M A D I E
November Twenty-Seventh
Four
For once you don't want to wish everything away,
but you do wish it could just be
you and him
all day.
—
My eyes blinked open the next morning to the feeling of warmth. Bren's hand skimmed up and down my side, his breath harsh and hot against my neck. Sunshine filtered through curtains onto my cheeks. Bren rocked his hips gently against my backside. He was hard.
I turned over, wanting to see him.
"Good morning." My voice was still thick from sleep. But I wasn't sure if he heard me, anyway. Bren seemed to be in a daze. He cupped my face, running his thumb over my lips as he watched in apparent fascination. I put a hand to his bare chest, feeling his racing heart.
"I've just been laying here thinking how I never got to kiss you yesterday," he murmured, his eyes never leaving my mouth. "Not like I wanted to."
"There were a few things you didn't get to do yesterday that you wanted to," I pointed out, shivering as I remembered what he'd said.
Bren heard me that time. He threw an arm around my waist and drew me into him with a throaty grumble of appreciation. His hand found the hem of my shirt and skirted beneath it, pulling it up as he caressed my side.
I wasn't sure what had gotten into him the last day or so, but I wasn't complaining. It was much better than the irritated, worried mess that he'd been the rest of the week.
Just as Bren's fingers began to brush the underside of my bare breast, my mom began hollering through the house, announcing we were going on a family beach walk.
To my dismay, he quickly withdrew his touch. A fast, hard kiss was pressed to my lips before Bren rolled from the bed. He walked toward the bathroom, dragging his feet and grunting a bit as he went. When he neared the doorway, he tossed a heated look in my direction. "That was not how I wanted to kiss you, just so we're clear."
And then he disappeared, leaving me to curse my mom beneath my breath.
When Bren popped back out of the bathroom, he threw on grey sweats and followed me down the stairs to the sight of peppy Patricia. And then there was Dad, who looked nearly annoyed as Bren. Maybe they would get along after all.
The walk was fine, aside from my mom's dramatic retelling of the Grey's Anatomy episode from last week—the one we had just watched. Bren lagged behind me, answering my dad's probing questions for a while. Eventually, he jogged up next to me, leaning in to grumble in my ear. "Could you have mercy on me and not wear tight ass yoga pants when your parents are around?"
He shook his head, dark chestnut hair flopping around. He bit his bottom lip and stepped in front of me, walking just ahead of the rest of us.
Could I have mercy on him? I stared at Bren, inwardly groaning. Or more accurately, I stared at the way his back muscles and shoulder blades shifted slightly beneath his black t-shirt as he walked with his hands in his pockets.
My mom continued to drone on—this time about the best way to cook the turkey today—and I really struggled to pay attention.
Mom and dad were leaving tomorrow morning. I just had to make it until tomorrow morning.
And then...
Bren took that moment to twist around, catching my eye with a smirk.
I really couldn't think about what would happen then. Not right now. Not when I was trying to focus on a conversation about...basting.
When we returned to the house, Bren was quick to sneak away to shower and get cleaned up. I was going to follow, needing to shower myself, but my mom grabbed my hand to hold me back.
"Sooo," she began.
"So?"
Her eyes darted to Bren's retreating form.
"He is so cute!" It was a whisper-yell that I'd be truly lucky if Bren didn't hear.
"Mom, stop. We are not having this conversation right now."
I'd rather talk about turkeys.
"Why not?"
I frowned. At least my dad had been willing to talk about things—about why I was here, about Quinton, about what he'd done. But all mom had wanted to do since I'd told her I was in LA was gossip about Bren.
And I was over the fake shit.
"Why didn't you tell me what Lanae told you?" I snapped. Everyone had known what was really going on...except me. If I had known, I might've seen the path I was on that much sooner.
Mom reeled back, shock evident. She spun on her heel, walking back into the kitchen. "Oh, honey, let's not talk about that today." The comment was thrown over her shoulder as if my question was nothing. It was always nothing to her. "It's Thanksgiving, after all."
There was a little TV mounted beneath the kitchen cabinets, and she turned it on, beginning to flip through the channels. I knew what she was looking for. Meanwhile, Dad slouched down on the couch, turning on the other TV.
I didn't care what day it was. I didn't care that it was Thanksgiving.
I knew that my mom had grown up in a different world than me. My grandparents were wealthy, country-club goers who cared more about appearance than anything else. They weren't warm and fuzzy. They encouraged her to marry my dad because he looked good on paper. Because they looked good on paper.
Being real made my mom uncomfortable. But she couldn't continue this status-quo forever.
"Do you even care about anything at all, mom?"
She looked up, cocking her head to the side.
