Page 52 of Covert
"You can mourn the loss of your sister, even if she is still very much alive. I mourned the loss of my brother when I left. He was my person. My everything. But when I left and he was no longer a part of my life?It's like a death in a way. Even if the person is still very much alive." Her voice is soft, caring, and so goddamn sweet.
I sigh again, giving up the fight and just resting my cheek on her pussy. I know this. I've thought of this. But mourning her feels like I'm giving up on her. It feels like I'm moving on and doing her a disservice. I love my sister. I loved her. We went through a lot together, with an absentee father and a mother working three jobs. Poverty can bind people together like nothing else. I took on the roles of provider, protector, and mentor, even before I was old enough to know what those roles were.
And to lose her? Feels like a failure I may never recover from.
Nikki runs her fingers through my hair, pulling a warm hum from my chest. "I know you feel responsible for her. But she was an adult, making adult decisions. You couldn't have stopped her from going out if you tried."
Again, logically, I know that. But every cell in my body wishes it weren't true.
"When did you get so wise?" I grumble, uneasy at being forced to face the things I already knew.
I can tell she's about to say something emotional and deep again, so I do what I do best and deflect.
"I don't want to talk about my sister when my face is between your thighs, Princess," I say, flicking her clit with my tongue.
She moans, but scurries backward. "Ew. I'm all sweaty," she complains. She's not, really, but I understand she's uncomfortable.
So, I stand and hold my hand out to her.
"Was that enough sparring?"
She takes my hand in hers and lets me tug her to stand. "Or can we skip that part and head for a shower?"
Her brown eyes darken, and she drags her tongue across her lower lip before nodding eagerly.
"Shower sounds good."
Chapter twenty-eight
Beckett
"Yes! Thirty thousand new followers," Nikki says, rounding the half-wall with her iPad to show us.
She's very proud of herself. And shit, I'm proud of her, too. She had a hunch, tested it, and it paid off. It warms my chest to see a smile on her face.
"Who knew women loved to objectify men?" I say, a proud smile on my face.
"Aww, Beckett. I've been trying to objectify you for months," she replies, a teasing tone to her voice.
I swallow my nerves. "I think I'm ready."
"Really?" she replies eagerly, a glint in her eye.
I've been thinking about it for weeks, really, but I think I'm finally confident enough to do it.
I nod. "Yeah, just, like, if the comments are bad, could you just not tell me?" I wince at how pathetic I sound, but I really don't think I have a thick enough skin to be internet famous.
She laughs like I just said the most ridiculous thing. But when I don't laugh with her, she sobers and shakes her head.
"You'll see," she says quietly.
"So, what do I do?"
"Just go about your day, and I'll take a picture of you in your element. The girls are going to love it."
She sashays back up to the front register, her ankle bracelet tinkles softly as she moves.
Later that night, I've forgotten all about TikTok as I finish up the sleeve on the guy I'm working on. He's been a long-time customer, and I think he appreciates that we don't need to make small talk. He tells me what he wants, I design it, he sits, and I work.
