Page 30 of Forty

My chest is heaving, but the rest of me freezes in place.

The night air is cool against my burning ass. I squeeze my cheeks together, wincing with the pain and bracing for a really nasty blow, but instead, a low groan rattles Forty’s chest. My breath catches.

Then his palm gently cups my bottom. His hand is cool, too, against my hot skin. I halfheartedly jerk my hips away, but I only end up pressing myself more firmly into his grip, and damn, that smarts! But it’s also his hand on my bare ass. Forty’s touching me, and a giddiness rises, a physical memory. Recent events notwithstanding, my stupid body vividly remembers that whenever this man touches us, we feel good.

“Your ass is really red,” Forty murmurs, his voice raspy and raw. Almost reverent.

“Yeah?” I kick my feet and get nothing but air. Forty ignores me, trailing his fingers over the swell of my ass to my bare thighs. I kick again on principle.

“Be still now.”

“Get off me.” I wriggle a little, but my heart’s not in it. I’m focused on those rough fingers, stroking down the back of one thigh then up again to cup my burning ass. A different kind of heat kindles between my legs. Oh, lord. At some point, my pussy got wet. There’s no way he can’t tell.

He smooths a rough hand over my aching hip. “You’ve got a bruise here.”

“You dropped me on the ground.”

“You did it to yourself. I would have put you down easy.”

His fingers wander higher, dancing up my spine. A shiver races ahead of his touch. At some point, I stopped fighting. I’m draped limp across his lap, and is that his cock? Oh, yeah. A hard length presses into my belly. I remember what that feels like. My pussy spasms, and I choke back a moan. With all the snot and tears, it sounds like a sob.

“Are you crying?” In an instant, Forty flips me, cradling me in his arms, pushing my hair away so he can examine my face. His brow is knitted, alarm in his eyes.

“No.” I glare at him. He doesn’t get to worry about me now, when it’s way too late and the damage is done.

He keeps searching my face, somber and intense. He used to do this whenever I tripped or cut myself or fell. Iamaccident prone. He’d poke and prod until he’d reassured himself that I wasn’t seriously hurt, and then he’d slap my ass and say, “Rub some dirt in it. You’ll be fine.”

I guess he decides I’ll be okay because he grunts and grabs the hem of his T-shirt, yanking it up to wipe my cheeks. I get an eyeful of perfectly defined abs and the edge of an ugly, puckered scar. That must be the injury that got him discharged from the Army. I squirm. The scar was bad. Really bad. Way worse than his arm.

“What’s this then?” he says, holding up his damp shirt. “Always lying, aren’t you.” Despite his words, he doesn’t sound mad anymore.

I’m gonna clap back. I search my brain for a retort, any retort, but his mouth is right there, inches from mine.

“It didn’t hurt at all,” I grumble. He’s got a five o’clock shadow, and there’s a thin white line in the divot under his nose. That’s an old scar; he had it when we met. He got it when his older brother Bullet split his lip.

“You were squealing like a stuck pig.”

“I was being dramatic. I did it all for the attention. Isn’t that how you all have me pegged?”

“Isn’t that how you are?”

“I don’t know, Forty. You know me. Is that how I am?”

We’re so close. His scruff tickles my nose. I’m on a ledge. No, I’m hanging from the end of a rope, and I’m waiting, breathless. Is he going to catch me?

He closes his dark brown eyes. Leans forward the slightest bit.

“Don’t say you don’t know me,” I murmur against his soft lips.

And he springs into action, wrapping his strong arms around me, clutching me hard against his chest, his mouth on mine, devouring me. Did I start it? Did he? Who cares? He tastes like I remember, but different, and he’s as demanding as he was when we were younger, but there’s a new hunger now that I can taste on his tongue as he delves into my mouth.

I wriggle and fight against his embrace. I want to touch. Ihave totouch.

At first, he won’t give, but then maybe he realizes I’m not going anywhere and he relaxes his arms. I raise myself up so I’m kneeling on his thighs. My jeans have been pushed to my ankles. He braces me with a sturdy forearm propped under my still-stinging ass, and I know he’s got me.

It feels so good. There’s nothing but him in the entire world. Goodbye garbage thoughts. Goodbye ever-present anxiety that I’m missing something or forgetting or fucking up or annoying.

There’s only Forty. The scent of Lava soap and leather fill my nose. My belly does a funny flippy thing, and moisture drips between my legs. My clit pokes through my pussy lips and throbs, tender and needy.

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