Page 53 of Vallaverse: Twist
My body grows hard again under his attention. Brooks moves his hips slightly, letting his knot drag across and press against all the best places inside me as my eyes flutter shut and I sigh with the pleasure of it.
“Jesus fuck,” Brooks exclaims harshly. “Your shoulder.”
I smile up at him, relishing the tug inside me as I move my hips gently against him. “I asked for that, too.” My words come out a little slurred. The warm pressure from his knot and trapped release combined with the orgasm he's quickly guiding me to is going to put me into that glorious pause that Omegas want and need so much. “Don't stop,” I mumble.
“You're almost there, baby,” Brooks croons. “Do you need me to go faster?”
I shake my head, feeling sluggish and heavy. “Just like that. So good.”
He leans down and presses a kiss against my lips, then my cheek, then my jaw just under my ear. I offer my neck to him again, giving myself to him all over again now that he's aware ofit. He resumes his purr, placing soft kisses down my neck and then over the massacre I'm sure my shoulder is.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers after each kiss.
I want to tell him not to be, that everything he did made my toes curl, but I can't form the words. All I can do is sink my fingers into his hair and hold him against me as the orgasm finally crests and washes over me, taking my breath and pulling me under.
“There you go,” Brooks whispers against my skin. “I've got you.”
I nod and let myself drift away with a dopey smile on my face, completely secure in the fact that I know he has me. I think he always has.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brooks
Laz's shoulder is still a rainbow of blues and greens even after four days. I can hardly look him in the eye. I know he wasn't opposed to whatever happened before I came back to myself, but I would never do something that would leave that much bruising even if he begged for it. And the scars all over him... I can't think about them without rage threatening to consume me all over again. I knew there were probably one or two, but his torso is covered. If I hadn't already killed that bitch, I'd be hunting her down.
I never should have let him go in the first place. Ever. I should have demanded—no,commandedhim—to stop destroying himself and kept him hidden and safe. The freedom of choice he wanted so badly wasn't worth the hurt he's had to endure. I should have found him. I should have brought him home. I should have killed that fucking woman when I met her. Iknewsomething wasn't right. I knew it, and I still let him be free.
At least I have him now. And the only freedom he'll have is whatever I decide he gets. He will be safe. He will be healthy. He will be protected. Maybe after all of that, he can find a way to be happy, too. But he will never be left alone again. If he feels oppressed, he'll just have to deal with it.
Mrs. Richards has accused me of being moody. I suppose I am. But if she knew I had to gather limbs and chunks into a garbage bag right where she's currently sweeping fifteen minutes before she walked through the door that morning,shewould be moody; and that would be worse than whatever emotional distress I'm apparently subjecting everyone in the house to. Laz is entirely too amused that I was more worried about Mrs. Richards's potential reaction to the dismembered body than the body itself.
Laz seems to be completely unfazed by all of it. In fact, he seems to be happier now than he was before that night. He's still worried about others coming for him, now us, bordering on terrified, but hefeelshappier. He feels more solid and whole. It's a very good thing because I can't crawl out of this hole of regret that I'm buried in. His current optimistic disposition makes up for my dismal outlook.
I don't remember it. I have no idea what it felt like to be with him for the first time since I got him back. I don't know what it felt like for us to join together for the first time with a bond in place. I don't know, and it kills me. Laz says he remembers every second of it, and I'm trying to find comfort in that, but it's not working out so well. I wronged him. I hurt him when I promised I wouldn't. And the thing that keeps me up at night is that it could have been so much worse. I had a whole and complete incident. I could have done so much damage to Laz.
He doesn't think so, but I know the truth. I know what a monster I am deep inside myself. I can go to therapy, take classes, read books, write in my goddamned journal, but none of those things will change the truth. I am not a good man. I willspend the rest of my life trying to make up for the damage I've caused, and taking Laz the way I did adds to that list. It's the top of the list. Hurting him and taking things he wasn't ready to give are the worst things I can imagine doing, and I did both. I can't accept that he's so accepting of it. It's almost as if he expected that kind of treatment. Like he was used to it.
Maybe he is.
That's what all those fucking scars are. The proof that he's used to people taking things from him and hurting him. He should be angry with me. He should be depressed or, at the very least, miffed. He's not, though. Laz is bright and warm and smiling, and I think it's an act to protect me from knowing how much damage I actually did.
I haven't touched him since that night, not like that. We have held each other and shared some kisses before bed. I've even slept with him twice in his bed. But there has been no sex and no touching that would lead to sex. I'm sick with the thought that he might think that that's all I want from him.
I am not a good Valla. I have done everything wrong. He deserves better.
“Do you think you can stop now?” Laz asks, coming into the kitchen. “And don't think I won't rat you out for fucking with that slicer.”
I look down at the thing in disgust. I couldn't even put it together. My big plan was to slice some ham as thin as I could with this electric slicer so I could make ham and brie French toast for breakfast since I couldn't go back to sleep after I woke up before the sun. But I couldn't get it put together right, or I couldn't get the setting correct. Either way, I should have just bought pre-sliced ham. This is what I get for trying to make things too complicated for my own good.
“There should be an instruction manual for people who don't know what they're doing,” I say, avoiding the question he asked.
Laz walks to the counter beside the fridge and pulls open the door. He rummages around for a moment, then he holds up the user manual for the slicer. “I'll still rat you out.”
I smile at him and wave off the manual. “It's too late now. I've already decided to hack at the ham until I have enough chips to do what I want.”
Laz raises his brows, sighing, but puts the manual back into the drawer. “You don't have to make fancy stuff all the time.”
“You should have fancy stuff.”
