Page 21 of Westin

“No,” I say firmly.

“I don’t take the pill.”

“I’ll pull out,” I say.

“Maybe you could use a condom?” she says, glancing sideways. I can tell she’s not used to conversations like this—she’s glowing pink.

I shake my head. “No, I’ll pull out.”

She starts biting her thumbnail. I rub my palm over her bare thigh in slow circles. After a while, she takes that hand and twines her fingers through it, and as we drive, some of the tenseness ebbs from her body.

We pull up the drive, and I park behind the trees, even though no one is home. She lets me lift her out of the truck, and I stay a few steps behind her, watching her short skirt twitch as she walks.

And I toy with the idea of not pulling out.

CHAPTER SEVEN

DIANE

My heart is jumping out of my chest.

His hand is big and rough around mine as I lock the front door and lead him down the hallway. I swear, I’ve soaked through my panties.

I didn’t have a sip of whiskey at the creek, but I feel so fucking drunk—drunk off his kisses, off his mouth on my neck.

His hand on my pussy was the most intoxicating thing I've ever felt, and down between my thighs thumps a raw, hungry heartbeat.

It’s wild, so strong that it feels like a primal urge I don’t quite understand.

And I need to satisfy it.

His hand lingers on my lower back, guiding me as if I don’t know my own stairs. It feels good; I want him to take control. I don’t want to have to do anything but lie back and let him show me what he can do.

I let him into my bedroom and push down the hook and eye lock. Slowly, I turn to find he’s looking at me like he’s starving.

Bright, watchful hunger.

My stomach swoops. This room has been my only safe space since Nana left. Nobody comes up here but me, and now he’s standing bymy metal framed bed, larger than life. It’s making my heart jump up my throat.

He’s a lot of unknowns, but I like the edge that gives him. I like his bright, hazel eyes, his short beard, and his chestnut hair. I like that he’s all hard muscle and scars and tanned skin. I like that he smells good, like fresh laundry on the line.

There’s also another side to him I can’t ignore.

It’s the dark side I haven’t tasted yet, the flicker of something rough in his gaze.Hunger. Maybe he can’t control it. It’s the way his voice drops deep in his chest and the gravel that comes out when he wants me.

It makes my toes curl in my boots.

My mouth is dry; it’s sinking in that I’m at a pivotal point in my life. I’ll always look back and remember today was the day, that he was the first man to fuck me.

It’s not who I expected at all. I never expected to hope he’d be the last, either.

His belt clinks. He’s taking off his gun and hanging the holster on the bedpost. Our eyes lock, and he guides me to sit, my heart picking up when he kneels at my feet.

His throat bobs, the space between his collarbones flushed. A trickle of sweat catches in the dark hair on his chest.

He tugs my boots and socks off and sets them aside. Then, without any hesitation, he puts his hands up under my dress and slips my panties down, peeling the wet fabric right off.

It happens so fast. His hands move quickly. Then, he’s got my pink and white panties in his calloused palm.

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