Page 22 of Graves & Griggs
Once the pleasure has passed and Dominic pulls out of her, I can’t help but give her a few more thrusts, pushing my cum deeper and deeper, like if I do, it’ll break down her birth control and she’ll have no choice but to carry my babies.
Slowly, she pushes off me and the knife handle until she’s lying on her back beside me. Looking down, she sees the bloody mess my hand has become and absentmindedly drags her finger against my palm, coating the tip of it with blood before she rubs it against her lip. Just like that, I’m hard as a steel pipe once more, and I smash our mouths together. No one gets me like her; no one understands that craving for the pain, for the blood. Not like she does. She’s the missing piece to the fucked-up puzzle that is Dominic and me.
“Clean up that fucking hand. We have work to do in a few hours,” Dominic says, forcing me to pull away from my angel.
I glower at him but stand, moving to the bathroom to do as he says. He’s right. Fucker.
“Hours?” my angel asks as she looks to my brother.
He presses a soft kiss to her lips as he tucks her into him and nods. “We know where one of the Horsemen is, at least now. We can’t waste too much time.”
“But Grandpa over here needs to rest!” I call out.
“We both need rest. We’ve been going nonstop for over thirty hours, Zay,” he calls back.
Tomato, tomahtoe.
Once my hand is rinsed off, I find some gauze and wrap it for now, then come back to bed and slip in beside my angel. Dominic and I hold her tightly, and I almost think she’s asleep until she speaks.
“Are you okay? I mean, I know that sounds like a dumb question in the grand scheme of things, but you seem off… You’re not like yourself. This isn’t the first time we’ve experienced something like this, and you’ve always remained… you.”
I’m not sure how to answer her because at this moment, I can’t tell what she wants to hear. I’d rather give her whatever lie she needs to hear than what I really feel. Her eyes are pleading for the truth, though, so despite my better judgment, I speak.
“It’s my fault,” I rasp. “That this is happening to us, that theboys were in danger, that you were. That little Putnam fuck is right, and I hate it.”
She frowns, reaching out and cupping my cheek with her hand. “What did he say?”
I shake my head. “Doesn’t matter. I just… I need to fix this, as fast as possible. We never rely on people. It’s always been just us, and the idea of leaving you with these… people. It’s not sitting right with me.”
Silence hangs between us for several moments as we stare at each other, the soft pad of her thumb gently moving in circles against my cheek.
“Don’t worry about us. I can’t describe it, but they feel… safe, at least for now. I’m more worried about you two. Usually, when you have a job, I’m not worried. Not for a second, but now…”
Her words hang in the air like a loaded gun, waiting to go off. Frustration twists in me that she’s worried at all. I hate it. I hate it more than anything in the goddamn world. She doesn’t deserve to feel worry a moment in her life. Not when she has me. And Dominic too.
I don’t reassure her, though, and neither does my brother. I think because for the first time in so long, we’re worried too.
Chapter Nine
Asher
Iwake up upside down at the foot of the bed, somehow the only one who isn’t holding or touching Skyla. What the fuck?
A soft cry sounds through the baby monitor in Brooks’s room, and of course none of the other fuckers wake up. Except Sky. Her eyes gently open like she’s a princess coming out of a deep sleep. Climbing out of bed, I shake my head at her, then press a kiss to her forehead.
“I’ve got him, princess,” I say.
She gives me a soft smile and a nod before relaxing back into the bed. Such a fucking princess, but she’s my princess.
I move to the dresser, grab a pair of sweats out and decide to hell with a shirt as I make my way to Brooks’s room. As I’m rubbing my eyes, I find him crying in his bed. He gets these terrible nightmares, and we can’t figure out why. We’ve taken him to the doctor, and even a psychologist at Ronan’s insistence, which I thought was a little much since he’s only two. Still, this seems to be a weekly occurrence for him, hence why we still have the baby monitor set up for him.
“Hey, bud,” I say as I softly shake him awake.
His crying softens as he looks up at me. “Bad dream, Daddy.”
I nod. “Do you want to try to go back to sleep?”
He shakes his head. “Cartoons.”
