Page 113 of The Other Side

I rest my cheek on the mattress, my hooded gaze catching the pale glow spreading on the beige curtains. My body spasms, Brant’s pumps slowing as I descend from the euphoric bubble.

Until the pleasured wave finally ceases.

Brant pulls out of me and flips me over. He sits me down before tugging on the crumpled hem of my dress. I shoot my arms in the air, assisting him as he drags the garment up and off of me.

I’m a sticky mess between my thighs, but he’s already winding my arms and legs around him. He scoops me up in just my bra, walking us to the opposite wall.

He sets my ass down on top of the vintage dresser, and I stare into his hazel depths. They’re buried with lust and love, but polished with grief.

A puzzle piece of sorrow that fits perfectly next to my own.

My mouth parts when he shoves his cock inside me without warning. He quickly guides my wrists to rest my hands on either side of me, and I read his subtext.

Hold on tight.

I curl my palms around the wooden edge before his palms cradle my face. I open my legs as wide as they can go, and then he fucks me.

I’m white-knuckling the dresser. Every gust of our breaths is so tender, but he drills into my pussy hot and quick.

I spring a moan free, and he groans his approval. Kissing and nipping my neck just as he drives into me over and over.

Without mercy.

My eyes hood, and his fingertips tangle in the hair behind my neck. He tugs, tipping my chin up in submission. He hooks his other hand around the top of the mirror frame, and the rigid muscles in his shoulder twist with purpose.

The dresser bangs against the wall with the first drill. My brows crumple in a blend of pain and rapture when I’m looking into his traumatized eyes. He plunges abrupt and deep, the next drive toppling over the remnants of the last.

Each thrust is punitive.

But he lovingly strokes my hair with his palm that’s nestled in it.

The feet of the dresser lift until his keys land on the floor. The clash of the metal ricochets, our eyes yearning for vengeance in the other’s stare.

His breath is a blast of fire against my lips. The oval plate of his necklace slaps my chin, and my hands meet his rigid torso. Nails digging into him as he uses my body to unravel.

“Do it. Make us feel good,” I whimper. “D-do it.”

He releases my hair to circle his thumb over my throbbing clit. “Were you thinkin’ about me all this time, Callie?” he pants, anguish straining his voice. “Tell me that goddamn life was worth something. That all this baggage is fucking worth it.”

I nod chaotically. “Doves and sunflowers.” Thrust. “That’s all I could think about,” I whine. Thrust. “You.” Thrust. “Only you.”

Our foreheads crinkle against each other. His assault on my clit ravels the ribbon in my lower tummy, and I yelp as he drives forward yet again.

My toes curl, tensing with the trickles of pleasure that collect at my feet. And then his cock accelerates.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” I pant, almost sobbing. “Take it all away.”

His hand grabs my chin. He slides his fingers up to knead my cheeks, but he never abandons his thrusts. “I already took it away. Or did you forget that tiny detail?” he exhausts.

Daddy.

I shake my head ferociously, a numb tear flying from my eyelid. “No, I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry.”

He returns his hand to my clit. “If you need to strangle my cock right now, that’s fine. Take your anger out. I’m right here, Dove,” he murmurs, making aggressive love to me. “But my favorite girl is strong enough to fight. And she’s gonna do it before she leaves here. Yeah?”

I bob my head viciously, his gritted words nudging me toward the cliff.

His jaw is bolted tight as he slams into me in a feverish rhythm. The wood rattles against the wall, and my mouth suspends in anticipation.