Locke
Page 22
All the while, that fucking flame of hope gets a little brighter.
Chapter 13—Emmy
Between the bullshit he’s convinced makes him unworthy of my heart, the desire that is even larger now that we know what it feels like to allow it to break free, and the personal battles we’re both dealing with, the last week has been tense at best.
I know enough from the bits and pieces he’s told me that his hurt runs deep. Probably even deeper any one person should ever feel to get to that level of self-hatred. Until he lets me in, there really isn’t anything I can do about it though, so I leave him to his thoughts and try to keep the distance from making me bitter.
We co-exist. He’s kept himself closed off and I’ve been working towards forgiving myself for the events that led up to Coop’s death. I know now that I was letting my grief over losing him take hold. I shouldn’t have run from my life just because of the things I was feeling. Even if I hadn’t frozen at that moment, someone still would have been hurt. It will never take the pain away from losing him, but I no longer blame myself. He wanted me to live. He will always hold a special place in my heart and I’ll do my best to live by his motto—after all, you only live once.
I laugh as I think about all the times he would scream, ”YOLO!” at the top of his lungs. It didn’t matter where we were, he was going to do what made him happy and live for the moment—something I’ve vowed to do myself over the last week.
“What’s so funny?” Maddox grumbles when I walk past him. He has taken it upon himself to get up at the ass crack of dawn the last few days and have breakfast ready by the time I roll out of bed. It’s one of the rare times he allows himself to be in the same room I’m in.
“Just thinking about Coop,” I reply with a smile. “His outlook on life and how I’m going to do better to honor his memory by living life like him.”
I jump when the pan he was cleaning slams down against the marble countertop. Turning from where I was fixing my plate, I find him standing just a breath from me. Close enough that it wouldn’t take much for me to take his thick bottom lip and give him a smart bite.
“What the fuck?” he fumes.
“What the fuck what?” I snap back with confusion. I cock my head and wait for him to elaborate over his newest tantrum. My mind is still thinking about those lips, so it takes me a second too late to catch where he’s going with this.
“So you’re just going to spread those legs for anyone that walks by? Become what? A little whore?”
“Excuse me?” I gasp.
“Coop believed in one thing and that was having a good time.” His eyes go from dark brown to black in seconds.
I watch the stages of pure rage take over his features, and even though I’m becoming more pissed by the each passing moment of his silent, irate bullshit, I can’t help but think how perfectly handsome he looks when he’s angry.
“One thing he lived for was pussy. He didn’t give a fuck about where it came from as long as it ended up riding his dick. So let me clarify—you will not become a slut like Coop was.”
My hand moves without permission, clapping against his cheek and leaving not only an instant red mark, but also needle pricks shooting up my arm.
“How fucking dare you speak about him that way. Do not let your misplaced anger turn his memory to shit. I woke up this morning determined to be happy—to live in the moment. And right now, in this moment, I want to kick your fucking ass. YOLO, you jerk.”
I take deep pulls of oxygen, trying desperately to tame the fire that wants to consume my body. I’ve never been a violent person, but right now, all I can see is red.
His head is still turned to the side; the bright red mark against his tan skin taunts me. When his head slowly and methodically turns back to glare at me, I give him back as good as he gives.
I’ve seen him mad before. Hell, he’s Maddox Locke; he’s mad ninety percent of the time. But this—this rage directed towards me—is something I have never witnessed before. Knowing that he would never hurt me physically helps me stand strong and hold my own. He deserved that and I’m not backing the hell down.
Expecting a verbal lashing, I’m surprised when his rough hands grab my head and pull me towards him. My gasp works in his favor, and in just seconds, we’re tearing the clothes from each other’s bodies. Our anger fuels the desire—the craving for each other. Our teeth clash as we fight for dominance with our lips. His hands finish pulling my shorts from my body and then lift my hands from his belt before bringing them behind my back. In one second, I go from battling for control to giving it up completely.
With his large hand holding my wrists together behind my back, he pulls back for a second to look me in the eyes. His anger hasn’t dissipated in the least. His eyes are pitch black and his skin is even more flushed than it was before. My handprint still bright against his cheek reminds me just what set this in motion.
“I hate you,” I snap, for the first time wishing that I were capable of even an ounce of hate. Then it would be so much easier to move on.
He lets my wrists go, but my freedom is short-lived. He grabs me around the waist and flips my position. My bare chest hits the cold, unbending counter. My panties are ripped from my body in one swift snap. Then he reaches back up with his hands and grabs my arms, pulling until he has my wrists once again hostage at the small of my back.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“I hate you,” I parrot weakly.
The smack of his palm against my ass takes me by surprise. Not because of the pain—it does hurt in an oddly pleasurable way—but because I never thought he would really spank me.
“Give me the words, Emersyn.”
I hardly recognize his voice at this point. I’m so turned on that my head is spinning. I can feel my wetness running down my thighs.
Apparently, I didn’t speak quickly enough, because his palm comes back down lower on my ass. The shot of pleasure that zips from that one heated mark goes straight to my core and I’m convinced that one more of those strong smacks and I’ll come on the spot.
“Give. Me. The. Words.” He drives each word home with another smaller smack, each time making sure he doesn’t hit the same spot twice.
