Page 86 of Wildest Dreams

“Get him to the truck,” Riggs barks and Conrad is up and off the sofa before lifting Pacey like a little child, carrying him out the room when my dad and Riggs follow, and I hate that I can't go and follow. Hate that I am now left here alone with my thoughts, and like most nights, flashbacks roll of the day of Clay's funeral and how everything went down, but it all happens in slow motion. The sound of Harlow's screams, Pacey crying and the constant echoes of shooting guns.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump before looking behind me and seeing her dressed in her pretty white night dress.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you.”

“It's okay,” I whisper, letting my eyes shut for just a moment as I try and calm my racing heart. My hand reaches over hers, clasping tightly and I realise that I never want to let her go.

Not just tonight.

Forever.

“Where's everyone gone? I heard the front door slam,” she slips her hand from under mine and I miss her instantly. She walks slowly towards the decanter filled with whiskey and I let out a heavy sigh.

“Pacey stood too quickly, think he may have busted his stitches. He was bleeding, they’ve taken him to get checked out,” my lips roll and my brows pinch.

“Oh no,” worry wraps around her whispers as her beautiful blues are on me.

“Hate all of this,” I admit and let my head drop for a second.

“I know,” she hums, and I hear the sound of whiskey pouring, making me lift my head as I study her. Long wavy brown hair falling forward, button nose, full lips, crystal blue eyes that penetrate into my soul with each gaze that meets mine.

“Fuck,” I rasp, swallowing down my words. I feel like a nervous teen again, as if I am seeing her for the first time.

“What?” and I don't miss the panic that laces her voice as she stands, her small hand moving as her delicate fingers tuck a strand of loose hair behind her ear.

“You're so fucking beautiful.”

And I am winded when her cheeks turn a pretty pink, eyes casting down and lashes fanning out as if she is embarrassed by what I said.

“Don't ever shy away from me,” my hand lifts, fingers brushing along the inside of her arm.

Placing the decanter back on the table, she stands in front of me, glass resting on her bottom lip as she takes a sip of the burning amber teasingly slow.

And I am jealous.

Jealous of a glass. Jealous of whiskey. Jealous of anything that gets to be on her lips, her tongue, down her throat.

Fuck.

I feel my cock stir in my pants, my stomach knotting with want and a need to have her. She was a craving that I so desperately needed.

An addiction.

Her hazy eyes cross with mine, her chest rising and falling a little faster than before as she drains the rest of her glass. She turns her back to me, and my eyes roam down her back and land on the hem of her cotton nightie, sitting mid-thigh against her sun-kissed skin and I am desperate to run my fingertips under it, to feel her skin beneath them, to claim every inch of her as mine, tarnishing her with that word.Mine.

I watch her like I am a predator stalking his prey. Watching her every move until I can pounce. She leans slowly, reaching for the decanter giving me a tiny view as to what sits underneath. My finger runs across my bottom lip as I fantasise. Swallowing, my mouth suddenly dry as she fills her glass to the rim before she spins, hungry eyes pinned to me.

“Thirsty?” I ask as she lifts the glass to her lips and takes a large mouthful, swallowing it down and I am jealous of the silky liquid slipping down her throat, my eyes watching as her throat bobs.

She nods, pulling the glass away and licking her upper lip.

My lips twitch as I take my own mouthful and I watch as her eyes skate down to my chest, my stomach, my groin and her cheeks burn flaming red.

“What's the matter Dreamcatcher? Seen something you like?”

And I know I am teasing her, but my cock is evidently hard in my pants.

Her eyes are back on mine as she takes another mouthful of her drink.

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