So I show him, knowing his claim can’t be true. Pain is not love.
Thus, slowly, I roll my hips, grinding against him, easing him deeper. I slide my arms around his neck and kiss him, soft and slow. I stroke the muscles beneath his shirt, worshipping every inch of him.
“I’m yours,” I whisper against his lips, knowing he loves that. But now, I add what I yearn for: “I want all of you, Grayson. But that includes the part that knows how to love.”
He squints, still breathing hard. And somehow, the storm in him calms. His movements slow. He drags his lips along my tender throat, my jaw, my mouth. Every inch he once conquered, he now adores.
I hope. God, I pray he isn’t acting. That this monster can love me gently.
His hips still pump, deep and heavy, but this time with reverence. And when his body tenses, his groan is filled with his own pain. I swear it.
He spills inside me, his thickness throbbing at my sopping entrance. His forehead presses to mine.
The world fades. It’s more beautiful than our first time, because now, it wasn’t careful out of pity. He loves me. He showed me. The way I needed him to.
“I love you so much,” I breathe, our bodies tangled in sweat and sex. I exhale heavily, “Did you like it that way, baby?”
He pauses, then replies with afirm:
“No.”
My heart stumbles, and my eyes snap open. The haze of pleasure lifts, my vision crisping. But then I see it in my peripheral. His phone, glowing from the floorboard.
A notification.
Killian
Brax knows ur fuckin his sister!!!
Chapter 38
Charlotte
Gosh, I don’t want to be in this scary, dirty place.
The air reeks of bleach and sweat. The kind of sterile burn that tries to mask decades of filth but only mixes with it. The correctional officer behind me feels like he’s eavesdropping of this small visiting room of Cutter State Penitentiary. It’s cold in here, not from the AC, but from the lifeless gray walls and buzzing fluorescent lights that hum.
Across the scratched steel table, Brax reclines in the stiff chair like he owns the joint.
“No fuckin’ way. My baby sister doesn’t even have sex,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a disgusted sneer.
His blond curls have been shaved down to a pale fuzz. Probably because the prison doesn’t supply gel. Still, even in these hideous orange scrubs, he’s... annoyingly handsome. Built like a wrestler. All shoulders and swagger. Wish I could effortlessly look so good. But his attitude? Still ugly.
He leans in, elbows resting wide across the table, voice low like we’re swapping secrets. “I don’t wanna hear about you having sex. Nasty.”
I sigh, curling into myself a little. I hate Brax sometimes. Hate the guards pacing behind me. Hate the desperation clawing the walls. Hate how I feel like I need a hazmat suit to sit down, because once again, I am in a prison. But instead of visiting my mother, it’s my brother.
“Idohave sex,” I mutter.
He fake-wretches, loud and dramatic. “Foul, Charlotte.”
I shake my head slowly, eyeing him across the table. “What do you care who I date? You were never that nice to me anyway.”
He doesn’t flinch. “I said no.”
I look at him from across the table, pleading with my eyes.
“Rowen Grayson is— just no! Never.”