Chapter 13—Emmy
Between the bullshit he’s convinced makes him unworthy of my heart, the desire that is even larger now that we know what it feels like to allow it to break free, and the personal battles we’re both dealing with, the last week has been tense at best.
I know enough from the bits and pieces he’s told me that his hurt runs deep. Probably even deeper any one person should ever feel to get to that level of self-hatred. Until he lets me in, there really isn’t anything I can do about it though, so I leave him to his thoughts and try to keep the distance from making me bitter.
We co-exist. He’s kept himself closed off and I’ve been working towards forgiving myself for the events that led up to Coop’s death. I know now that I was letting my grief over losing him take hold. I shouldn’t have run from my life just because of the things I was feeling. Even if I hadn’t frozen at that moment, someone still would have been hurt. It will never take the pain away from losing him, but I no longer blame myself. He wanted me to live. He will always hold a special place in my heart and I’ll do my best to live by his motto—after all, you only live once.
I laugh as I think about all the times he would scream, ”YOLO!” at the top of his lungs. It didn’t matter where we were, he was going to do what made him happy and live for the moment—something I’ve vowed to do myself over the last week.
“What’s so funny?” Maddox grumbles when I walk past him. He has taken it upon himself to get up at the ass crack of dawn the last few days and have breakfast ready by the time I roll out of bed. It’s one of the rare times he allows himself to be in the same room I’m in.
“Just thinking about Coop,” I reply with a smile. “His outlook on life and how I’m going to do better to honor his memory by living life like him.”
I jump when the pan he was cleaning slams down against the marble countertop. Turning from where I was fixing my plate, I find him standing just a breath from me. Close enough that it wouldn’t take much for me to take his thick bottom lip and give him a smart bite.
“What the fuck?” he fumes.
“What the fuck what?” I snap back with confusion. I cock my head and wait for him to elaborate over his newest tantrum. My mind is still thinking about those lips, so it takes me a second too late to catch where he’s going with this.
“So you’re just going to spread those legs for anyone that walks by? Become what? A little whore?”
“Excuse me?” I gasp.
“Coop believed in one thing and that was having a good time.” His eyes go from dark brown to black in seconds.
I watch the stages of pure rage take over his features, and even though I’m becoming more pissed by the each passing moment of his silent, irate bullshit, I can’t help but think how perfectly handsome he looks when he’s angry.
“One thing he lived for was pussy. He didn’t give a fuck about where it came from as long as it ended up riding his dick. So let me clarify—you will not become a slut like Coop was.”
My hand moves without permission, clapping against his cheek and leaving not only an instant red mark, but also needle pricks shooting up my arm.
“How fucking dare you speak about him that way. Do not let your misplaced anger turn his memory to shit. I woke up this morning determined to be happy—to live in the moment. And right now, in this moment, I want to kick your fucking ass. YOLO, you jerk.”
I take deep pulls of oxygen, trying desperately to tame the fire that wants to consume my body. I’ve never been a violent person, but right now, all I can see is red.
His head is still turned to the side; the bright red mark against his tan skin taunts me. When his head slowly and methodically turns back to glare at me, I give him back as good as he gives.
I’ve seen him mad before. Hell, he’s Maddox Locke; he’s mad ninety percent of the time. But this—this rage directed towards me—is something I have never witnessed before. Knowing that he would never hurt me physically helps me stand strong and hold my own. He deserved that and I’m not backing the hell down.
Expecting a verbal lashing, I’m surprised when his rough hands grab my head and pull me towards him. My gasp works in his favor, and in just seconds, we’re tearing the clothes from each other’s bodies. Our anger fuels the desire—the craving for each other. Our teeth clash as we fight for dominance with our lips. His hands finish pulling my shorts from my body and then lift my hands from his belt before bringing them behind my back. In one second, I go from battling for control to giving it up completely.
With his large hand holding my wrists together behind my back, he pulls back for a second to look me in the eyes. His anger hasn’t dissipated in the least. His eyes are pitch black and his skin is even more flushed than it was before. My handprint still bright against his cheek reminds me just what set this in motion.
“I hate you,” I snap, for the first time wishing that I were capable of even an ounce of hate. Then it would be so much easier to move on.
He lets my wrists go, but my freedom is short-lived. He grabs me around the waist and flips my position. My bare chest hits the cold, unbending counter. My panties are ripped from my body in one swift snap. Then he reaches back up with his hands and grabs my arms, pulling until he has my wrists once again hostage at the small of my back.
“Tell me,” he demands.
“I hate you,” I parrot weakly.
The smack of his palm against my ass takes me by surprise. Not because of the pain—it does hurt in an oddly pleasurable way—but because I never thought he would really spank me.
“Give me the words, Emersyn.”
I hardly recognize his voice at this point. I’m so turned on that my head is spinning. I can feel my wetness running down my thighs.
Apparently, I didn’t speak quickly enough, because his palm comes back down lower on my ass. The shot of pleasure that zips from that one heated mark goes straight to my core and I’m convinced that one more of those strong smacks and I’ll come on the spot.
“Give. Me. The. Words.” He drives each word home with another smaller smack, each time making sure he doesn’t hit the same spot twice.
