Page 24 of Amnesty

The sound of us both gulping in oxygen filled my ears. In my pants, my cock urged me on, demanding I kiss her again. I wanted to. I wanted to strip her down right there and do wicked, wicked things to her body. Things I would secretly laugh at when I was bagging groceries tomorrow.

Just as I was centimeters from her mouth, I groaned and pulled away.

“Eddie?”

“You have the power to tempt a saint.”

“Are you a saint?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, baby. Far from it.”

“So…” She picked at the hem of my shirt.

I groaned. My knees actually trembled with need. “So the windows in here need some blinds.”

“Think anyone’s out there?” she whispered, still playing with the hem.

“I really don’t fucking care,” I spat. “Fuck,” I muttered. “But I sure as hell would tomorrow if someone was talking about how they saw you sprawled across the counter while I made you my dinner.”

“That’s quite a picture you paint,” she said, enticing me with her conspiratorial smile.

“You’re testing my patience.” I warned.

She leaned forward. “Good.”

I dropped my forehead onto hers and groaned. Cupping her face in my palms, I focused on getting her alone. “How about we take this somewhere with less windows?”

She nodded.

Grasping her by the waist, I helped her onto the floor. “Go lock up the drawer. I’ll be right there.” I fished the keys out of my jeans and handed them over.

She went one way and I went the other, practically jogging back to the coolers. I went to the section I wanted, yanked open the door, and plucked out a bottle of white wine. Carrying it by the neck, I backtracked to the aisle with plastic cups and grabbed a sleeve, tucking them beneath my arm.

Am was just finishing up in the back room when I stepped through the door. She saw the wine and cups, a smile transforming her face.

“You’re mine tonight, Am,” I growled.

“I’m yours every night.”

Well, that made me feel pretty cocky. I liked the feeling.

“C’mon.” I urged, wrapping my free hand around hers and pulling her along, out the back door. My truck was parked out back tonight, and the second I stepped outside, the large spotlight flicked on, flooding the entire area with artificial light.

“Walk by the water?” I asked, noting the way her gaze went straight toward the shoreline.

She nodded, smiling because I’d read her mind.

Instead of heading down toward the water, I yanked open the passenger door on the truck. “At home. It’s more private there.”

Instead of parking in my usual spot beside the house, I kept going, driving right past the place, across the yard, and down toward the water.

Amnesia laughed. “What are you doing?”

“What’s the good in having a truck if you can’t use it?” I grinned.

I parked so the bed faced the shoreline and the front end pointed to the house. Once the engine shut off and the headlights darkened, no longer illuminating the grass, I grabbed the wine and the cups, motioning for Am to follow.

We met at the back of the truck. The tailgate made a groaning sound as I lowered it. Using my teeth to rip open the pack of cups, I pulled out two and threw the rest into the back, where they disappeared in the dark.

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