Dirty Ugly Toy Page 24

  “About that.” I interrupt him, my stomach flopping in anxiety now that his mood has changed. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are on mine. Swallowing, I quickly stand. “I took it upon myself to, um, redecorate.”

  Brax narrows his eyes at me and everyone else disappears but him. I try to smile at him but he isn’t amused. He looks apprehensive about my little surprise. Clearly, Brax isn’t one you simply “surprise.”

  “On that note, I’m turning in early,” Cartier murmurs and makes a hasty retreat from the dinner table. Chicken shit.

  Christine, clearly sensing the mood, excuses herself from the table to clean the kitchen. Dubois, apparently doesn’t need to say anything and escapes the pending storm. They’re scattering like cats. At least Rich hasn’t fled the scene. I flash him an appreciative smile. The old man may not know all of Brax’s secrets but he’d be a fool to miss the sudden shift in the air.

  Brax stands and holds a hand out to me. “Which room did you redecorate?”

  I swallow and point upward. “The ugly-arse purple one.”

  His lips quirk up on one side and his eyes lighten a few shades. It gives me hope. Rich snorts, clearly amused by my behavior.

  “I also, um, locked the ‘storage’ room next to it. It’s a mess in there and Christine didn’t have time to spruce it up for your dad,” I tell him in a rush as I take his hand.

  Cold fingers tighten around mine and I grow dizzy with worry. As we make our way upstairs, Brax and Rich discuss the family business and I distract myself with listening. Rich, even though he’s technically retired, gushes about Kennedy Toys with a pride that makes my heart swell. Brax may not look like his father, but they are both so similar—in the way they dress, their love and dedication to their business, and an undeniable love for each other. It makes me think of my own father and once again, my stomach churns.

  “This home is beautiful,” Rich compliments. “Your mother would have loved it.”

  Brax’s gasp is inaudible to the old man but I hear it. Rich speaks of her in a fond tone and it makes me wonder what happened to the two of them—why they’re no longer together.

  “Are you two divorced?” The question slips out of my curious little mouth before I have the sense to stop it.

  We reach the doorway to the former Princess Room and they stop. Brax’s gaze falls to his feet shadowing his features. I want to reach out to him but Rich’s broken face stops me.

  “Jessica, she passed away,” Rich tells me, his eyes fixated on Brax. “Drugs stole away my boy’s mother. She’s in a better place.”

  Tears well in my eyes and the tightness in my chest is physically painful. “I’m so sorry for the both of you. I didn’t know—I thought that—”

  “Enough, Jessica,” Brax snaps, startling both myself and his dad. “Just show us the damn room.”

  His words sting and now I can’t stand that I’m about to show him the room. He’ll hate it. Reaching past them, I turn the knob and push the door open.

  “I don’t know what it looked like before, but this is really nice, sweetheart,” Rich says in a soft tone.

  I shrug my shoulders and survey the room. The furniture is no longer white but instead mahogany. Every single element in the room is masculine aside from the white carpet but I couldn’t really do anything about that on such short notice. I’ve decorated it well and it would easily grace any magazine cover.

  Brax thunders past us and into the closet. He rattles some empty hangers and curses. Now, I’m barely holding it together. All I wanted to do was help and surprise him. But it’s like I’ve done something terrible. I have royally pissed him off.

  “Um, Rich, it was so good to meet you but I’m feeling unwell. I think I’m going to retire for the evening. I’ll see you at breakfast. I will abstain from the bacon and eggs as well—we can suffer the no cholesterol thing together,” I tell him with a shaky voice that was meant to be light and playful.

  He frowns and holds his arms open. Such a simple gesture—one a father would do for his daughter—and yet it means so much. I all but run to him and let the old man, who smells almost identical to Brax, collect me into his arms.

  He squeezes me and kisses the top of my head. He’s everything my father should have been—warm, accepting, loving.

