Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
"I'm sorry, little bird," I murmur. "I know how much you want her back here with you."
"I'm happy for her. You should have seen the way she was glowing. I've never seen her like that. She's always been so freaking busy, so unsettled. She wasn't like that today. She was…peaceful for once. Still. Like she finally figured out where she belonged." A tiny smile drifts across her face. "I guess I'm just a little sad for me too, you know? We've been together since we were in the womb. She's my best friend. I'm really going to miss having her here every day."
"Just because she isn't here every day doesn't mean you won't see her. She's still your twin. She'll still be your best friend."
"I know. It'll just be different now. I don't like change."
"No one does, baby."
She sighs, resting her head against my shoulder again. "I guess this means you can stop looking for information now, at least."
I hold her tightly, my lips against her crown, but I don't respond. Because even if Bella is staying in Texas…I don't think I can stop now. I need to see this through. It's the only way I can ensure Isla is safe. And maybe it's the only way I prove that I can actually be good for her.
Chapter Eight
Isla
"Christ, Isla," Brantley groans, his eyes on fire as he lifts me up and down his cock. "You look so goddamn beautiful riding my cock like it belongs to you."
I moan his name, slamming myself down on him so I bounce against his thighs. We both groan in ecstasy, lost in each other. Lost in the pleasure. I don't ever want it to end. With him, I never do.
But my body never listens to what I want. Within moments, I'm crying out his name as I shatter around him, waves of bliss roaring through my veins.
He snarls like a wild animal when he feels it, tumbling me over onto my back. He lifts one leg up over his shoulder, pounding into me again and again. I claw down his back, screaming his name as he throws me from one orgasm into another.
"That's it, little bird," he groans. "Keep coming all over my fucking cock just like that." His hips surge against mine again. And then again. "Christ, maybe I'll stay right here, keep you coming all night."
"Yes," I sob, clawing at the comforter.
He dips his head, wrapping his lips around my nipple. A sharp bite sends me hurtling over the edge again.
"Fuck!" he snarls, fucking me without rhythm as he follows me over this time, pumping into me as his cock jerks, liquid heat spilling deep in my womb. "Fuck, little bird. Fuck."
"Brantley," I whimper, boneless beneath him. "I love you."
His gaze flies to mine, his beautiful eyes wide. "Say it again."
"I love you."
"Christ." He seams his body to mine. His lips land against the side of my throat, his body shuddering. "I love you too, little bird."
I groan, wrapping my arms around him. He holds me just as tightly, his breath pelting my skin. For long moments, neither of us speaks or moves. We just cling to one another, coming down together. Lost in one another.
And then he groans, rolling us to the side.
"I'm keeping you, Isla," he whispers, brushing sweaty tendrils of hair away from my face. "Don't care what I have to sacrifice, I'm keeping you."
"Who says you have to sacrifice anything?"
His lips run across my crown.
"Love isn't a sacrifice, Brantley. It's a gift. You don't have to give up a single thing to deserve it." I touch his cheek. "I wish you knew that."
"I'm learning, baby."
"You sure?" I ask, narrowing my eyes on him. He's been…quiet since I met his mom the other day. Tense. Sometimes, it's like he's a million miles away, fighting a battle I can't help him with. When I ask, he tells me that he's fine. But I don't think that's true. I don't think he believes it, either.
There was another article about his dad yesterday.
It kills me that it's still front-page news when, every damn time he sees it, he's forced to relive things he shouldn't ever have to think about again. And I know he is. I see it in his eyes.
I've never hated anyone before, not even my bio-mom. I think I hate his father. I hate that people admire him. I hate that people sing his praises. I hate that his memory lives on, tormenting Brantley and his mom. They deserve peace. And they're never going to get it like this. But I don't know what to do about that because it's not my decision to make. I can't tell their truth for them.
If I could, I'd shout it from the freaking rooftops and make sure every single person in Nashville knew exactly what kind of man Bellamy Hill really was. He doesn't deserve to be celebrated. He doesn't deserve to be mourned. Maybe he helped build this city and this industry. But this city and this industry are better off without him.