A sharper strike against myprostate, and my head shifts back and forth. Bryce clings onto my neck likehe’s trying to keep me still.
I curse again and again.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, his breathslamming against my face.
My cock is so fucking stiff rightnow. Swollen like I’m about to blow. I feel my come moving through me, wantingto be released.
I reach for my cock but Brycesnatches my wrist and pins it to the bed.
“No, no,” I say as the painfulsensation in my dick intensifies. My body rocks about violently as he forceshimself against my prostate at just the right moment when I feel as if a bombgoes off in my pelvis.
“Shit, shit…holy shit,” I screambecause I can’t hold in my enthusiasm about the release that ripples through me.He screams out and pushes into me sharply, then stills. A rush of adrenalinesweeps through me.
I grab his head and pull him downfor another kiss, which he reciprocates.
His kiss fills me with a deeperrelief than what he’s given me physically.
Forty-Four
Bryce
I gaze at him as he lies next to me in bed, his hand restingon his peaceful face as he releases a sweet melody of deep breaths. A tuft ofblond hair rests across his forehead. He stares off, his blue irises sparklingin the afternoon light that pierces through the balcony window behind him.
Every time we fuck, I feel like Iget drawn more and more into him. There’s a bond forming between us—one I know,especially after everything that’s happened, I should resist.
While I was fucking him, Icouldn’t help but imagine a world where we didn’t have to deal with any ofthis—fame, exploitation, humiliation. Where we were free from the public, andwe just had each other. That isn’t Tad’s life, though, so as I allowed myselfto dream the fantasy, I knew it was mine alone to have.
I should be pushing him awaybecause I was already too attracted to him, and now that I’ve seen him at hismost vulnerable, he’s captured my heart. It’s just an illusion, I keep tellingmyself. A trick of the mind. That doesn’t keep me from wishing this image thatI have of us could be real and that we could be together.
He stirs, shifting his blue eyesto me, and as a subtle smile sweeps across his face, I’m at ease.
This is the Tad I needed to seeagain.
But just as quickly, the smiledissipates. Like he remembers everything leading up to this moment. As if thefantasy has collapsed around him and he’s left with the horrible realization ofwhat had him in his state of despair.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, thoughthat reminds me of something I say when I’m far from being okay.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
I don’t intend to press, but heobviously has something he wants to share, because just as soon as he says that,he begins, “Mom wasn’t exactly the most nurturing of women. She had a toughtime. For a long time. I remember being in kindergarten and wanting her to playa game with me. Disney Yahtzee. I went up to her and asked if she’d play andshe just stared at me with these sad eyes. Like she didn’t have the heart totell me that she didn’t want to, but she didn’t have the strength to playeither. After so many attempts like that, I just stopped asking. Kiernan triedto make up for it. Kept me busy with games and sports. I think he just didn’twant me to realize that Mom had checked out a long time before that. But I hadfriends whose moms were great, so I knew there was something wrong. Reallywrong.
“I figured out I was differentthan other guys pretty early on, and I assumed that’s why she didn’t like me.That had to be it. And one day, I came home from school when I was eight. Justlike any other day. Mom’s car was gone. And when Dad came home, he made somecalls. I kept telling myself she was at the store. She’d be back, like shealways was. But I knew better. When I finally accepted what had happened, Ipacked my little suitcase—one we’d take with us whenever we visited family. Ididn’t want to be with him. I wanted to be with her. And he came in and tossedmy suitcase on the floor. Shouted at me. There I was, eight years old, and hewas shouting at me for how stupid I was for thinking I could just head out andlook for her. I hated him so fucking much. I burst into tears, and he froze. Icould see by the look in his eyes that he was horrified that he’d brought me totears. Then he started crying, and he just got on his knees and wrapped hisarms around me. He told me that he was sorry and that everything would be okay.That we’d be okay.”
“When I got older, he finally toldme what it was all about. Major depressive disorder. She’d had it since they’dbeen together, but evidently it got worse after I was born. She developedsome…delusions about us. She thought I wasn’t hers. That they’d taken the wrongkid home from the hospital. Sometimes they would stay up late at night fightingabout it. I never learned where she went after that day. Never found out whatreally happened. The Kentucky thing was just a lie we created to keep peoplefrom asking questions. And God knows I sent a private investigator out lookingfor her, but they never came up with anything.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s not your fault. Life’s justshitty, isn’t it?
“Yes, it is.”
His gaze shifts to worry. Like herealizes he’s shared too much. It reminds me of when I told him about Jeff.
“Now I just want to know what KiraWilde found out,” he says. “Because God knows I feel like I deserve to knowafter all these years.”
