Page 92 of Revel
I watch her rock against me, desperate for more and I let myself believe her words, the love, even if when I leave this room, they won’t matter.
She moans beneath me, her body clinging to mine. Her head tips back, and I bend my own, dragging my lips over her throat. Despite my usual aggressive lovemaking with her, I don’t want to mark her body this time. I want her to have marks on her heart from me. I want her heart to beat for me and remember when I’m gone, I’m still with her.
Her legs tremble, heels digging into my thighs. She knows what I’m doing, and maybe it scares her, but regardless, she knows what’s happening, or what will eventually. Remember when I said you’d hate me by the end of this? We’re almost there or maybe we’re in the middle of it.
Grasping her wrists tighter, I push deep inside her at the same time as I kiss her. When she cries out, my lips silence her sadness I refuse to acknowledge. Anxious, I avoid eye contact. I drag my kiss, my tongue, my body against hers to avoid reality and the emotion drowning me. Possessiveness races through my veins, screams to be let loose, refusing to let go, but I withhold. This girl is mine, and I don’t want to let go. These cries are mine. The way her body welds into mine—that’s mine, too. No one can take that from me tonight.
Digging my fingers into her hips, I groan at the contact of being wrapped around her, spread out before me. I’m reminded of that night on her tour bus, before I claimed her as my own, before I destroyed her.
The way she watches me makes my fucking knees shake. It takes my air from my lungs and chills my bones. It takes reality and destroys it, knowing any life without her isn’t worth living and I’m the one to blame.
She starts to cry harder, but it’s not from pain or that she wants me to stop. She clings to me, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around me, begging me not to stop.
“Shhh,” I breathe, rocking my hips and watching her body take all that mine has to give, my control slipping.
I push aside every miserable ounce of frustration and aggression I’ve shouldered my entire life to this moment and give her what she needs. I move slower, with passion, with love—a concept I’m not entirely sure I understand. I don’t stop until she tells me to. And then I come. We both do. My arms tighten around her delicate body, rolling through my release.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she begs, still clinging to my body, her cries trembling through her.
Inside, I’m a mess. I have no idea what tomorrow is going to bring, but for now, I have her. “Never,” I moan, pushing deeper yet again, shaking my head lightly. “You’re in my blood,” I whisper between pants. “I love you.”
The truth falls from her lips. “I love you.”
I stay with Red that night, but I don’t sleep. I smoke. I obsess. I worry.
The next morning, I leave her sleeping and meet with Liz. It’s not that I want to, but I have a feeling Liz’ll just come find me if I don’t. I’m out on bail and don’t have a lot of options at this point.
You know that saying actions speak louder than words?
I’m assuming they weren’t talking about beating the crap out of a guy on stage for the world to see. Probably not, huh? I don’t regret what I did to Breckin. What happened between us was a long time coming.
Explaining myself, again, and more importantly to Liz, is the last thing I want to do this morning. My head pounds, my body screams in pain, my fists ache and my heart, fuck that useless organ. I don’t even want to talk about it.
Unfortunately for me, Liz has other ideas as she slides a court order at me. I read it—sentencing on Monday morning—and shrug, then stare back at her. There’s also a restraining order attached to it. I can’t be within a hundred feet of Breckin.
Bundled up from the harsh Colorado winter, Liz peels off her jacket, draping it over the back of the wooden chair. Silently, she takes a seat, orders two coffees and examines my busted knuckles, and the splint on my right hand. I can’t read her emotions, though I try.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, unsure of what I should or shouldn’t say. Maybe starting with sorry will break the ice.
With a heavy sigh, she lays into me. “I don’t think you are. Revel, this is bigger than anything we’ve had to deal with.” She slides the iPad toward me. Headlines appear. Ones I don’t care to read. They’re all saying the same thing. I fucked up in front of the world. “You’ve done a lot in your past but this… this is more than just being an asshole to the media. This is huge, and it’s going to take a long time to get past it.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I run my hand through my hair, reaching for my cigarette. “I know.”
Liz tips her head forward, catching my stare. “Do you? Because I don’t think you do.”
“No, probably not.” My heart pounds like drum beats resonating inside my skull. Fear builds inside my chest. The urge to get lost in a bottle consumes, digs in deep. Squeezing my eyes shut, I remember hazy details from the other night, but one holds true. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.
“You have to stay away from her. You have to distance yourself from the media and everyone else. You need to disappear. Take a step back because I don’t know how we’re going to fix this.”
I nod. It’s all I can do at this point because nothing I say matters.
“We have your attorney, the band’s attorney’s, the label, tour managers. . . everyone working on this, but I don’t know.”
“It’s fine. It’ll blow over.” Reaching for the coffee she hands me, I sigh. “I’ve done worse.”
Annoyed, Liz purses her lips. “No, you haven’t.” She leans in again. “Breckin had to have surgery, Rev. He had to have his cheekbone reconstructed.”
“He deserved it.”
