Beautiful Broken (18 page)

She inhales again as I pull her hips back against me, grinding my erection against her panty-clad ass. She goes up on tiptoes, and I take the silent invitation, rolling on a condom and pulling her panties down. I leave them on, a little bit of a restraint that keeps her from widening her stance any. She pulls against them, but it's not enough to change her angle. I put a hand on her back, holding her in place while I position myself. I can't stop the groan as I slide into her. She's wet and ready—she's always ready—and I slip into her with breath stealing ease, her body tight around me. The way she's standing, her legs so close together, changes the feel and grip she has on me, and I lean my head back, catching her by the hips as I pump into her slow and easy. This is how I want her—sweet and slow, nothing between us, her eyes hot and hungry on mine in the mirror. She shifts, bracing herself on one hand while the other reaches down, toying with her clit, and she whimpers, "Oh, God. Dane." Her eyes drift closed, and I growl, slapping her ass lightly, just enough to make her eyes snap open and find mine.

"Watch," I order, and she inhales sharply. I keep driving into her, slow and easy until she's writhing, her fingers on herself slippery and frantic, searching for that little bit of something more that will make her come apart. When I see the desperation in her eyes, I pull out, slowly, until she's almost whimpering, and slam back. Again. A third time. She moans on the fourth, convulsing around me as she climaxes. Her eyes never leave mine, and I groan, my balls tightening an instant before I follow her over the edge. She shudders as my cock jerks in her, and I murmur her name.

Even to my ears, it sounds like a plea and a prayer.

We stay like that, me draped over her, deep inside her, for a long time. Until my legs are numb and I'm ready to collapse. And even then, I don't want to let her go. I straighten slowly, grimacing when I slip from her body. I roll off the condom, flush it, and reach for a rag to clean her up. She whimpers when I run the soft cloth over her pussy, and I lean down, kissing her shoulder again.

The itchy tension is gone. I can breathe again. "Thanks, babe," I say, softly.

She smiles, craning around to kiss my cheek. Then she goes back to the putting on her makeup, like nothing happened at all.

I smile and leave the bathroom to get dressed.

Tripp is furious when I walk out of my bedroom, and Heidi's magazine is closed in her lap, bright spots of color high in her cheeks. "You can't just spend a little time with you father, can you?" he spits. "You have to screw that tramp where your stepmother can hear you."

I glance at Heidi. "Pretty sure it's nothing she hasn't heard or said before," I say, reaching into the fridge for a bottle of water. "And since it's not like you told me you were coming, no. I'm not rearranging my life to accommodate you, Tripp. Deal with it."

He opens his mouth to say something, but Scout choses that moment to come back into the living room. Her underwear is covered by a black sheath, silver heels adding a good three inches to her height. She grins at me. "Are we ready?"

Dad hates a scene, so he nods, grudgingly, and I wrap an arm around Scout's shoulders, turning her toward the door while Dad follows with Heidi. As they pass me to reach his Town Car, I lean down and stage whisper in her ear, "I hope you left those panties in my bed."

She laughs, a twinkling noise that makes me want to forget this screwed up excuse of a family dinner. All I really want is to take her back to the bedroom and make her scream my name again.

The restaurant is one of the nicer ones in Baton Rouge There's a long line at the front door, but Tripp passes the hostess a hundred and points at the reservation book. Within a few minutes, we're being ushered into a quiet corner booth.

I glance over the menu; it's mostly in French. Awesome. Just what I wanted—overpriced, pretentious food that will take for-fucking-ever to get here.

A pretty blonde waitress approaches, flashing a too-white smile. "Can I bring a bottle of wine to the table?" she asks, brightly.

"Yes, the Montrachet would be lovely," Heidi says.

"And sweet tea," I say, pleasantly.

The waitress pauses for a fraction of a second, and Tripp frowns at me. "Son, wine would be nice with the meal."

"Scout and I don't drink."

That's a blatant lie, and from the way Tripp's lips thin into a narrow line, he knows it. He's thinking about calling me on it, but he hasn't been around me lately enough to know for sure. And I'm not going to help him. I smile, blandly, and he nods sharply at the waitress.

Dane, one point. Tripp, zero.

"I was thinking," Heidi starts, and I swallow my laughter. Scout coughs into her napkin. I reach down, pinching her bare skin.

