The Bishop Brothers

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12 | Charade

Terrence

As soon as we’re inside Blythe rips herself from my grip. She takes off her shoes and begins making her way straight ahead to our bedroom. I walk into the living room without taking off mine.

“Hey,” I call out to her. “You can think all you want that you have it bad out here but, Sunshine, believe me when I say it could be a lot worse for you.”

She makes no notion that she hears me, about to enter into the bedroom. I say something that stops her dead in her tracks.

“One day you will stop resenting me and realize I did you a favour. One day you will love me back. Mark my words.”

She stops, standing straight as an arrow before turning around to face me. She crosses her arms over her chest. Her eyes are bloodshot with tears. I can tell she just wants to break down, to scream and shout, to just be alone. But she cannot resist my bait to enter into conversation.

“A favour," she repeats, voice thick with sarcasm. “Pray tell how you did me a favour.”

“I can take care of you. I can treat you well if you will just allow me. I can get you anything you want. I will love you more than any man ever could. You will never have to work. I can give you a good, stable life.”

“Oh yeah?” her eyebrows raise with humor. ”Stable, you say? What is it you do for a living? Last time I checked you were afraid to tell me which, consequently, tells me your line of work likely does not make for a stable life. It seems like you have some skeletons in your closet that could disrupt it.”

“Hey, I—” I try to intervene, but she keeps going.

“Furthermore, need I remind you that you are my sisters ex-husband? Did you suddenly forget that her and I are related? I certainly didn’t. There is nothing tantalizing about what you have to offer me. You kidnapped me and brought me here. Did you forget that too? I certainly did not. I think you and your brothers lives are far from stable. I think the lot of you are dangerous. I do not see any ending with you a good one. And you will take me down with you. I know it. I know you will. Unless I am able to get away from you.”

My jaw clenches.

“Be careful before treading any further, Sunshine.”

Defiantly she takes a step forward.

“I hate you,” she says in a sweet, disarming voice. “I’ve hated you since you hurt my sister and nothing will ever change that. You may as well stop trying, Terrence, because every ounce of effort you put into trying to earn my trust holds no weight with me. I will die with hatred in my heart for you.”

I stare at her for the longest time. Her chest is heaving with rage, eyes burning with the hatred she voices. I smile, looking down at the ground, before looking up at her again. My fists clench, which is an action she doesn’t fail to notice, and suddenly the anger in her eyes is replaced with fear. Only now does she realize the impact of her words, and her remorse is clear.

I start striding towards her and she takes a step back before jumping to the side. She runs to the kitchen counter, cornering herself, clearly searching for a knife block. I was already a step ahead of her, knowing she wouldn’t be able to resist pulling a knife on me for too long. Her eyes are wide with terror as she starts looking around for something to defend herself with as I edge closer and closer to her. I’m surprised she doesn’t bellow for Spencer.

In her panic she opens the first drawer she can, finding cutlery but no knives. They’re in a drawer, alright, but it’s locked so she cannot get into it. Only I have the key. She gets down to the last drawer, which is the one that is locked, and knows she cannot open up the only chance she has to kill me. She stands, facing me fully, before opening a cupboard. She grabs the first dish she can get her hands on, which happens to be a plate, which she frisbees at my face.

I block it with my arm and it falls to the ground, shattering. Another plate flies at me and hits me in the stomach, catching me off guard as I lower my arm. Another plate flies at my face. She’s throwing dishes like baseballs. I take a step back as they hit me and smash on the floor. I start walking around the other side of the island but dishes follow me, Blythe far from missing a beat.

I grab a cutting board and use it as a shield against her. As I get nearer to her she opens the top drawer again and takes a serrated butter knife, receding from her corner.

“You think that’s going to hold me off?” I laugh cruelly. “You will need some heavier artillery, Sunshine.”

She backs up, glancing over her shoulder to avoid stepping in the glass. She holds the knife close to her body so I can’t grab it from her. Tears fall freely from her eyes. She wants to go back to hating me in silence but is in too deep in this charade. She is afraid I will hurt her.

I set the cutting board on the counter. She walks backward on her tiptoes, careful to avoid the ceramic shards that pepper the floor. I take this moment to advance, grateful I kept my shoes on. The glass crunches beneath my soles as I near her.

Instinctively she sets her feet flat on the ground, and instead of moving any further she freezes, knowing she risks getting a piece of plate in her foot. I assume she realizes she is powerless. But once we’re within arms reach, she makes a move I did not anticipate.

She slashes the knife in the air like a maniac, nearly slicing me across the stomach. Although it is a butter knife she yields, she swings it like a sword. She could manage some damage if I get close enough. I can’t grab her. I take a step back, allowing her to take the reins of the situation. I know I will get them back soon enough. I need to give her the false sense of having an advantage over me.

I step back and she keep slashing the air as she looks around her to figure out the best place to step. She is careful as she backpedals before taking a large step out of the puddle of glass. She keeps an eye on me as I walk around the island to confront her. Her hands and legs shake, and I realize the only thing keeping her standing is pure adrenaline.

She backs up until she hits the hallway wall. She looks both ways, thinking of where it’d be best to go, and makes a grab at Spencer’s door. She twists the handle and finds it locked, springing back in horror. That’s right. Not even Spencer can protect you now.

