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His eyes dart up, panic flaring across them.

“I saw you,” I whimper as he pounds into me in a way that’s both raw and possessive. “In the garage.”

His fingers clench around my thighs, his pace slowing, his nostrils flaring. Is that vulnerability or just a trick of the light slipping through the shades?

“Did you like it? Watching?”

“Yes,” I admit in a groan, growing all the wetter at the memory.

His eyes remain locked with mine and something carnal replaces the control once there. Jim drives into me over and over, the sound of slapping bodies and wild moans filling the room, and I bask in the sharp satisfaction of pushing him over the edge.

I want him to go harder, deeper. I want him so deep inside of me the sensation takes away everything else. I want to forget. I want to forget Santoro, I want to forget the fire, and my dad.

Most of all, I want to forget the fear.

He’s close, his shaft growing thicker inside me. My inner muscles quiver around him. I clutch his waist with my knees and dig my heels into the back of his thighs, praying he hears my body’s plea to consume me.

His thrusts grow more erratic and desperate. I brush my lips against his ear hoping the words I’m about to speak will cause him to lose complete control. “I know you heard me that day in my room. I was replaying the way you fucked your fist, your shaft growing thicker and harder until you came all over the garage floor to the girls on the video.”

The admission causes my orgasm to roll up through my body, warm and all-consuming. I shudder and whimper as Jim continues thrusting into me, drawing the orgasm out longer. I cry out, the pleasure too much as I buck beneath him.

He thrusts deeply one last time, thighs and arms trembling. “You. I came to you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Jim

Was it worthbreaking the one rule I set for myself?

The question plays in my mind as I lay in bed, arm thrown across my forehead and sheets draped low over my hips, after waking up in a cold sweat and reaching out in the middle of the night from the nightmares, my heart sinking when my hand finds nothing but empty space. Taya was so elegant and supportive at the party. And absolutely breathtaking. I would’ve kissed her on the dance floor if Redding hadn’t interrupted. And God, when we did kiss, then being inside of her... I want to break that rule over and over again. When I think about how hard she made me come...

I clench my fingers in my hair, only now remembering my fault. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I hadn’t pulled out. At the time, grabbing a condom hadn’t occurred to me and neither had pulling free before my orgasm rocked through me.

Shit.

I need to apologize before she leaves in the morning. Would she accept it? Doesn’t matter. I should’ve been more responsible, more in control. God, why do I keep screwing up?

Swinging my legs out of bed, I get to my feet and make my way from the room. We need to talk, and it may as well be now. And my sexual fuck-up isn’t the only thing I want to discuss. I still want a truthful answer and I won’t be able to sleep without knowing if she’s okay.

The house is colder than usual. I check every door and window as I walk down the hall. I check them a second and third time, only to return and check them again. Something’s off—something I can’t put my finger on.

I reach her door and suck in a deep breath, then tap my knuckles against the door. No reply. My muscles twitch, every nerve firing. I need to hear her voice. I knock a little harder this time.

Maybe she’s ignoring me.

Or in a deep sleep. I’m sure playing to the crowd all night tired her out. Ah, hell. If she sleeps in and misses meeting up with her friend, she’ll blame me for sure. Pressing my ear to the door, I listen for signs of movement as I knock again.

Nothing.

Pushing open the door, I flick on the light and my lungs seize. The room is empty, the blankets pulled neatly beneath each pillow. My feet carry me into the room. I know I promised not to enter, but I need to know she didn’t bail on me.

I scan the rest of the room. Her books are still on the shelves, the teddy bear on the floor next to the bed. I walk over to her closet and throw open the door. Her clothes are still here. I take in a deep breath as my shoulders slump. She hasn’t left me.

Even so, I should’ve come to apologize sooner. But beyond that, where the hell is she at two in the morning? She wasn’t supposed to head out for another couple of hours.

I leave her room and head downstairs to the garage, light-footed and tense. I don’t recall hearing the rumble of her bike’s muffler. Damn thing is so loud, it’d wake the neighborhood. Not to mention riding a bike exhausted is more dangerous than being behind the wheel in a car.

Of course, her bike is gone.

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