What the hell? Heidi is talking. I hear the words Thanksgiving and snow, but I'm not really focused on that. I'm focused on Scout's skirt, which is indecently high, and if she really did leave her panties behind...suddenly that's the only thing I can think about.

"I'm staying in Branton for the holidays," I say.

"You always holiday in Branton." She pouts. "We'd love for you to come home."

I fix my stepmother with an unfriendly stare. "You don't know me well enough to have the first clue what I do for the holidays. But I will spend it here—with my mother and sister. If you'd like to join me, I can't honestly say you’re welcome, but I won't stop you." I look at Tripp, challenging. "How 'bout it Dad? Spend a little time remembering your dead daughter? Your wife—the first one, anyway?"

His eyes narrow angrily. "I don't think either are good dinner conversation, do you, Dane?"

Fingers brush along the soft suit pant I'm wearing, dusting over my inner thigh, dangerously close to my cock. I swallow hard. "You never think its good conversation, Tripp."

The waitress is back, and we retreat to our respective corners. I grab Scout's hand, pulling it out of my lap, and pull her even closer to me. Her entire body is pressed against my side—we're almost indecently close, but Dad won't say anything. He'd rather ignore what's right in front of him than admit his son might embarrass him.

That’s been his philosophy ever since Jeanette got sick.

I catch Scout's hand, bringing it to the tabletop to play with it as I listen to Dad order something insanely expensive and hard to pronounce. When the waitress turns to me, I smile, the prowly smile, as Scout calls it. "I'd like the prime rib. Baked potato with everything. Caesar salad." The waitress looks a little confused, but I know it's on the menu. You can't have a restaurant in Baton Rouge without offering something as basic as steak and potatoes. "What would you like, babe?"

Scout grins. "That sounds perfect, actually."

I nod, and the waitress slips away. Scout pulls our hands under the table, into her mostly bare lap. I swallow hard, letting my fingers lay still. Fingering my date at the same table as my father seems like a bad idea—but holy hell do I want to.

"You could join us for Thanksgiving," Scout says, leaning forward and putting one elbow on the table, blocking my hand in her lap as much as she physically can. "We’ll be spending it with my brother and his girlfriend and a few co-workers." She glances at me, her green eyes amused. "We’re having it at the big house, right, D?"

"Yep. So—" I look at Dad. "—there will be plenty of room for you both."

Heidi actually looks intrigued; Dad just looks annoyed. "We already have reservations in Aspen. But thank you," he says.

"Then why invite me at all?"

I can’t keep the question in, even though it means he wins. Scout shifts my hand, and I feel the damp heat between her legs under my fingers, steadying me when Dad smirks. "You’re welcome to join us."

"I’m good," I say, and I am. Surprisingly.

"Dane," Heidi says, leaning forward. Her tits are pushed into a dress that looks like it’s about to bust, and I flick a glance down at the impressive cleavage. Dad sure didn’t spare any expense on those. "You should spend your holiday with family."

Scout shifts next to me. My finger slips into her, the heat scorching. It’s shallow, almost not even inside her, but I can feel her muscles trembling in her pussy, clenching down on me.

God, she’s flying on this—so turned on it’s a wonder she hasn’t come already. I want to look at her, but I don’t. I ease my finger deeper into her, smile at my stepmother. "Darlin’, you don’t get it yet. Holidays aren’t for family. Not in Tripp Guillot’s world. They exist merely to show off the arm candy of the season—" I flick my eyes over her in a deliberate perusal, and she flushes, sitting up. "—and to show off the things he feels like he can be proud of. That now includes the screwed up son—since I’ve cleaned up and gotten my shit together."

"Language," Tripp snaps, and I grin. Slide my fingers deeper as Scout goes perfectly still next to me.

My point.

"I want you to meet the partners at my firm," Dad says, abruptly. And here it is. The real reason he’s here—not because he was worried about me, or to deliver Foundation paperwork. Because he wants to horn in on my practice.

I grit my teeth as the waitress approaches, filling our glasses with tea. "Thank you," Scout says, her voice soft and undeniably throaty. My fingers are barely in her. I go still, until she grips my arm, hard. I smile, slowly.

"Dad. I’ll say it again. I don’t give a damn what you want when it comes to
my
practice. It’s not up for debate, partnership, or anything else. It’s
mine."

