Still thrusting hard and fast, he curled over me, shifting his angle, hitting my clit, and going so fucking deep.
I groaned. “Fuck.” I scratched at his nape and shoulders. “God, don’t stop.”
“Not stopping until I’ve pumped my come inside you.” He snapped his hand around my throat and squeezed—not enough to affect my breathing, but enough to push my buttons in the best way.
My pussy began to spasm and tighten as my release crept up on me. I thought he’d ask me to hold back the orgasm, but he didn’t. He upped the pace of his thrusts and jackhammered into me.
“That’s it, come for me.” He squeezed my throat again.
I screamed as the orgasm tore through me like a fucking whirlwind, making my body shake violently and my pussy clamp down on his cock.
Dane bit out an expletive as he rammed into me once, twice, and then exploded. I felt his dick swell and pulse, felt jet after jet of hot come splash my inner walls. Then the energy seemed to leave us both in a rush.
Panting and shuddering, he buried his face in the crook of my neck and let my legs slip down to my sides. I weakly stroked his back, lost in my post-orgasm daze. We stayed that way for long moments.
Lifting his head, he dropped a light kiss on my shoulder and pulled out his softening cock. His gaze dropped to my pussy, and his eyes went heavy-lidded in pure male satisfaction. “I like seeing my come leaking out of you.”
Hmm, well, I didn’t need to ask if he regretted not wearing a condom.
He lay on his back beside me. Rolling onto my side, I used my finger to idly doodle circles on his abs. The room was much lighter now, so I knew the alarm would go off sometime soon.
“It was the anniversary of Oliver’s death yesterday,” he said, staring at the ceiling.
My heart sank. Losing a sibling would be bad enough. But Dane hadn’t simply lost his brother, he’d lost a part of himself. He’d been living with that void ever since, never daring to let anyone fill it. But, having seen what that date did to him, I had the feeling that there was so much more to it than grief.
“I hope you don’t blame yourself for what happened, Dane,” I said softly. “In your shoes, I’d probably blame myself. But I’d be wrong to do that. You didn’t fail him by not being there, by playing in the house instead of outside with him.”
“I wasn’t playing, Vienna,” said Dane, his voice remarkably flat. “I was curled up on the basement floor after my father caned my back, thighs, legs, and the soles of my feet.”
My head shot up as anger spiked through me. “He fucking caned you?” Motherfucker.
“Barron liked to hurt people. He was fond of delivering kidney shots, but he was content to punch you anywhere. He would make us stand in one spot for hours or sit in stress positions until our muscles cramped. I preferred the beatings, even when he used the cane.”
What a fucking bastard. “Didn’t your mother try to protect you?”
“If we looked to her for help, she’d say, ‘take it like a man’ and walk away. Sometimes he made her watch while he caned us, or when he tried forcing us to cane each other.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. “He tried forcing you all to …” I couldn’t finish the sentence; couldn’t wrap my head around what he’d said.
“The ‘offender’ would have to stand on a chair. Barron would instruct one of us to cane the back of the ‘offender’s’ legs. Oliver would go light with the cane; we’d flinch as if it hurt so that Barron wouldn’t notice. Kent used to go somewhere else in his head and get it over with. Travis couldn’t switch off from what was happening; he’d sob during and after, which Barron thought was amusing.”
God, that man was such a fucking monster. I slid my arm around Dane’s waist and kissed his chest, even knowing it wouldn’t really comfort him.
Dane looked at me. “I refused to hurt any of them, but don’t think my conscience stopped me. I’m not even sure I had much of one. In some ways, Oliver was my moral guide. I just hated Barron so much I refused to be under his control. He was set on beating the defiance out of me, so I spent a lot of time on the basement floor. He’d sometimes sneak into my bedroom in the middle of the night and drag me all the way down there to be ‘disciplined.’”
Which explained why he could snap awake so quickly and why he hated having anyone in his room. I swallowed. “This is what you meant when you said it’s your father’s fault that you’re not close to your brothers. He tried to make you all hurt each other so that there’d be no trust or loyalty.” And he’d made it automatic for them to never bond with the people around them.