Page 102 of Forget Me Not

“And what if I’m already broken?” I ask, the question ending on a moan when he sucks the pressure point beneath my ear between his teeth.

“Sometimes things have to be broken to be put back together again.”

Who is this man? I was fine. All these feelings were so carefully compacted, neatly tucked away where I didn’t have to face them. Since he’s showed up, he’s ripped their bindings open until they’re laid bare at my feet, forcing me to stumble over them, day by day until I have to deal with them.

I’m not sure if that makes him good or bad.

Either way, the fire in my chest belongs to him, even if he’ll only be here to stoke the coals for another couple weeks.

So, I lunge for him.

The first taste of his tongue on mine is all I need to drown out every warning bell ringing in my head.

I want him.

He hisses when I nip his lip, his fist tightening in my hair.

“I warned you, little bird. Monsters take and I’m as dirty as the rest of them.”

“Please,” I whimper when his fingers slip my panties to the side and slide through my folds. The pressure . . . “I want you.”

A growl slips free from his chest and he pulls my lips back to his, feasting on my mouth like a man starved. Carefully, he presses me down into the wet grass, not bothering to carry me inside. His finger slips inside me, drawing a strangled gasp from my throat. I reach between us, struggling with the button on his jeans, so he quickly flips them open and leans back so I can fist his cock and pull him out.

He shoves my hand off and takes my hips, aligning himself at my entrance. Then, in one full l thrust, he fills me, bottoming out inside me and making me gasp from the pain of taking him so deep, all at once.

“Fuck, Nova,” he grits, rolling his hips into me as the rain continues to pelt us. Water slips down my clit, colder than anything I’ve ever felt, but I don’t care. With the fire burning through my veins, it’s like a welcome balm, cooling my skin just enough so I don’t go crazy.

“Reid,” I gasp, back arching to allow him to slip further in.

He doesn’t give me time to adjust before he’s pulling me forward on his cock, over and over until I’m sure there will be a permanent print of my ass in the ground outside the Whitaker house.

We tear into each other. Biting, kissing, sucking. My nails rake down his back, gripping his shirt and holding on as he fucks me into oblivion.

It’s rough, impatient, animalistic in need, and the pleasure is almost more than I can take, but still, I beg for more.

Maybe he’s finally broken me. Maybe this is what it feels like to be truly shattered.

He fucks me until he’s branded on my skin, powering into me until my body tightens around his and I’m so lost in him, it would take an exorcism to drag me back from the depths of this hell.

All it takes for the orgasm to rip through me is a couple rolls of his thumb on my clit. My eyes roll back in my head, my back arching off the cold ground and a cry tears from my lips, filling the clearing with the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard.

Reid thrusts into me, spilling inside me on a hoarse shout as he fucks me into the earth beneath us. Distantly, I’m aware we didn’t use a condom, but the part of my brain that forms rational thoughts checked out the moment we stepped into this clearing.

Thank God, for birth control because, let’s be honest, I’m thinking way too many inappropriate things about my summer hookup to be trusted right now.

As soon as Reid can move, he’s slipping out of me and wrapping his arms underneath me to carry me toward the house.

“Where are you taking me?” I breathe, shivering now that I’m not on the verge of losing my mind in a sex-crazed daze.

“Little bird . . .” he rumbles, voice still husky and full of heat. “I’m far from finished with you.”

I used to come to the old Whitaker house a lot when I first moved to the island. Out here, I could listen to the sounds of the water without having to go near it. Without having to smell fish or see people I know. Without having to think.

I could just be Nova. Alone. Like I was the only person in the world.

Now, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world.

Reid’s fingertips are gentle like butterflies, dancing over my skin as he slips the dripping dress over my head in what was once the formal living room and is now our hideaway. I’ll admit, it could be better, but somehow the mattress decorated in throw pillows and old furry blankets I found at the cottage suits him more than a California King bed and pressed sheets.

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