Olivia
A bead of sweat trails down between my breasts, and I sigh. Four days. We’ve been in this heat wave for four days with temps reaching 112 °F, and there’s been no relief.
I slop my hands in the water, and it splashes all down my shirtfront as I watch August out in the yard. His bare chest is on display as he sets up a sprinkler for the kids to jump through. Bettina has one of the big ziplock baggies around her cast, as does Betty. I taped it to Bettina’s arm and Betty’s leg myself. I’ve learned my lesson where water and casts are concerned.
“Turn her on, Josiah,” August yells. A beat later, the pipes rattle and bang as they protest from under the house, and Bettina begins squealing as the sprinkler starts up. Zora barks. Her jaws gleefully snap at the arc of water as if she could catch it in her mouth. Bettina, Beau, and Josiah take turns running through. Zora just charges through everyone. Even Betty runs at a full tilt, but August, still dressed in jeans and boots, doesn’t go near the water. Instead, he watches from the sidelines.
I thought about taking him a pitcher of sweet tea, or even grabbing him some cool water from the fridge, but then he’d know that I know he’s out there. Which would mean he’d know I’d been staring at him, and he’d likely cover up that amazing body. Besides, I’m still mad at him. We haven’t said a word to one another since that argument on the porch, so screw him and his hot body. I’m not taking him shit. I will continue to ogle him though, because . . . pretty.
I plunge my hands back into the water that’s long since run cold and peer at him through the lace curtains. From here I can see the scars on his back, and the long gash across his side. I figure it’s from the IED that caused him to lose his leg, but that still doesn’t stop me from wanting to know every little detail of the story behind it, from wanting to run my fingers over it, and my lips, too.
I place the dish in the rack and grab another, and I jump when I realized that August is coming up the back stairs. He enters the kitchen and inhales sharply, as if he’s surprised to see me. I turn. Oh, holy mother of God, he’s even more beautiful up close.
“I didn’t know you were in here.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, screwing off the cap and gulping it down.
“Yep, just washing dishes,” I mutter, nonchalantly, hoping he won’t notice the window’s direct line of sight to the back yard.
“Sorry, I’ll go put a shirt on.” He flicks the bottle cap on the table. It spins a few times before the movement dies out and the room is silent again.
“Well don’t do it on my account,” I whisper, too loudly. Goddamn it, Olivia, can’t you keep your whore thoughts to yourself? August frowns in confusion. “I mean, it’s too hot for clothing. If I could take my shirt off, I would.”
August raises a brow, and throws my words back at me, “Well, don’t let me stop you, darlin’.”
I know he’s only saying it to test me, because he doesn’t think I will. He’s wrong. “You sure you’re okay with that?”
“Are you?” he challenges, turning to face me as he takes a long pull from the water bottle in his hands. His eyes never leave my body the entire time he drinks, and when I grab the hem of my tank and pull it up over my head, tossing the fabric to the kitchen floor, he squeezes the bottle too hard. Liquid rushes out around his mouth and down over his chest. I stare at him, at the water cascading down his hard abdomen, and I’ve never been so thirsty in all my life. He’s so much bigger than me. I wonder what it feels like being pinned underneath him.
August tosses the bottle aside. It lands with a thud, leaking what little water remained onto the floor. Three angry strides and he stands in front of me. My cheeks pink up. I can’t believe I’ve just done this, but I don’t look away.
“Don’t tease,” he snaps in a gravel-rough voice. He picks up my tank from the floor and shoves it at me. I take it, but I tilt my chin defiantly.
“I wasn’t.” I sound far more courageous than I feel.
His hands clench into fists at his sides. I wish he’d place them on my body. I let my tank fall away again. A tormented groan escapes him. “I don’t tease, August.”
I’m covered in sweat, I don’t feel the least bit sexy, but I move closer, until my bare toes are flush with the tips of his boots. Still, he doesn’t touch me. I lean up on my tiptoes and kiss his downturned mouth. He freezes. He doesn’t kiss me back. That hurts like a bitch, but I hold my head high as I pull away and brush past him.
