Page 137 of Never Let You Go

The whole ride back, we don’t talk. Almost.

“How was your dinner?” is all I ask.

He clenches his jaw, but that’s all I get. Not even a sideward glance, not a single grunt. He called me his girlfriend, and then he dragged me out. Why isn’t he talking to me? Is he angry? And for what?

The minute we park, he jumps out of the truck and opens my door before I can unfasten my seatbelt. He makes brief eye contact that zings through my core, then takes my hand and holds it all the way inside the bakery, and up the stairs. Not angry.

Just firm.

Possessive.

Okay, then.

As he drags me past the second floor, he takes his phone out. “Hey,” he says. Going by the background noise, he’s calling Grace, and they’re still at The Growler. “She’s home safe… You guys shouldn’t hang out there alone.” Grace’s voice comes through the phone for a few beats, then he says, “She’s not my girlfriend. Tell your friends not to spread rumors. I was just getting her out of a situation.”

My heart dips at his words, but what was I expecting? And what do I want? Not to be his girlfriend.

I should be relieved.

But I’m crushed instead. Stupid.

“Close the door,” he tells me as we get to my room. He turns a side lamp on. “And take that shit off.”

Shit? What shit?

His eyes rake over my body.

Is he seriously calling my clingy green top, my favorite jeans, and my cowboy boots shit? I cross my arms, jut one boot-clad leg out to one side, and tilt my opposite hip to the other side. “What’s wrong with my outfit? That shit’s cute as hell,” I tell him with attitude.

He has the nerve—the nerve—to answer, “You didn’t wear it with me in mind.”

Oh yeah? Um, first, I was thinking about him when I was getting ready. And I know that’s not what he means but seriously? Seriously? I stomp to him. Grab his crisp white shirt and pull him to me. “And did you have me in mind when you dressed like Emerald Creek’s Most Eligible Bachelor to go to that dinner?”

He flinches. “Then take it off me,” he says softly.

My stomach clenches painfully. He doesn’t even try to deny it. He dressed for her. Jealous rage zings through me. Placing both my hands on him, I rip his shirt open, my nails grazing his chest. Buttons fly around the bedroom. I expect him to protest, but all I see in his eyes is desire.

He shucks his shirt off to the floor while I tug at his belt. Suddenly we’re undressing each other hard and furious. I kick my boots off, he pulls my jeans away, and while he grabs a condom, I take off my top and bra.

With his pants mid-thigh, he hoists me onto his hips, pushes us against the wall for purchase, and rips my thin, lacy thong off.

Then he fucks me hard. One thrust and he’s inside me. I pull at his hair, bring his head down to my neck, arch my back at his relentless pumping. His fingers dig deep in my ass as he pumps into me. “Babe… Oh fuck… Babe,” he says.

He lifts his face to mine, his breath short and hot on my face, and our mouths find each other in a hard kiss, teeth clashing, tongues demanding. He presses his body hard into me and the back of my head hits the wall. I wrap my arms tighter around his neck, fisting his hair. My orgasm is close, my thighs tightening around his hips as I ride him.

“Fuck me harder… harder,” I beg. He lifts deeper into me, one hand at my waist, the other under my ass, pistoning me.

“Alexandra, babe. Can’t ever get enough of you,” he says, and I come at his words, a deep, possessive orgasm where I look him in the eye and still can’t get enough of him either.

“I want you to come,” I say. “Please.” We’re both covered in sweat, his hair is matted, and he’s carrying all my weight, but still I want him to go the extra mile and fuck me against this wall. All. The. Way.

I want him to lose himself inside me.

He groans, his hips buck, and he grinds in and out of me at a faster rhythm, reawakening my own desire already. Then his cock throbs inside me, he stills, holds me tight against him, and comes on a low growl, his whole body consumed by a shiver, his arms tightening around me. He pumps some more, riding his own, long orgasm. By the time he comes down from it, my limbs are listless.

He steps out of his pants, and I barely have the strength to hold onto him as he carries me to bed, walking over our clothes strewn on the bedroom floor.

He sets us in bed, him partially seated against the headboard, me cradled in his arms, my knees on each side of his torso, the side of my face against his chest. For a while, he just strokes my hair gently, tipping his face to mine when I lift up to look at him, his nose grazing mine, his lips tracing the contour of my mouth, of my earlobe. Then his eyes darken. “I get that you didn’t like me going to Emma’s. I just wished you’d have told me. Spare me the trouble.”

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