The longest two years of our life. We did what they said—mostly because I wouldn’t risk Scott being moved to another county. We made it work. And by then, we were so close to aging out, freedom was almost something we could taste.

We rode it out, waited until we aged out and put it behind us, as much we could.

It’s hard to forget something that put scars on your soul and body.

“Maybe, Dad, you should find out why you’re judging someone before you decide to write them off,” she says softly.

“You haven’t given us a lot of reason to trust your judgement, Pey,” he counters.

“Enough,” Brody snaps. He glances between his sister and father, scowling. “We didn’t meet here to fight. Dad, do you think you could manage to get through dinner without judging every decision she makes? You don’t have to like it, but she’s not tied to the campaign, so it’s not hurting you and she’s happy. That does matter a little bit.” He doesn’t wait for an answer. Turns to me, and forces a small smile. “So, aside from beating up abusers, what do you do with yourself, Rike?”

I eye him but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to find a way to trip me up. He looks curious and patient and hopeful. He’s throwing me a bone.

“I’m a songwriter,” I say, flashing a smile. “And I’m apprenticing with a local tattoo artist.”

Brody’s eyes widen and a smile twitches his lips. As her mother starts in on the problems with dating a degenerate, Brody shakes his head. “Good luck, man.”

Chapter 22 : After

Never anyone's only.

She said that, drunk and sad and

I wanted to scream.

My first thought is yours. my smile and

Dreams and pleasure. I see you in every

sunrise and teardrop and birdsong.

Not my only.

Only my everything.

(Rike’s poems to Peyton)

He almost dumps me into the truck. His truck. “What are you even doing here?” I demand, and he slams the door in my face. I huff a sigh, twisting in my seat to stare at him as he climbs in the truck.

“What are you doing here?” I demand again, and he leans across the console, catching me by the back of the next and kissing me. It’s hot and hungry and forceful. There is no soft request; it’s a demand.

It always has been with him.

I bite his lip and his hand clenches in my hair, jerking just a little, riding a delicious line of pain, his tongue in my mouth, twisting and stroking.

“I should spank your ass for that shit. You can’t go there alone. They’re horrible for you. Promise me, Peyton?”

He never uses my full name, and it shocks me enough that I nod. He sighs, and sits back. “I’m not fucking you in my truck in your parent’s driveway. I love you too much for that. So put your seatbelt on and let’s go, because I do need to fuck you. Soon.”

Why the hell does that blunt, crude admission turn me on so fucking much?

I pull on my seatbelt, and he squeals out of my parent’s driveway.

“You don’t like them,” I say after a few minutes.

His gaze turns to me, pure disbelief, and I swallow hard. “No fucking shit, Pey.”

He drives for about five minutes, and then jerks the truck off the road, onto a dirt road that serves as a driveway to an old, little used farm. “What are we doing?” I ask, nervously.

“Your brother’s house is thirty minutes from here, and my hotel is farther than that. And I can’t wait that long to fuck you,” he says matter-of-factly, stopping the truck. He glances at me, the look hot and invasive. “You look fucking amazing, Fish.”

Then he’s out of the truck and I have just a few seconds to decide. If this is what I want. If Rike is who I want. Then the door pops open, and his hands are on my legs, pulling me around to face him. He nudges them open and settles against me, hugging me. His shoulders relax as he clings to me. “I’ve missed you, Fish. So fucking much.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Except… “I miss you too,” I confess quietly. The truth. How can I miss someone I barely know, someone who shouldn’t matter to me? But should or not, he does.

He matters so much.

Rike looks up at me, his blue eyes hungry. “I want you. But it’s your choice. It’s always been your choice.” Something crosses his eyes and he smirks at me, a crooked little boy grin. “Stay or go?” he murmurs.

A shudder runs through me, and my body goes soft and pliant, my panties wet. I’ve heard him say that before and it was hot.

“Stay,” I whisper.

His eyes flare and then he’s pulling me down, and I slide down his body, against this thick erection. He groans and I smile, just barely resisting the urge to wrap my legs around his waist and grind against him.

Instead, I keep sliding down, until I’m on my knees. “Peyton,” he says hoarsely.

I unzip his pants, and my hands are on him. Stroking over the silky skin. His dick kicks in my hand and I giggle, sliding his pants and boxers aide. He has two tattoos, trailing down that sexy v that makes my mouth water. A pair of dragons in mid-flight. I lean down and kiss one, my tongue licking over it, and he grunts, thrusting a little. I pull back and he curses. “Don’t tease, baby. Let me fuck your pretty little mouth.”

My hand comes up and cups his balls, tugging gently, and he grunts. I lick over the matching dragon. “Dirty girl. You fucking love this. Want me to beg? Because I’m begging. Do it, babe. Suck my dick.” I take his cock deep, my lips tight around him and his head falls back, hissing, “Fuck, yes, baby.”

I whimper as his hands find my hair, and he thrusts gently. “Love that dick, don’t you, dirty girl?”

I keep one hand on his cock, and slip the other one down, pulling up my skirt and slipping a hand between my legs.

“Yes,” he groans. “Fuck yes, touch yourself, Pey. You’re wet, aren’t you? So wet. I could fuck you so easy right now, babe.”

I scream, shuddering as I come, a combination of the dirty, raspy words, and my fingers, and the fucking crazy high of controlling his pleasure. His hands are on me, jerking me up and I scream again as he buries himself in my pussy.

“Fuck, yes,” he groans, pulling back and slamming into me again. He shifts me against the truck, slides a hand between my ass and the door and pulls me into him, meeting each furious thrust. Each one sets off another tiny orgasm, until there is nothing but sensation, and pleasure, and his body and mine.

***

We fuck again when we get to the hotel, against the door while he chants my name like a prayer and plays my body like an instrument. After, I cuddle next to him on the bed, his fingers toying in my hair.

“I want you to come home,” he says into the silence.

I squeeze my eyes closed. I knew it was coming, but still—to hear it said so bluntly is like running headlong into a brick wall. I shift, so I’m lying across his chest. The koi on his arm stares up at me through the shield of seaweed and coral, and I study it.

“I love that one,” I say. He chuckles, and I prop myself up, glaring at him. “What?”

“You should. It’s yours.” My mouth falls open and he laughs again. “Why the hell does that surprise you? Half my ink is because of you.”

“Tell me,” I demand.

He pushes off the bed, and stands naked next to me. I make a small hum of appreciation and Rike laughs again. “Stop. Focus.”

With some effort—and a good deal of reluctance—I force my attention from the more interesting bits of his anatomy to the ink he’s pointing at.

I’m a patchwork across his body. The pinup girl on his ribcage with her head turned away, and long red hair. The script wrapped around his right wrist. The matching swallows on his back. And the koi, the brilliant tattoo that’s captivated me since I woke up in the hospital.