  “Sweetheart, Braxxy needs more love than most. It takes a special person to love all the rigid parts of him. On the outside he is rough around the edges but I can assure you his heart is pure gold. Hang in there with him,” he says in a whisper. “He needs a woman like you by his side.”

  I nod my promise to him before pulling away. Scrambling from the room, I barely make it into the elevators before a foot stops it from closing. Anxiety blooms in my chest as I remember the last time an elevator was stopped by a foot. That time, Jimmy invaded my world. He hurt me. And I worry about what it is Braxton will do now.

  Because he’s pissed.

  It ripples from him.

  There’s no escaping his fury.

  “Where exactly do you think you’ll be retiring to?” His voice has a sharp edge and I dare a glance at him as he stands on the opposite side. I follow his gaze to the control panel. My finger hovers over the numbers that I know will gain me access to the third floor—his floor.

  “I guess the couch,” I say and drop my hand.

  “Look at me.”

  Lifting my gaze, I stare at the predator before me. In one evening we went from equals to me being his prey. It makes me sick just thinking about how easily it all got turned upside down.

  “Don’t you think,” he asks me with a growl, “that little whores should sleep in the Hole?” He punches the numbers on the keypad and I fidget.

  “Brax—”

  “Don’t!” he thunders. I wince when he stalks over to me and snatches my hand. His grip is firm but not brutal. The doors open to the third floor and he drags me along behind him. I’m emotional today and he’s making it worse with his shitty mood. By the time we reach his room, I decide the Hole is preferable in comparison to being near him.

  “Punch it in.”

  I swallow and risk a glance at him. His eyes are grey and they hold a fierce glint to them. “Punch what in?”

  We both know I’m stalling.

  We both know I know.

  “Punch it in, toy, before I whip your ass.”

  I don’t mind the name. Normally. Today though, it’s as if he’s trying to cut me with it. Harnessing my inner fire, I meet his gaze with a blazing one.

  “Sure thing, master. Always bowing down to you, master,” I seethe. With exaggerated movements, I punch in 1982 as if I want to hurt the keypad.

  He curses but storms inside. I’ve already placed my belongings in the closet on one side and now I wonder if he’ll rip them all from the hangers.

  “Did you forget your goddamned place here?” he snarls.

  Despite his anger, he’s hiding something. Pain. Hurt. Sadness. I let it infect my heart and I can’t find my own anger because of it. Instead, I want to hold him. Run my fingers through his soft, dark hair. Murmur reassurances to him.

  “Why are you so mad at me?” I challenge back, letting my tears spill over.

  He yanks off his jacket and works at the knot in his tie. I stare stupidly at the man who looks like a sexy demon standing in front of the flames of his fireplace. My mind becomes a daze as he undresses, each garment getting heaved to the floor as if he has the power to split the ground with the force at which he throws them.

  When he’s finally naked in all of his beautiful glory, I stare at him.

  “What now, Ken Doll?”

  The vein pulsates.

  And he becomes enraged.

  It’s not her fault.

  It’s not her fault.

  It’s not her fault.

  But it is.

  “Undress.” My demand is cold and unyielding.

  She meets my glare with defiance. “No.”

  Rage rushes through my veins and it takes everything in me not to
pounce. Even with my sudden change of attitude, my toy stays strong. She’s resilient. A chameleon. Ever changing to adapt to the storms of life.

  “Bunny, you have five seconds to get naked and bend over that bed. I think your ass needs a good whipping so you can remember you’re just a paid whore,” I sneer. “Nothing more.”

  Her face falls and my chest squeezes. Jessica rattles the ground I stand on. She fucks with my head. And tonight with her and Dad together, I started losing it. My mind decided to unravel—this woman is holding the thread and running with it. I need to get this shit into a form I can manage. Her as my toy is something I can control. It leaves me with an outcome I can understand.

  “Five,” I bellow and she jumps.

  Her fingers find the bottom of her shirt and she tugs it off. Underneath is a pink bra that houses her gorgeous tits. This bra is a fucking winner as it makes her breasts seem at least a cup larger. Dragging my eyes from them, I cross my arms over my bare chest and raise an expectant brow.