She replaces her position against the wall as I close in. She keeps the butter knife close to her body but does not slash at me. More tears fall from her eyes and drip down her cheeks. She thinks I want to hurt her. I don’t. I don’t care what she does as long as she does it under my roof.

“Just drop it, Blythe,” I say, exasperated. “I’m not going to retaliate.”

She shakes her head slowly.

“I just want to go home,” she whispers. “I want things to go back to normal.”

I take more steps toward her and she stands up straighter, keeping the knife pointed at me. Her chin tips with indignation before she simply allows the knife to drop from her hand. She knows all her efforts to fend me off are useless. As soon as the knife hits the ground she starts walking to our bedroom.

I follow her as she attempts to close the door behind her, sticking my foot in so she is unable to. Her eyes widen as she looks up at me, facing me completely and holding her hands up in surrender. I open the door and walk in, then slam it shut behind me. Blythe winces, beginning to retreat slowly.

She hits the bed and falls onto it, lifting up her legs as she crawls backwards. I pounce, grabbing her ankle and pulling her so she lies in the middle. She gasps, holding out her arms in front of her. I grab her by the wrists and pin them by her head, hovering over her as I kneel in between her legs. She closes her eyes and gives me the side of her face.

“Look at me,” I urge gently. She rubs her lips together, clenching her eyes shut even tighter. I lose my patience, demanding her in a growl to, ”Look at me.”

She shakes her head. Instead of arguing, I collect her wrists in one hand and grab her jaw with the other. I make her face me. She shrieks, digging her nails into her palms as she raises her legs. Her face is red from crying.

“Open your eyes.”

The tone of my voice must frighten her because she does what I say immediately. I stare down at her, speechless, unable to think of anything to say. The vulnerable appearance of her is doing all sorts of things to me. My cock hardens against the inside of her thigh, making her squirm.

“I am so afraid of you,” she breathes honestly. “I cannot love a person who makes me afraid like you do.”

“You don’t have to be afraid of me,” I say, releasing her wrists to wipe her tears away with my thumbs. I place my hands on either side of her head. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid of what you could do to me,” she corrects. “I’m afraid of never being able to get away from you.”

“Your fear is valid,” I smile. “I don’t plan on letting you get too far from me.”

She sighs and I grab her around the waist as I sit up, making it so that she straddles me. She gasps at the position, unreceptive, but I don’t give her much of an option as I wrap my arms around her to lock her in place. She stares at me with watering eyes, rosy cheeks and messy hair.

“I’m sorry,” I rush out in a whisper. “You are just so beautiful. I can’t help myself.”

And so I kiss her. She doesn’t protest against me and instead relaxes, probably from exhaustion, but her lips are not pursed. I try to deepen our kiss, succeeding, and before I realize it she is kissing me back. I fist her hair as she responds to me, overcome with desire, unable to resist tasting the forbidden fruit.

I dart my tongue in her mouth and she lets me, moaning perhaps unintentionally. I know her emotions are high right now. This likely means nothing to her. But I couldn’t care less. It means something to me.

I stand on my knees and Blythe wraps her thin arms around me as I drop her onto the bed, her golden hair splaying everywhere. Once she’s laying down she removes her arms from me and I continue kissing her. I can’t help the way my hips move against her as I picture her naked underneath me with my cock inside her, taking her over, making her scream my name—making her realize when I say she’s mine I fucking mean it.

She moans again, her pelvis responding to mine for a brief second before stopping. I take her hair and pull her head back, careful to not hurt her, and reveal her neck to me. I kiss it aggressively, being sure to leave my marks on her perfect skin, encouraged by the soft sounds emitting from her mouth. As much as she hates me, she is just as turned on by me.

I move down to kiss her collarbones and the exposed parts of her chest, one hand kneading her waist and hips as the other remains tangled in her hair. I watch her face, the slight smile that tilts her full lips—not enough to reveal her teeth, but enough to let me know she is enjoying herself. I know she will only hate me more after this encounter.

I pull down her shirt and kiss the swell of her breasts but decide not to go any further despite knowing in this moment she does not want to stop me. I make my way back up her chest, kissing her jaw before planting myself on her lips one final time. I kiss her hard, with angst and desire, my cock hardening even more. One day I will be able to go further without any reason to stop. But that day is not today. I have gone too far already.

I pull away and she opens her eyes, confused and shocked, only now realizing what has transpired between us. Her brows furrow as she touches a finger to her red, swollen lips. She is no longer crying, just disoriented.

I smooth stray strands of hair from her face, looking at her fondly. I press a kiss to her forehead but it makes her jerk away from me. I know it is time for me to leave. I have overstayed my welcome.

I get off the bed and Blythe sits up, wiping her lips with the knuckle of one of her fingers. She smooths her disheveled hair, unable to look at me. I stare at her, taking her in, before briskly exiting the room. She will need time to wrap her head around everything. I will give it to her.

When I leave the room, I see Spencer standing outside of his door, peeking around the corner at the mess Blythe has made. He notices me, then peeks past me at Blythe, which prompts me to shut the door before he can afford a better look.

He glances at my lips, seeing how swollen they are. His face goes dark when he realizes that her and I have been intimate. Without uttering a word to me he slams his own door, locks it, and goes back downstairs.

Both lions want the lamb.

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