, Gigi, Merc, have a different one. And then I had the braces…”
“Braces?” I rub a hand over my eyes, trying to focus, because damn, everything’s fuzzy.
“Yeah, braces.” And she bares her teeth—perfect, small, white teeth. She looks like one of those laughing foxes they show sometimes on Discovery channel.
A cute fox, and I find myself laughing quietly.
What is she doing to me? I want to laugh, and weep. I want to hold her, protect the bright flame of her mind, and beat up the goddamn bullies for notching scars in her confidence.
“Fucking bullies,” I mutter. If she just points me the right way, and I’ll punch them for her, but she doesn’t want that. She wants to face them on her own.
But I really don’t want her alone with Ross again, because that motherfucker is just— “Hey.” I focus on her. “What are you doing with those?”
“I’m going to trim your beard,” she declares, coming at me with a pair of scissors I didn’t know I owned.
“Where did you get that?”
“Your bathroom.”
Huh. I put my hand on my beard protectively. “But I should get ready for work.”
“You’re not going in today.”
I blink at her. “Says who?”
“Says me.” She winks. She fucking winks! “I already called the garage.”
“You did, huh?”
Can’t remember the last time someone took care of me, and don’t know how to deal with it, but my mouth keeps wanting to smile, so I give in and shake my head, grinning at her.
I swear, this girl…
“Lean back, and close your eyes,” she says, all bossy and shit, and no matter how battered my body feels, it can’t stop my dick from stirring.
“What the fuck will you do, trim my beard in the shape of a heart, or what?”
She blushes. “Just shorter.” I don’t close my eyes as she leans in, staring at the determined look on her face. She’s wielding those scissors kinda dangerously. “Have you always had a beard?”
“Since I was five,” I tell her solemnly.
She snorts and snips away, her brows arching before her expression returns to its former focus. “Really.”
“No.” I finally close my eyes, just for this. “Since Emma died.”
She pauses for a few seconds, not touching me. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she whispers.
I say nothing, squeezing my eyes tighter, as if that will block the pain.
After a moment, she starts trimming again, her fingertips light on my cheekbone, on my jaw, on my neck, the snick snick of the scissors soothing.
“Have you checked on the kids?” I ask when she stops and tugs on my beard, as if checking to see how her work looks.
“They had breakfast and are watching TV.” And before I speak, she goes on, “On your phone, you had some messages from a Zane, and a Kaden. Also, yesterday… we called Grandma.”
I open my eyes, shocked. “My mother?”
She straightens, bites on her lower lip. “Yes. The kids wanted it.”
“Dammit.” Anger fills me. Then guilt and sadness. Then relief. “Good. I should’ve done it long ago.”
“Well, your mom’s fine. If you were worried.” She seems to doubt that.
“I know. I asked Kaden and Zane to keep tabs on her.”
“Who are they?”
“My adopted brother. And my blood brother.”
She nods. “You should call them back. They were asking if you’re still alive.”
“Fucking drama queens.” I did answer their calls from time to time, to avoid having them come down in person to check on me, but just not all the time.
Okay, not most of the time.
The temptation to close my eyes again and ignore the world is strong. So damn strong. It’s how I’ve coped all this time.
But the gate is open now, battered down, and I know she’s right. I should call them.
“Anything else you feel you should tell me?” I grouse.
Too many truths for one single fucking morning.
“You look good with your beard trimmed,” she says without missing a beat, the little minx, smirking at me. “Promise to think about shaving?”
Speechless. I’m fucking speechless.
Chapter Thirty
Octavia
Wow. He doesn’t look like a caveman anymore. Not really.