Page 95 of That Sik Luv

I lived, breathed, and bathed in her. She was mine, and I was hers, and anyone who even thought about coming between that would earn a bullet lodged in their brain.

After our wild fuck at the club, I took her back to the cabin. She’d asked to shower alone, but I denied her that. I wanted to wash her. I needed to clean her with my own hands, caring for the sexy little body that brought me so much pleasure. Providing her the comfort she deserved after allowing me to violate her in the ways I craved.

She was a goddess in that room before us. Nox has seen and fucked plenty of women in his life, but Briony held our attention like no one else could. She had a power over her sexuality she’d only just begun to harness.

Reluctantly, she allowed me to clean her, staring at me like a pissed-off little puppy dog beneath the warm water as I lathered her in her cherry-scented soap and cleansed every inch of her sweet, curvy body.

I could sense some agitation from the action as her glare toward me deepened, and it started to piss me off.

“You’d be best to realize I’ll always be doing this after we fuck.”

“What’s that exactly?” she starts with an edge, tipping her head, causing her long wet hair to drape across her shoulder. “Taking away my liberties?”

I squeeze the hand I’m holding tighter in my fist as my gaze hardens.

“I can’t go from one prison to the next, Aero,” she says in a softer tone. “I know you have this possessive claim over me, but I’m not an object. And as much as you probably wish you did, you don’t own me. Nobody does. Not the church. Not Aero.”

She angers me as much as she turns me on when she showcases her strength like this. Clearly she was testing me in that private club room, pushing the boundaries to see where I fell when it came to sharing her.

Aero will own you, baby.

I palm the front of her neck, slowly wrapping each finger around the pulsing flesh that comes alive under my touch, sliding my hand in place before I push her roughly against the shower wall. Her back hits, making her beautiful swollen breasts bounce before me as the air leaves her lungs.

“I am yours as much as you are mine. It’s different. It’s primal. It’s a display of adoration and insurmountable trust. I strengthen you, rather than just claim you. Not simply ownership. We are beyond that. Their definitions, beneath us.”

How do I make her understand the depth of my emotions without using the tainted words they have trained her to understand? Is murdering two men and gouging out the eye of another not enough?

“Beneath us,” she repeats softly, understanding our own, personal language as her shoulders lose their tension and her face relaxes. “So you trust me, then?”

I hold my breath for a moment, realizing she’s caught me in a trap. She’s way smarter than I ever give her credit for.

“The question is,” she continues, releasing my hold on her by taking a step back. “Do you trust me enough to let me use my body as a weapon? The weapon it was designed to become to break down the holiest of deceptive institutions?”

Mine.

Mine.

All mine.

The word won’t leave me at the thought. The only way I could find the idea acceptable is if I was somehow there, seeing it. Knowing what was happening. And, of course, ensuring she got absolutely no satisfaction from the act. If I want ownership over anything, it’s that her pleasure is mine and mine alone.

Her hands raise to cup the sides of my neck, perhaps meant to be comforting, as I still, tension tightening my back almost immediately in some sort of self-defense mechanism that’s unfortunately become ingrained in me.

Her thumbs gently trail my jaw, fingers finding the scar there, then the one by my lip again. I wince, wanting to push her off me and into the shower wall, pinning her by her neck until she’s crying, begging to be released. Before I even realize what’s happening, she pulls a hand back and slaps me across the face. Hard.

I sigh, closing my eyes tightly in pleasure at the welcomed pain, the muscles of my back relaxing as her hands settle near my neck again. Blood rushes to my groin, and my cock nestles against her navel. She freezes in place beneath the water and I blink my eyes open to study her studying me. Neurons are firing left and right, attempting to psychoanalyze the psycho.

Even beneath the warm rain of the shower head pouring down upon us, I can see the tears filling the brims of her eyelids.

With the softest, saddest tone, she whispers, “What did they do to you?”

My hands grip her wrists, pulling her touch from me before I distance us to finish washing my body. What I don’t need are these tears. Her fucking pity for a past I’ve already lived.

“Aero.” She grabs for my wrist, but I brush her off.

“Stop. Do not fucking push me, Briony. You know better than to do something that will get you hurt. Maybe even killed.” I scold her like a child, not even caring if it’s degrading.

I don’t want this. I don’t need to relive every part of what I know to be wrong. I’ve worked through my trauma by not working through it at all. I’ve put my energy and focus on her and her freedom from the men who work tirelessly to end her after ending her mother before me. The truth of her unfortunate past she’s yet to unravel.

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