Chapter 27
“And how old were you when your mom remarried and Lonnie moved in?” Grant asks while we lie in bed together, his hand resting on the swell of my hip.
“Ten … or nine.” I shake my head. “I’m not sure I remember now.”
“But you do remember everything that changed, so start there. Tell me what the first day was like.”
Shitty.
The day Lonnie moved into my life, hell accompanied him, instantly obliterating balance and common sense in our household.
Mom’s voice rings in my head.
“We’re all going to get along. We’re going to be happy and show everyone what a loving family we are.”
Only that was a lie, because a few hours later, Lonnie shoved me halfway down the staircase after I stopped him from ripping off the head of my favorite barbie doll.
When Pat checked on us, Lonnie told him I slipped and that he couldn’t catch me in time. Then when I tried to tell the truth, I got in trouble.
“Uninviting little brat.”Pat’s phrase plows through my stomach like it was yesterday, and I go queasy and lightheaded at the memory.
“Olivia?”
I blink and lock eyes with Grant, and his are pinched in a look of growing worry.
“What was that first day like?”
“Terrible. I remember getting in a fight and then—” A burn radiates across my forearm, a forever phantom ache that is present anytime I think about what happened. Lonnie shoved me down the steps, my arm collided with the railing, and I screamed louder than I ever had. I grab hold of the spot where the banister splintered into my arm and blood whooshes through my head.
My chest tightens while everything replays in slow motion, including the sharpness of pain, making Grant disappear into the background.
Pat … The way he dragged me by the ear that day and shoved me into my room, after calling me a brat. My ear feels the pinch even now. I wince, and my skin prickles like pins are raining down on me.
He never even liked me. My eyes drag closed, and a massive hole rips open in my chest.
Then Mom … The love she had for me was replaced the moment she met Pat. Once they moved in, it became about what we looked like to other people rather than what we were—and I was never enough.
“Oh, fuck.” Grant’s voice rises in pitch, capturing my full attention. “Olivia?” His hand smooths up to my shoulder, then he wraps his arm around me. “Darling … you’re shaking.”
“A-am I?” My breath staccatos. I look at my limbs, and sure enough, it looks like I’m convulsing with shivers. After sucking in a breath so deep that my lungs ache, I slowly let it out and try again.
Enough with the sorrow.
Shaking and mourning over all the internal gashes Mom, Pat, and Lonnie left me with isn’t going to be the key that presses me forward. I need to move on and think of them as nothing but dead skeletons that are robbers of my future.
My heart steadies itself at that thought, and my voice does the same as I finally look Grant in the eyes. “Lonnie shoved me down the staircase and the banister broke against my forearm.” I hold said limb up and point to the light silver line on my skin. “It took a few days for me to get all the splinters out, and when I did, I was left with this.”
“This scar?” His brows meld together. When I nod, they snap into a scowl.
I gasp, my heart stopping yet racing in a glorious way as Grant’s tongue comes out and drags along the inches of my scar.
He moves slowly, taking his time and moaning while halfway up the length. Blue eyes, that are rather drunk looking, lock with mine, and instantly my center is aching and heavy. I press my knees together, whimpering as he begins another pass—downward this time.
My head falls heavy into the pillow beneath me, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. “Oh my God, Grant.” His name comes out between quick pants.
“Whenever you look at these scars, I want you to see not the marks, but the healing that took place. They tried to break you, mark you, hurt you, and disregard you, but you healed, Olivia. You healed, and you’re lying in my bed now, whole and fulfilled. You’re not scared, you’re healed. You’re strong. Do you understand?”
A tear slides out. I shake my head, the room blurring around me as more tears sting and well into my eyes and doubt plunges and sinks into the base of my stomach.
“I don’t know, Grant. Sometimes I don’t think I am whole. Sometimes—”
“Shut up. Yes, you are.” He rolls on top of me, easily covering my entire frame with his large one. Intertwining our fingers, he forces mine deep against the mattress, and his next words are an authoritative growl that my heart and mind can’t dispute. “Yes. You. Fucking. Are.”
His lips collide against mine, and his words break into my soul, splitting it open, infusing it with the truth he claims. It battles with my inner cynicism, stomping down the emotion until it shatters into nothing but shards.
With our lips fixed together, his thumbs sweep wetness away from my cheeks with gentle strokes. He wedges my legs open with his knee, then collapses onto me—his full weight depleting me of needless oxygen as he becomes my lifeline. I grind against him, desperate for any remaining space to vanish.
“Already drenched again?” His brows lift, chest mirroring the movement as his breath catches in surprise.
My eyes close. I turn my head and expose my neck as my response. The flames of desire lick my cheeks, making them flush and serving as my only response.
“Greedy little lover of mine. Always ready for my cock.” He glides his index and middle finger between the valley of my breasts down to my navel.
Fever and ice marry in my blood at his touch. Goosebumps chase after Grant’s connection while raging fever explodes down my limbs. My head tosses itself back, and I clutch the sheets, hissing when he presses his thumb down on my clit. The delectable overload forces me to crash—vertebrae by vertebrae, my back peels off the bedding and his name sings off my lips.
His thick head pushes in while one hand cups my breast. I’m too high off my orgasm, and as my pussy clenches and flexes, he should be too much. But my Grant is the virtuoso of balancing overbearing and perfection, keeping the lines teetering but separate. Sharpness blasts through my nipple as he pinches and pulls, and the breath catching in my throat from the right amount of pain, subdues the stretching sensation of Grant as he glides the rest of the way in.