  “Four.”

  She flips me off and then reaches behind her to undo the bra. It falls to the floor in front of her. I want to mark up her swollen tits with my teeth. Jesus, I’ve missed her body. My rock hard façade of anger begins to crack as desire seeps in.

  “Three.” This time, a hungry growl.

  She shimmies out of her jeans, dragging her panties down with them. As she bares herself to me, I momentarily forget what it is I want to do to her.

  All I can think about is her.

  Her.

  Her.

  “Two,” she taunts.

  I stalk over to her and my hand clutches around her throat. “One.”

  I’d wanted to spank her but now I just want inside of her. She yelps when I push her against the wall. Our heated eyes meet briefly before I smash my lips to hers. I slip my hands to her ass and lift her. She moans into my mouth and wraps her legs around my hips. The second I push into her tight heat, she screams.

  The scream isn’t from pain.

  Or pleasure.

  Her scream is at me.

  For putting her through this. All of it.

  I’m losing the battle with her. She owns me no matter how hard I try to reverse the roles and put her in her place. I am every bit as addicted to her as she was to the heroin not that long ago. Her nails dig into my shoulders and it draws me out of my trance.

  My eyes find her teary ones and I expect to see the hate I deserve.

  “Don’t stop, Brax,” she begs as my mouth hovers over hers. “Don’t ever stop.”

  Heat rushes down my body and my cock feels as if it might explode at any second with my release.

  “I’ll never stop, Jess.”

  My words cause her body to shudder and for a moment I think she’s crying. But I soon realize she’s coming without abandon. The moment her pussy constricts around me, I lose it and my seed rushes into her.

  I pound and pound into her until she grows heavy in my arms. When I slide out of her and set her to her feet, her features crumble and her head falls in her hands. Out of nowhere she slaps me across the fucking face.

  “You stupid, stupid bastard!”

  I’m too damn astounded to do anything but gape at her. But as she starts snatching up her clothes, I break free from my mental hold and leap into action.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I roar and snatch her bicep.

  She tries to wriggle free but I clutch her tighter. “I’m leaving.”

  I blink at her in confusion. “But we just had sex.”

  The laugh that rips from her is dark and sinister. “That’s exactly why I’m leaving.”

  “This makes no fucking sense, Jessica!”

  She pokes me in my chest. Her glare is furious and her chest heaves with each breath she takes. “We make no sense, Braxton.”

  I snatch her wrist and yank her to me. She starts to fight me but I hold her against my body. My heart is pounding out of my chest and I begin to freak the fuck out. If she leaves me, I won’t be able to deal with it. I’ve already let her inside my head and I don’t ever want her out.

  “Talk to me, baby,” I murmur against her hair.

  “I don’t need your money.”

  I groan. “I don’t give a damn about the money. I care about you.”

  She lifts her head and stares up at me, the fire long since gone. All that remains are her tears. “Do you?”

  I was a fucking coward to react the way I did tonight. When she asked Dad about my mother, I snapped. All progress we’d made took a flying leap out the window and I craved to hurt her. To remind her of her place. To fucking punish her for being a drug addicted whore like Mama. But as soon as the rage exploded, it’d just as soon died. Truth is, I don’t want to hurt her. I just want her.

  I know she needs an explanation but I don’t fucking have one. The reason is that she twists the threads of my already fucked up head into a complicated tangle where she tugs the strings and controls the mess that is my heart.

  “Brax?” The lift of her chin in the air is a sign of bravery on her part. She’s not letting me off the hook so easily.

  Releasing her, I slip my fingers into her hair and kiss her sweet mouth hoping to distract her from words that I can’t seem to find the strength to voice. When I break free of her, tears swim in her eyes and her bottom lip quivers wildly. I grab hold of her hand and tug her with me toward the fireplace, snatching our blanket along the way. As if we’ve done it a thousand times before, we sit on the edge of the rug and I wrap us in the blanket.

