Page 14 of Requiem Of Him (Of Solace And Sin #1)

Before I open my mouth, something dies inside of me.

A small piece of me—miniscule. A piece I’ll never get back, but I’ve already lost so much along the way that I don’t have it in me to fight for what’s left of me anymore.

Cortland had seen me in my wreckage and is seeing me in my rebirth, but it feels like he’s still looking for the same little girl who doted on him, who thought he’d hung the moon and stars for her.

His little show pony. But I was never that little girl, and never would be.

We could sit here and split hairs about intention, whether he meant it or not, but I’d already accepted too much for too long.

“I didn’t take you for stupid,” I say, my voice dropping an octave.

My change in cadence momentarily stuns him and the color drains from his face, and sick satisfaction warms my chest. He remains silent as I take a step in his direction.

“Did you run out of steam already? Performance anxiety? That’s pathetic.

I thought you had all the answers, Thierry, or was that just when you assumed I would automatically obey? ”

It isn’t often someone worms their way under my skin and provokes me, but I let my guard down a little bit, and this is what I get.

“Nothing to say. Figures. You never could stand up for yourself, or me for that matter. Jesus, Cortland, if your daddy could see you now, he’d be disappointed, wouldn’t he?

Tell me, does he know that his son likes to leave his wife at home to go fuck men?

Does the great Marcus Thierry know his son is an adulterous sodomite?

” The mention of his father makes his nostrils flare, and a familiar fire ignites in his eyes that I was sure had been snuffed out by years of abuse at the hands of his father, but it’s not a deterrent for me.

If anything, it’s the accelerant I’m craving.

Even as I continue berating him with insults and questions while inching forward, until I’m standing chest to chest with him, his chest heaving like he ran a marathon… he refuses to break.

The thrum of blood coursing beneath my heated flesh doesn’t even begin to temper itself as Cortland stares down at me.

It’s a heady feeling, so addictive and sweet I can almost taste it, like getting your first slide on a colt after weeks of building their confidence.

The thought brings my brain to screeching halt as soon as it forms, shocking me for a moment.

I hadn’t thought about my horses, let alone what it was like training and riding them, in years—at least that’s what I’m going to keep telling myself.

Deep down, they’d always be my first love, but they deserved better than someone like me.

Just like everyone else around me deserving better than getting saddled with me.

A pin could drop, and the world would hear it from inside my bedroom. Cortland hadn’t moved an inch, hadn’t uttered a single word nor had he done anything other than stare into my soul—a soul he’s corroded until it won’t allow anyone else in to fill the hole he left behind.

We stand so close to one another I can taste the leashed anger simmering beneath his skin, skin flushed by emotion I provoked.

This close, I can see the striations of honey set ablaze in his whiskey irises.

They are mesmerizing. Most people always talk about how blue or green eyes were the best, most beautiful enrapturing thing, but I’d always preferred drowning in whiskey.

The pulse of his carotid jumps as his jaw tenses, and his body starts vibrating against mine, his hands now fisted at his sides like it would stop him striking me in anger, but I want him to. Something to show me he was still in there, that I hadn’t broken him.

So, I wait, listening to the hum of electricity working its way through the house.

I don’t dare move. I don’t take my eyes off him—I couldn’t even if I wanted to.

I was incapable of looking away from him, even if it would have saved me from the years of torment that he’d seen me endure firsthand.

I damn sure wasn’t looking away now especially when I finally have him right where I want him.

Watching him teeter on the edge of a blade I’m offering him is a rush like no other. If I were smarter, I wouldn’t be standing here, but now that I’d had a hit, I’m not sure I can handle hitting rock bottom.

“As entertaining as that was, I hope you got it out of your system.” Cortland says, his voice now rough and gravelly like his vocal cords were put through a blender.

Reluctantly, I lift my gaze from his lips to meet his eyes and pout for a moment before smiling.

“No, it never will be, so get used to it. Your judgment isn’t warranted here, and you have no room to pass any kind of judgment on my life, nor what I’ve done to repair the damage inflicted.

As I recall, you weren’t and have never been one to exercise a shred of loyalty to any partner you’ve had, and now you have a wife, Cortland, so what does that say about you? ”

We hadn’t discussed it, and truthfully, I didn’t want all the sordid details, but I wasn’t raised to bury my head in the sand.

He cocks his head to the side a bit and narrows his eyes. “My marriage is none of your business, Levi.”

“Do you really expect me to live in a fantasy with you, pretending that you don’t have a wife and a passel of kids waiting for you back home?

If that’s the case, we don’t need to be having any conversation at all.

” When he doesn’t respond, I take a step back leaving my words to linger in the space between us.

I guess I shouldn’t be shocked. Really, I mean, I shouldn’t, but I at least expected something other than more silence from him when I mentioned the reality of the situation.

And let’s be honest, there isn’t a situation to begin with, but him coming through here, into my world, and staking claims on me and making promises he can’t fucking keep is starting pluck my last god damn nerve.

I nod and shrug my shoulders. “Typical.”

Without sparing another glance in his direction, I give him my back and walk over to my closet, grabbing the first pair of black jeans I get my hands on and one of my favorite pearl snap shirts I’d stolen from my brother Addison.

It was the same one I’d always worn when I went to shows, and because I’d started going to shows again just to be around horses in some capacity, it just felt right to pull it out.

I was sometimes nostalgic like that. I might not ride anymore, but I missed competing—I missed my horses.

I had bought land with them in mind for fuck’s sake.

No one knew that I did except for Thiago and now Cortland, which meant Alessio knows, and that didn’t sit right with me.

As I emerge from my closet, clothes in hand, I see Cortland sitting in the emerald green velvet wingback chair tucked in the corner of my bedroom.

Ignoring him, I stop in front of my dresser and toss my clothes onto the chaise next to it before stripping down completely.

My shirt is barely over my head when I feel the weight of his gaze on my back.

I take a deep, cleansing breath and shake off the nerves clawing their way up my throat, shutting down the crippling anxiety I haven’t felt since the first time he’d stripped me bare.

I do my best to pretend he doesn’t exist when I shove my shorts down my hips and they pool around my feet. A sharp intake of breath catches my attention, but I resist the urge to turn around. Opening the top drawer, I riffle through the mess until I find what I’m looking for.

It might’ve been confusing to Cortland to see what I have in my hand, but he doesn’t comment.

There’s a level of intimacy having someone watching you get dressed, differently than if you were undressing for or in front of them.

It’s such a mundane task, one you don’t even really think about when doing it, but this was different.

Having Cortland sit there in my bedroom, in my chair, watching me as I get ready is a sweet torture I wasn’t prepared for.

Maybe it’s because he is seeing me for the first time since I’d transitioned, or maybe it’s because I am doing this knowing he was dying to touch me but can’t, and now he was the one having to endure for me rather than the other way around.

Without thinking much of it, I bend over and slip each leg through the black thong. The tight fabric snaps against the skin of my hips once I finish adjusting the material, and I hear Cortland clear his throat, and I can’t help smiling to myself.

A calloused hand curls around my hip, squeezing until it’s just this side of painful.

He pulls my hips into him until my ass meets his groin.

We both groan when his cock splits my crease and he grinds into me, adding more pressure this time until I feel the roughness of his jeans scrap against my tender flesh like he’s trying to brand himself on me.

“Don’t ever walk away from me again, peach.” He snarls, his teeth nipping at the nape of my neck.