Be My Brayshaw (Brayshaw High 4)

Needs more.

Craves more.

Are you starved like me, baby?

My eyes peel open, and the scene’s almost too much.

Soaking wet and perched on her knees before me, staring at my cock with satisfaction.

A worshiper kneeling before her chosen king.

A rumble reverberates from deep within my chest and my breathing picks up again when she rises to her feet.

Her eyes make their way to mine, and my jaw flexes as I fall into the brazen brown, deeper and fucking deeper.

She leans forward, her lips dropping to my chest. She slides them across, moving up on her toes to better reach my shoulder.

Suddenly, and without my knowledge or permission, my pinkie is pushing back the dripping strands of hair that dare threaten to hide her from me.

I want to keep you.

Something flashes in her eyes, but mine lower to her lips when a gentle kiss meets my left pec, where the weight of my world lies, deep within a heart that’s torn.

It’s too tender, too meaningful.

Too fucking necessary.

A gentle brush of her lips shouldn’t calm me so easily.

Should it?

My eyes clamp closed, and I drop my head to the tile behind it.

She understands my internal struggle, doesn’t fight or push, but steps out.

When the shower door opens and closes, my eyes open.

It’s a clear, thick glass, fogged from the heated water and maybe from my own heavy pants. Regardless, it’s distorted my vision of her, only allowing me the sight of her neck and face, and she knows it.

With her back to me, she holds my gaze through the mirror as she kicks off her wet underwear, and tugs her solid shirt over her head.

It would be so easy to shove the door open, learn the depth of what she hides, force her to give me something real, but I don’t move. I stay beneath the spray until she’s back in her room, closing me off inside the bathroom.

I’m in no rush as I dry off, giving her the time she needs to dress, hoping she’s tucked away and hiding every inch of her when I enter so I can grab my shorts and go back to my room.

But as I toss the towel in the laundry basket that’s yet to be emptied, and wrap my palm around the door handle, I freeze.

My eyes fall to the floor only to jump right up as it clicks.

Holy shit.Chapter 18CaptainIt’s a little over an hour later when Victoria finally creeps around the back door, through the billiard room toward the front foyer, and attempts to pass the kitchen only to freeze the second she realizes what awaits her.

Four angry Brayshaws.

When I threw the door open to her room, she was gone.

I woke Royce, who woke Maddoc and Raven while I searched the property, but there was no sign of her anywhere.

So here we fucking are, waiting.

She’s slow in her approach, her knuckles flexing as they tighten at her sides, a way to keep her muscles from going stiff on her.

Once she’s out of the shadow the dark entryway provided, she snaps out of her surprise, leans against the wall with her arms crossed, and a single blonde brow hiked high.

“What is this, intervention?” She gives a slow blink, working really hard to show her annoyance.

Always a damn brat, can’t hold it in when she should.

“Sit.” Royce kicks a leg out, finishing off his drink.

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

Her eyes fly to mine and hold a long moment before she kicks off the wall and drops into the open chair on the opposite side of the table.

She leans forward, her zip-up sliding off one shoulder as she rests on her elbows, meeting each of our gazes head-on.

Her tongue peeks out, and my eyes follow.

Her lips are puffed up, a deeper shade of red than normal, courtesy of my cock.

Thankfully, Raven catches her attention as she comes from around the counter, four shot glasses hanging from her left hand, two bottles of Don Juan in the right. She sets one bottle and glass in front of Victoria and the others in front of me, steps back into the kitchen and returns with a fresh-made hot chocolate for herself.

She lowers into the seat beside Maddoc as I twist the top from the bottle, looking to Victoria.

Her eyes tighten, holding mine a long moment, but then follows, opening and pouring hers as I pour ours. My brothers reach over, neither waiting to throw back the amber liquid.

I spin mine between my fingers, unsure if she’s bluffing or not, but then Victoria purses her lips, brings her shot up, and downs it.

Slowly, I take mine, lick my lips, and pour us each another.

And then another.

She keeps up, not so much as a grimace crossing her stony face in the process.

She’s completely closed off, and I’m almost impressed at her ability to hide behind a sheet of nothing, but that talent is what blinded me, blinded all of us, so I focus on my anger instead.