  “Brax, please.”

  I wrap her up in my arms, and hold her to me. “I’m sorry, Bunny. So fucking sorry.”

  She nods but doesn’t speak.

  “It’s just . . .” I trail off. “It’s just hard talking about her, okay? I found her cold, dead body. She’d died of a drug overdose and I was alone at fourteen. If it weren’t for my dad, I would be nothing. Fucking nothing.”

  I squeeze her to me and inhale her clean scent. This is one of those moments I want to pause. One of our moments that only make sense right here on this rug.

  “I’m a mess, clearly. I mean, I buy women to use as my toys for Christ’s sake. My head is fucked up, baby. And you only seem to fuck it up more. But the thought of giving you up soon—it guts me.”

  She sniffles. “Braxton, stop shutting me out. Every time we make progress as a real couple, you get lost inside of your damn head. Part of me wants to work on this—to fight for something tangible—something that will outlast my stay here. The other part of me wants to run for the hills and never look back. I’m okay with you humiliating me, degrading me even, if it’s what gets you off. If it’s what you need. You know I enjoy it too. But I demand your respect and your honesty. And that,” she says motioning upstairs, “that was neither of those things.”

  My mind reels. She wants answers I don’t have to give. I bury my nose into her hair and inhale her—all sweet and vanilla. Her scent works to soothe the inner aching parts of me. Pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder, I attempt to harness the strength in her and give her some sort of explanation.

  “Ever since Mama died, I like control. Having grown up in a world where I starved and never felt warm enough, I need it. I need to be able to know that every single aspect of my life yields to my demand. That I can mold it to my liking. It soothes an ache that never truly goes away.”

  She remains quiet for a moment but lifts a hand and strokes my cheek as if to thank me for my words. Then, she turns in my arms and straddles my lap. Our blanket falls to a heap around us. “Let me see your hand,” she whispers.

  My brows pinch together in confusion but I offer it to her. With shaking fingers, she guides it down her belly and for a moment I think she wants me to get her off. Instead, she veers off to the right near her hip bone and makes me touch the flesh there.

  “Do you feel that?” Her voice quivers.

  A small ridge under my fingertip.

  “Yeah. A scar?”

&nbs
p; She drops her forehead to mine and gives it a sad shake. “A stretchmark.”

  My fingers continue to feel her skin and I probe both hips with each hand. I can feel them. Small, insignificant. Unnoticeable.

  “Her name was Grace.”

  A chill washes over me and my chest feels as though it’s being split open. The doctor back in London had mentioned a possible pregnancy and now it has been confirmed.

  “She was my baby. I loved her, Brax, even though I never got to know her.”

  “What happened?”

  A cry chokes out of her and I hug her to me. Her face presses against the side of my cheek and her lips find my ears. “T-T-The stairs. The b-b-blood,” she stammers with a whisper.

  “Jesus, Jess, I’m so fucking sorry.”

  A haunted howl rips from her as she lets loose the agony buried deep inside of her. It’s raw and dark and unfiltered, as if it’s the only time it’s ever been released. She begins slapping at me, anger exploding from her. Her hits are nothing to me but everything to her.

  Over and over and over again.

  I let her expel the rage at having lost her child. It seems like only yesterday that Richard bore the brunt of my own explosive anger. And he endured every single hit just as I am now.

  That’s what you do for love.

  Love.

  Shit.

  When her hits weaken, I flip her over onto her back. In front of the fire, I cover her with my warmth and kisses. Soon, her cries become pleas and I tend to her needs. My cock slides into her as if it knows its own way and I make love to her. One thrust at a time.

  “I love you, Jessica Kennedy.”

  The last of her broken heart shatters and she stammers out words that heal a part of my soul I never knew was wounded.

  “I love you too. But don’t you dare treat me like that again.”

  She cries out in ecstasy and I throb out my release into her. My healing soul once again bleeds at her words. I don’t even bother replying because we both know I can’t keep that promise.