Yours: A Forever After Novella (6 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

~ Harleigh ~

There is something seriously wrong with me, I consider as the last aftershocks of my orgasm leave my body boneless, and I collapse against Lyric’s chest. One minute I’m telling my husband I was attacked and violated by his best friend, and the next, I’m moaning and grinding against him like a whore. What in the actual fuck?

I should know better by now. Lyric is relentless when he wants something; nothing stands between him and what he wants. It just sucks that this time I was what he had set his sights on, and I didn’t even bother to put up much of a fight before succumbing to him. At the very least, I should have pretended to play hard to get, not that it would have done much good. Like I said, Lyric is single-minded when he wants something, and in this instance, it was me.

I’m not kicking myself too hard, though. I mean, what woman would after an orgasm like that? None. Especially after said orgasm was given by the sexiest son of a bitch on the planet.

Lyric has changed a lot over the years, and none of the differences I’ve noted have been bad. Quite the opposite actually. His body has filled out, making him even more muscular now than he was when he played football and baseball in high school. He has lost the adorable softness to his face, and in its place is a more chiseled version of the face I came to know and love.

The stubble covering Lyric’s square jaw, the extra two inches in height, his deeply tanned skin from spending hours and hours outside, and dozens of tattoos that run the length of both his arms, across his chest and down his stomach makes Lyric utterly irresistible. But that isn’t what had me willing to drop my panties for him at a moments’ notice. No, that was all his eyes fault. Damn him.

Tenderly tucking a stray tendril of hair behind my ear, Lyric mutters,

“What are you thinking about so hard up there?”

Not thinking, I reply,

“Oh, nothing. Just that I’m an idiot.”

His deep chuckle startles me. It makes me sad too. It’s been too long since I’ve felt the vibrations of his laugh, heard the rough, grating sound that’s never ceased to make me smile too. That alone makes me wish I had told Lyric about what had happened sooner. We have lost so much time, all because of my hang-ups.

“You’re not an idiot, Angel. I am,” Lyric groans, rolling us onto our side so that we’re facing each other. “If I’d pushed you harder to tell me what was wrong or followed your ass here and refused to leave until you talked to me, I wouldn’t have had to sit at home, in our house, in our bed, jacking off to the memories of you. Instead, I’d have been here fucking you until you spilled everything. Literally,” he tacks on the end, making me shiver in anticipation.

See, what did I tell you? My body is a complete whore for this man.

This is going to sound strange, but I had somewhat of an epiphany somewhere between screaming Lyric’s name for the third and tenth time. It hit me like a bolt of lightning and scared the shit out of me, but I’m glad I had it nonetheless. In essence, it was a series of memories of Lyric and me when we were kids. Snapshots in time that reminded me we have always been stronger together than we ever were apart.

My mind drifted to one time in particular when we caught my brother, Dexter, kissing Lyric’s sister, Skye in the treehouse my dad built for us. Skye was sixteen to Dexter’s nineteen, nearly twenty, which is why if I hadn’t distracted Lyric with a kiss of my own, he would have beaten the absolute crap out of my brother.

It took a few minutes of heavy petting and intoxicating kisses before I held Lyric’s face in my hands and turned it toward the pair. Dexter was staring at Skye with what can only be described as a look of awe and love, mixed with something similar to fear. There was no way the man we watched that day was capable of hurting his sister.

Dexter may be a manwhore of the highest order these days, sticking his dick in any warm, wet, willing hole that makes itself available for the night, but he’s still my brother, and I love him no matter what. That doesn’t mean I agree or even condone his choices, though. I most assuredly do not. I would be eternally grateful to my other best friend if she would forgive Dexter’s idiotic ass for all the pain and heartache he put her through. However, stubborn to a fault, Skye refuses to talk about their relationship, let alone consider giving him another chance to make her happy.

There is no doubt in my mind that my brother loves Skye. Their break up was hard on him, probably more so than it was on Skye. But then again, Skye had something else to focus her energies on; their son.

Seb, short for Sebastian, Scott was born outside the clubhouse four years ago, during the biggest storm Furnace had seen in two decades. Telephone lines were down, there was no cell service, and the power was out to more than half the town. Thank God Skye had been smart enough to realize what she was feeling weren’t Braxton Hicks contractions but the real deal, and headed for the clubhouse since it is one of the only places within a twenty-mile radius that has a working generator.

Six minutes after skidding through the gates, Skye delivered, Seb, and in turn scarred my dad for life, or so he says. I don’t think it was ever on his bucket list to help deliver his own grandchild, but he did and now he needs to get over it.

Okay, so he saw Skye’s vagina. So what? From what I’ve heard from mom, dad used to be as big a manwhore as Dexter, so it’s not like he hasn’t seen plenty of them. Truthfully, it was fucking hilarious to watch a two hundred plus pound man turn white as a ghost and start to shake at the prospect of removing a woman’s underwear. If it weren’t imperative dad hang around to do what I couldn’t – seeing as I was sitting, cradling Skye’s upper body in my lap – I would have teased him mercilessly about it.