He grabs my wrist tightly, too tight, and yanks me to him with a growl. My breath catches, and I search his gaze, hopeful. August kisses me. A toe-curling, heart-pounding kiss that sets my insides all to flame. I kiss him back, thrusting my hands into his hair, my mouth working as furiously as his. With his hands propped up under my ass, he lifts me as if I weighed nothing and sits me down on the kitchen table. His hands are everywhere, his mouth is everywhere, and mine is too.
I press my lips to the scar on his shoulder, and he pauses for a beat, and stares at me. I coax him with my eyes and wrap my legs around his hips, drawing him closer. One hand tugs at my hair, while the other slides across my breast and he roughly palms one nipple. I break away from his mouth and moan, but August is greedy, and his lips smother mine again, swallowing my soft sighs.
He trails a hand down my stomach and pushes my skirt out of the way in order to slide those thick fingers inside my panties. He parts my flesh with his index finger, shoving two digits inside me. It’s as violent as it is thrilling. His thumb traces my clit. I moan. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this. I close my eyes, throw my head back, and he works me faster, his fingers stroking my G-spot in a come-hither motion. My lungs expel the air in hard laboring pants, and right when I’m teetering on the edge, standing on the precipice, waiting for everything to fall away into sensation, he pulls his fingers free of my body. I cry out. He clamps one hand over my mouth while the other unfastens his jeans and releases his cock.
“Quiet, or they come in and this ends right now,” August says in an angry whisper.
Outside, Bett shrieks. The older boys laugh and Zora yips. I glare at August. His eyes glitter with menace. He doesn’t take his hand from my mouth, but I don’t mind. I dart my tongue out to taste. His grip loosens, and I suck a thick finger between my lips. He tastes like me. His gaze softens, his eyes flutter closed and then he groans. For a moment, I think all the anger and aggression is gone. I feel as if the hard exterior has been burned away, peeled back, and he’s exposing his soft underbelly for me, but then his eyes snap open, and I’m somehow met with more anger than before.
With my skirt bunched up around my waist and my panties pushed aside, August shoves inside me. I gasp, and he clamps his hand over my mouth again. I dig my nails into broad shoulders. August pumps into me hard and fast, mercilessly. His hand slips from my mouth and I kiss his shoulder, lick the scars. He fists my hair, tugging my neck back sharply until it’s exposed to him. My scalp prickles. Tears sting my eyes, and his mouth devours my neck and breasts. I’m lost to sensation, to my feelings for him, to my own anger, to need. He slams into me again, angles his hips a little more and I cry out, my orgasm smashing into me with such shocking brutality that my whole body trembles. August’s thrusts don’t cease or slow, and within seconds I’m coming again. This time, despite our frenzied movements, it’s agonizingly slow. It’s achingly beautiful and bitter at the same time, and when I open my eyes, he’s watching me closely. He owns me in this moment, and we both know it. I’m too sensitive, too raw, and he’s too close and not close enough.
With a groan in my ear that sends a shiver down my spine, August comes, his thick semen spurting into me in hot jets, and I have to keep from sliding my hand between us and making myself come again. I want to. God, do I want to. But I stay still, frightened that even the smallest movement might spook him.
He kisses my shoulder then pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. We stay there for a beat, breathing heavily, his big arms wrapped around my body, my legs wrapped around his hips, his full lips against my temple as we breathe the same air. Then he steps back, tucks himself inside his jeans, and helps me down from the table.
August walks away, and I’m left standing in the kitchen on shaking legs, aching all over with a pang of grief in my heart as I watch him go with angry red marks on his skin where my nails were.
Back and forth, we continue to hurt one another. We push and shove, scratch and claw until we’re both broken and bleeding, a never-ending cycle of pain and hurt and torment. And yet I still can’t walk away, but it appears I’m the only one.