"Of course I care, honey." She leaned over the countertop, dropping her voice to a whisper. "I was never happy about how everything turned out, but not everything turns out the way you want it, Madeline. Here I've been worrying about you for the past month, and I haven't even needed to be. Look at you!" She flung her hands up in the air. "You've got a new man, a million-dollar home in Malibu to stay in, a beach right outside your door. You have so much to be thankful for." She pursed her lips and muttered something beneath her breath.
The only thing I could find to be thankful for at the moment was that I hadn't heard whatever it was that she'd said. Because I didn't think I would have been able to manage hearing it.
I gripped the back of the barstool that was pushed up to the kitchen island. Hot tears burned the rims of my eyes. But I was keeping them from falling.
"Mom," I pushed out through gritted teeth.
"Hm?" She lifted a brow but didn't look up from the oven. She was fiddling with the timer.
"Mom, look at me."
She did.
"I am thankful for those things. But do you know why I have them?" I didn't wait for her to reply. "Because of the people who actually care about me." I shook my head. "I'm going to go shower," I muttered.
"Madie—"
She called after me, but I'd already turned on my heel. When I glanced back, a frown played on her face as she pulled out the sack of potatoes, ready to peel to her heart's content.
Maybe one day she would see the truth of it. But I refused to waste my energy on people who didn't bother to use any of theirs on me.
Bren was still in the shower when I ambled into the room and began to undress, throwing my yoga pants on the pile of growing laundry. I slid my bra off from beneath my shirt and did the same with it. As soon as I heard the water shut off, I sat down on the end of the bed, waiting for the one person in this house who I knew for a fact cared about me.
And if he was going to keep eye-fucking me, I figured I deserved to do the same. I leaned back, wearing only a plain T and my underwear.
Bren didn't notice me at first when he opened the door. He'd been running a towel through his hair, another towel riding low on his defined hip bones. He tossed the one he'd been using for his hair onto the floor and pushed his fingers between the wet strands on his downcast head. But then he peeked up, his eyes spotting me.
He was ridiculously hot.
Bren lifted his head slowly. Brown eyes traveled my length. "Don't fucking do this to me right now, Madeline."
I smiled. It was coy. "Do what?"
His fingers caressed his jaw, pulling along the taut line of it. "Don't look at me like you want me to fuck you."
"You're one to talk with the way you've been looking at me ever since my parents got here." My smile grew. I lowered my voice. "Besides, I've wanted you to fuck me since that day you walked into my room with just a towel on."
His eyes flared, and I arched a brow. "Kinda like right now."
Water was dripping onto the carpet, disappearing from his body, drying up while I was getting wet.
But I couldn't help myself. It had been nearly twenty-four constant hours of Bren giving me that look that only he could do. And now I knew what he could do to me with more than just a look, unlike last time I was in this position.
I trailed my fingers down my front, cupping my breasts as I smoothed over them. Then I slipped my hand into my underwear, and Bren swore like I knew he would.
"Your parents are downstairs, Madie," he said flatly.
My fingers slid down further, and a purring noise somehow left my lips. But I managed a breathy reply. "Dad has the football game on full blast, and Mom's cooking while totally engrossed in the Macy's Day Parade. It's fine, Bren."
He wasn't really listening, though. Once again, he was just watching, staring. "Fuck, baby."
He drew out the fuck, so it was one long groan.
"What would you have done?" I asked.
He ran a hand down his face, wiping the water away. "What are you talking about?"
"That night in the dorms. You said you weren't going to touch me that night because I wasn't yours."
"I know, Madie." He was harsh as he said it, but I knew it wasn't because he was mad at me. I knew Bren. "I remember every part of that. Every goddamn part."
"What would you have done that night if you could have? If I were yours?" I stroked myself, feeling what he did to me. Just like I had that night. And just like that night, it felt so good on so many levels. "Like I am now. I'm yours, baby."
"You really shouldn't talk like that," he warned lowly.
I laughed, and it was oddly gruff. Deciding that I needed to be more persuasive, I hooked my fingers into the sides of my underwear and slipped them off, kicking them to the floor. Then I went back to what I was doing before. "Oh I really, really should."
Bren's eyes drank me in. And then his lips curved. But he didn't say anything. He wasn't going to tell me. Which was fine with me, really.
Because I was pretty sure he was going to show me.
—
November Twenty-Seventh
Four
You
And
Him.
🖤
This chapter was supposed to be apart of the last one, but I had to split them. So that's why it's up kinda early!
I am literally awful at figuring out how long scenes will take to write. It either ends up weirdly short or long.
If anyone has tricks for that.......let me know!
Thanks for reading!!
xoxo amelie