Page 70 of The Summer I Destroyed You

“Well, well, well,” she begins. “Looks like somebody didn’t mean—”

My fingers tighten. “Can we not?”

She hesitates, her smug grin slowly fading. “Can we not what?”

“None of your jokes about how this is meaningless, okay? I know you’re leaving. But just this once…I want to feel like something you’re not going to forget.”

She studies my face and I watch hers, as it goes from surprise to wariness and then something softer. “Okay,” she whispers.

I grab her hand and turn toward the house. She comes, but reluctantly. I can feel her skittishness as if it’s my own. This is different for us, and she wants no part of it.

When we get inside, I turn toward her. My hand rests on her jaw, and she swallows.

There’s something fragile in it, in her. She’s smart as hell, and tough, but somewhere in her, there’s a girl, too. One who was wounded badly, once upon a time, and is determined not to be wounded again.

My mouth finds hers, my hand moving down to her hip, to the small of her back. She reaches for my belt…always rushing, always wanting to bypass the parts of this that are intimate, that make her feel vulnerable.

I lay my hand over hers to stop her, and she clicks her tongue in disapproval. She’d prefer a quick fuck against the wall, after which she’d demand I return her to her car.

One of many reasons I’m not leaving this up to her.

“Come on.” I slide my fingers through hers and pull her back to the bedroom, then slowly lift her tank and pull it over her head. My palms glide over her shoulders, down to her ribs. I cup a breast in each palm, letting my thumbs skid across those peaked nipples visible beneath the lace.

I almost miss her quiet intake of breath, the barely visible shiver in response.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re being like this?” she asks.

“Since when are you eager to talk?” I reply, unzipping her skirt and letting it fall to the floor. That silences her. I figured it would.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, in nothing but a bra and panties and those fucking heels, watching as I pull off my shirt. She’s incandescent in the dim light, all legs and curves and uncertainty.

I’m still only half undressed, but I’m too impatient to wait another minute. I push her back to the mattress with my lips first on her neck, then tugging at her nipples as I work to get the bra away. My mouth runs over her stomach and presses between her thighs.

She’s soaking wet, and as much as I’d like to take my time with this, tonight I’m not. I climb up the bed, pushing the boxers down before thrusting inside her. She gasps in surprise.

“Too much?” I whisper, wincing with pleasure.

“No,” she says. “God, that was so hot. I wasn’t expecting it.” I slide in and out slowly, wanting to savor this. Wanting to pretend we are in some parallel universe where having her in my bed, all flushed and hazy-eyed, isn’t a one-off but something that happens every night, and that will continue to happen every night for the rest of my fucking life.

Her nails dig into my ass, silently pleading with me to move, and when I do it, her hips arch to meet mine because it’s still not enough.

I’m pretty sure I know what she wants, but it’s time she started using her words. It’s time she admits that she likes me. It’s time she admits that we aren’t simply hooking up, but barring all that, she can, at the very least, tell me she wants me to fuck her harder.

“Tell me, princess,” I say against her ear. “I want to hear you ask for what you want.”

“Harder,” she says.

I laugh. “Sentence form, Miss Hughes.”

“Fuck you,” she says, arching again, trying to get there on her own.

I pull out, hovering above her, pressing my lips to her damp hairline. “Look at me, Em,” I demand. “Tell me what you want.”

She swallows, her cheeks flushing prettily. “Fuck me harder,” she says.

I pull one thigh over my shoulder and slam inside her.

“Again,” she says. Her eyes are closed, long lashes grazing her cheeks, lush mouth ajar.

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