Page 130 of Serpentine

When we’re finally in our van, me in the back with Miles laid in my lap, I let the weight of the day crash over me as I sob for the brother who became a lover—the one who was my first love—the first human to treat me as if I was more than garbage.

Even though he’s back in my arms, I don’t know that he’ll stay there.

Love is a funny thing for someone like me. It’s a concept that sometimes I can’t riddle out with any of my logic and intrinsic thinking. It’s irrational at its core.

But maybe that’s the beauty of it—the irrationality. Love’s raw and untamed power makes us feel slightly out of control and freer.

Maybe that’s what makes it unique.

FORTY-ONE

AELLA

Isnort myself awake, and my body revolts in pain. I’m still on the spanking bench, tied down like a damned prisoner, bathed in red lights. I groan. My body is beyond done with being in this position. All night, I wondered what he’d do when he returned. I’d wondered where Miles was. Were both of them alright? I’d moved between anger and sadness and worry. I’d exhausted myself to the point I’d fallen into a deep sleep, one that allowed me to dream past the pain of being tied to this infernal fucking bench.

I freeze. Footsteps make the stairs to the basement creak, and I try my best to turn around to see who’s coming. Any of the Cobras have access to this house, and whichever has come down here looking for the boys is going to get a clear shot of my bare ass. Brax had ripped my leggings clean open to spank me and then left me here, exposed.

But who I see stalk down the last step is Braxton. Even though I’m exhausted and stiff, my body thrums. I keep silent, knowing he’s probably still pissed. But when he gets closer and removes the straps, I see the extent of his bone-deep depletion. His eyes are vacant, his body moving like a robot. There’s blood on his neck, and as soon as I’m free, I reach up and try to inspect if it’s his own.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice hoarse from trying to get anyone I could to let me loose last night. “Is this yours? Is Miles alright?” I assault him with questions, but he doesn’t reply.

He removes my clothes bit by bit, exposing my heavy breasts, lifting one in his palm and testing its weight.

I have to bite back a moan. “Brax…”

He gives a slight shake of his head.

He tugs down my destroyed leggings and panties to the floor, crouching before me and resting his head on my sex. My hand slinks into his hair, and my pulse picks up from his proximity. I used to hate what they did to me. I hated how my body responded to the slightest touch. But now, I know better. Leaning into it is more accessible for all of us.

When he leans forward, his tongue slips between my pussy lips, grazing my clit, only slightly because of the angle. I’m apt to open for him like a flower denied rain for too long.

“Brax, tell me what happened.” I breathe, but he doesn’t.

He dives into my center like it’s the one thing he needs. The only thing he needs.

I lean back, letting one hand grab for a bedpost to hold me up as I open as far as I can, knees bent. His tongue assaults me, and I forget the urgent need to know if Miles is okay. A sinking feeling tells me he’s not, and that’s why Braxton is in this non-verbal condition.

He’s past the breakdown stage, and that’s not fucking good.

When two fingers shove inside me, my knees almost buckle, but I fight to control them. I’m still in so much fucking pain, but the way he’s slowly licking me, shoving fingers inside me even slower, has me begging him for more.

“Braxton, please!” I’m shamelessly grinding on his face. “Fuck, please!”

Forgotten is the need to know a thing. I’m putty in his hand. Maybe that’s what he needs today.

When his fingers slide out, he sinks his teeth into my clit, and my eyes roll back.

He stands from his crouched position, picking me up and carrying me to the bed. When he lays me down, it’s gentle. More gentle than I’ve known from any man, even him.

He removes his clothes and leather MC jacket first, and his eyes never leave mine.

Lying here, exposed under his stare, makes me feel like the most precious thing in the world, and I let the feeling linger as his nude body climbs into the bed, it shifting under his weight before he comes between my thighs and presses them open with the sheer size of his frame.

He drops on his elbows, grinding his cock against my aching pussy until it naturally finds its way home and slides inside me. His mouth takes mine, hot and greedy, but it’s slow and sensual. It’s almost as if he’s starving for touch, starving for me.

His strokes are deep and punishing, but he keeps a nearly mind-numbing pace. I feel raw and ripped open, like he’s looking at all the bits I always try to hide away from the world.

The way he makes love to me in the silence, covered in red lights for the next hour, makes me feel branded. There’ll never be another who makes me feel this way again. When we both come, the silence is broken in the room.

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