Page 95 of Still Beating

I rein in a sharp breath, trying to let go of the apprehension.

This isn’t me. I’ve always been fun and flirty, unafraid of male attention. I’m social and outgoing. I’ve never shied away from dancing, or casual touches, or compliments.

“I heard about your story,” Lars says, pulling me to his barreling chest. He’s a huge man, well over six-foot, with muscles and tattoos. “You’re a fighter.”

I inch back, keeping a gap between us. “It’s been hard,” I respond, feeling his hand squeeze mine. “Sorry if I seem like a spaz. I’m still adjusting.”

“No need to apologize, kitten.”

My blood runs cold, and I glance up at him through timid lashes. Lars smiles down at me, his fingers skimming up and down my spine with sensual strokes.

Suddenly, I’m in that basement again. Earl is violating me while Dean talks me through it.

Look at me. Focus on me. It’s just you and me, Cora.

These hands on me feel strange and unfamiliar. His eyes are much too dark, his voice missing that playful edge. His skin is too rough and his hair is too long.

This is wrong. It’s all wrong.

I feel like everything is spinning, and I’m not sure if I should hold on for dear life or run away.

“You all right?” Lars asks, tipping his head back to study me.

I’m certain I’ve gone ashen, and my chest feels like it’s going to explode. “I-I can’t do this.”

“Need some water?”

I shake my head, taking hesitant steps backwards. “I think I need to go.”

I don’t wait for Lars to respond. I make a quick stop over to Lily to let her know I’m not feeling well, then I call an Uber and get the hell out of there.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing on his front stoop.

I knock four times before the door swings open and Dean is standing in front of me, tired and disheveled, with a look of utter confusion creasing his brow. “Cora? Are you okay?”

My gaze trails over him and I feel safe again. He’s only wearing sweatpants, no shirt, and his hair is tousled from sleep. His eyes,his eyes, they are beautifully blue like a summer sky, and his hands are perfect and soft and reaching for me. “Dean…” I whisper, and I’m not sure what it’s supposed to mean. Relief? Longing? Sadness?

Love?

Those hands graze up and down my upper arms, the worry in his face etched tight. “Are you hurt?”

I shake my head as my eyes fix on his bare torso, well-muscled and lean. Smooth to the touch, yet rough and powerful when he’s holding me, moving with me, our bodies intertwined. I glance back up to him and note the flash of desire that flickers across his face when he catches my unabashed perusal.

It’s all I need.

I place my palms against his chest, pushing him back gently until we’re both walking inside his townhouse. I kick the door shut with my heel, and then I’m all over him. Dean intakes a gasp of surprise when my hands clasp his face, pulling him to me, and my mouth collides with his. I kiss him hard, furious, full of need and want and everything inside me I’m able to give. When our tongues meet, it’s like I’m home.

Dean pulls back slightly, one hand cradling the back of my head, his fingers threading through my hair, and the other grasping my upper arm. “What are you doing?” he asks through a stunned breath.

My palms skim up the expanse of his chest, curling over his shoulders. Our eyes lock and I respond, “Being selfish.”

I don’t miss the subtle frown, the hint of perplexity, but I capture his mouth again before he can reply. I keep walking him backwards through the living room, my hands in his hair, tugging and pulling, my tongue going to war with his. His groans only make me want him more. I remove my hands from his skin to discard my coat and my shoes, then unbutton my pants, sliding my jeans and underwear down my hips and kicking them off as we continue our trek to the nearest piece of furniture.

We find the couch first.

I give him a small shove until he collapses back onto the cushions, then I crawl on top of him, straddling his thighs with my knees. My fingers hook inside his waistband and he raises his hips on instinct, allowing me to yank the sweatpants down. His erection springs free, and I take him in my hand, drowning in the sounds he makes when I stroke him up and down, swirling my thumb along the wet tip. I kiss him hard as I pump my hand.

“Fuck, Cora...” We pull back to breathe, but our lips stay connected, our teeth pressed together as his hands slide up and down my back, long fingers dipping beneath my blouse. “I missed you so much.”

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