However, what wasn’t funny was Dexter’s reaction to seeing his father face down in his ex-girlfriend’s vagina. Dexter was furious that any man had dared to look at his girl. He threatened to amputate all of dad’s limbs and cut his tongue out for good measure if he even thought of telling a soul about what he’d seen that day. Not that dad would have. As I said, he’s scarred for life and wouldn’t whisper a word to anyone even if were paid to.

Back to my epiphany, though.

When Lyric and I caught them kissing, my, at the time, secret boyfriend decided that if he couldn’t maim Dexter for touching his kid sister, we were going to teach him a lesson for not keeping his hands to himself. Of course, I did what any good girlfriend would do and went along with his juvenile plan, but I did it begrudgingly.

Honestly, I didn’t see what the problem was. It was obvious to anyone looking that Dexter loved Skye, and the feeling was clearly mutual. My brother would never lay a hand on a woman, especially not Skye, if she didn’t want him to. And from what I saw that day in the treehouse, my best friend wanted him to very much. All that aside, Lyric wasn’t to be swayed. And believe me, I tried to change his mind every day for a week with no success.

Lyric’s first point of attack was to sneak into Dexter’s room when he was work and superglue everything to wherever it happened to be sitting at the time. The spare change, alarm clock, iPod, and receipts on top of his bedside table. The belt, keys, photo frames, and remote control on his drawers. Lyric even went as far as to superglue Dexter’s boxer briefs, jeans, and T-shirts to the floor.

Dexter was pissed, don’t get me wrong, but it didn’t have the desired result. He was still sneaking around with Skye afterward, so Lyric upped the ante. Not to mention, my brother had no idea who was behind the now permanent reminders that he should have cleaned his room like mom asked, giving Lyric free reign to keep up his stupid game.

After cutting the cord to Dexter’s TV, stealing the keys to his bike and car, having flowers delivered from secret admirers, and writing my brother’s phone number on the inside of public bathroom stalls from here to Denver, I stepped in to help. It had been three months by this stage, and I wanted my boyfriend back. Lyric was consumed by his covert retaliation that I hardly got to spend any time with him anymore, so enough was enough.

I gave Lyric the ammunition he needed to make sure Dexter thought twice about fooling around with Skye. Doctoring up false test results which stated that Dexter had contracted Chlamydia and needed an extended course of antibiotics to cure him was easy. I had always been good with a computer, and it didn’t hurt that Lyric could pick any lock ever conceived. We printed it on hospital letterhead, left it somewhere Skye was sure to find it and watched as the drama played out.

If you were curious, yes, I felt bad about what we did. And yes, I apologized. Well, I did, eventually. If memory serves, it was about a month later that I came clean with both of them. That counts, right?

In the end, Skye was mortified, and Dexter was furious, but it didn’t take them long to work out they had been played and force Lyric to tell them why he had done it. To say Dexter was angry that Lyric had meddled in his relationship was an understatement. He refused to be in the same room as Lyric for six months after that. Since then, they have worked it out, or they had until Dexter fucked it all up and left Skye pregnant with no choice but to dump his dumb ass.

The memory fractures when Lyric’s calloused hands stroke over my abdomen, reminding me that I’m not alone.

“Hey,” he prompts. “You okay, Angel?”

Nodding at him, I mumble into his chest,

“Yeah, just remembering.”

“Good memories, I hope,” my husband smiles, showing off his set of perfectly white, straight teeth.

“Mmhmm,” I hum, placing a series of kisses over his heart. “Really good.”

“Fuck. I like the sound of that,” he growls. “Want to share? Maybe we can make some of those thoughts causing you to make those sexy little moans a reality instead.”

I laugh at where Lyric’s mind went and shake my head. Trust him to think I was replaying a pornographic highlights reel.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, stud,” I say playfully swatting his chest. “I was actually thinking that we make a pretty good team when we’re on the same page. Sorry to burst your bubble, but no sexual connotation implied or otherwise.”

Grabbing a fistful of my hair, Lyric tilts my head and slams his mouth down on mine. His tongue invades the small gap between my parted lips, and I moan as his taste mingled with mine explodes on my tongue. This isn’t like the kisses he had given me before he made me come. This is one of ownership. Claiming. Proving to me that I’m his, and he’s mine.

“Fuck you taste good,” he says breaking apart long minutes or is it hours later. “Your pussy. Your skin. Your mouth. Everything about you is fucking delicious.”

The hard length of Lyric’s cock presses into my stomach and throbs in time with his heart. I can feel the sticky drops of pre-come leaking from the tip, smearing across my bare skin. My hand automatically reaches down and wraps around him, drawing a long moan from Lyric and a whimper from me.

He feels so good. So hard. So, so fucking huge. It was only a few minutes ago that I was riding him like a bucking bronco, using his thick cock to get myself off, but that wasn’t enough. It’s never enough with Lyric until he’s buried to the hilt inside of me, stretching me impossibly wide as he pounds into me.

“Angel,” Lyric snarls. “You’ve gotta stop, babe. If you don’t, I’m going to come all over your hand, and you know I don’t like that shit. My come goes in your mouth, pussy, or ass. Dealers choice.”

Goosebumps erupt down my arms at his filthy reminder, and I tighten my grip, stroking him root to tip exactly how Lyric taught me. My pussy flutters and my juices drip down the inside of my thighs, causing me to clench my legs together to save myself the embarrassment of Lyric finding out how turned on I am.