I shove my fingers into her, hard, and she stiffens, her pussy spasming around my hand. I glance at her—I can’t resist. She’s smiling, but her eyes are slightly unfocused, full of lust and lazy satisfaction. "You okay, babe? You’re quiet."

She takes a heartbeat too long to answer, drawing Dad and Heidi’s attention. I wipe my fingers discreetly on my napkin, and she says, faintly, "I think I need to go to the ladies room. If you’ll excuse me."

"Oh! I’ll go with you," Heidi says, smiling. Scout hesitates for a moment before sliding out of the chair booth. Heidi hooks an arm through Scout’s, who gives a
save me
look before my stepmother hauls her away. I’m quiet for a few minutes, until Heidi’s phone blares some god awful pop song. Dad mutters, silencing it without bothering to check who’s calling.

"Real winner you got there, Dad," I say, dryly.

"Cut the shit, Dane," Tripp snaps. "What’s it going to take to get you to come to Aspen?"

"Nothing. There is absolutely nothing in Aspen that I’m interested in."

He flushes. "You’d rather be around that little slut and Atticus? You’re better than that—better than them."

"Mom never thought so," I say evenly. It’s a struggle to hold onto my temper, but I manage—because I’m winning as long as I’m calm. And because the scent of Scout is clinging to my fingers, folded under my chin.

"Your mother was an idiot."

My vision goes red, and I’m not actually aware of moving, just know I’m standing suddenly, reaching for him, but she’s there. Her little hands are on my chest, pushing me back, her green eyes warm with concern. "Let’s go," she says, softly. I blink, staring down at her. At the understanding and acceptance and lack of judgment. This is home—her arms and her gaze. Screw my father and his twisted version of familial obligation.

"Don't you dare leave," Tripp says, his voice tight and furious.

I smile at him, wrapping an arm around Scout's waist and hugging her tight to me. Looks like I win this round. "You know what, Tripp? I put up with a lot. I let you insult me, my life, and my practice. I let you insult my best friend and my girlfriend. But I won't let you insult Mom." I turn away, leading Scout to the door.

"Dane, get back here," Dad hisses, furious.

"Fuck you, Dad," I yell back, and Scout giggles, burying her head in my shoulder as we leave the shocked guests and my father behind.

Scout

He doesn't talk much on the way home, but he's
here
. Present in a way that keeps me grounded and not worried about where the hell his head is. Dinner plays on a loop in my head, the insults and veiled threats, the looks from Tripp—and Dane's fingers in me, teasing and coaxing me to orgasm. It was crazy and intense, and I want to do it again. I blush, and shift. Dane glances at me, a wicked smirk on his lips.

"What did Heidi want?"

I blink, trying to focus on the bathroom, when Heidi had accompanied me, despite my need to be alone. "Um. She wanted to let me know the invitation to Aspen included us both. If that's what it'd take to get you to agree, anyway."

His eyebrows furrow a little, and his grip on the wheel tightens. No matter what he might have said, how he might have left, Dane has to be hurting—leaving his father like that can't be easy. Tripp, for all that he's a disgusting, ambitious old perv, is all Dane has left.

"Dane," I say softly, "you can go. Spending time with him is a good idea."

He shoots me a disbelieving look, and I shrug. "He's your dad, D. You don't need to stay because of me."

Dane snorts and turns away. Turns up the music so it's throbbing through the Viper like a living thing. Clearly, we're done discussing it. I lean back in my seat and stare out the window, at the cars passing us on the highway.

When we reach Branton, he stops for subs since neither of us actually ate our dinner, then takes us home. I'm gathering my purse and shoes when he opens my door. I glance at him curiously—in the darkness, he's barely visible, just the planes of his face lit by the moonlight. It's somehow ominous. I shiver, but give him my hand and let him draw me out of the car. He closes the door, then pushes me against it, pinning me between the Viper and his large, hard body. I inhale sharply as I feel his erection pressing against me. He dips down, kissing me gently, soft, almost chaste kisses along the line of my neck. "Scout, I need you to understand something."

I nod, helplessly.

"I'm not staying here with you because I need to. I'm staying because there is literally no place I would rather be than with you."

I shudder at the brutal honesty in his voice, and he catches me to him in a spine-bending hug. It's too much too soon. Last night—our first time—seems ages ago, but it was less than twenty-four hours.