Page 23 of What's Left of Us

The way her body responds to every little thing I do to it. Her sensitivity drives me up a wall, and before long, I’m so painfully hard that my cock is practically begging for relief. So, I give it what it wants.

It takes seconds to discard my clothes as I guide Georgia to the couch, guiding her on her hands and knees on the cushions and stuffing two pillows under her stomach so she’s ass up in the air. And damn, is it a great fucking view.

Humming, I cup her and lean down, biting one of the cheeks. “If we had more time, this ass would be mine. You’d be begging me to fill it.”

Her eyes quickly bolt over her shoulder, panic widening the bourbon-colored orbs.

Chuckling, I caress the red spot I left with my teeth. “Don’t worry. We’ll save that for another night. I want to make sure you’re good and ready for me when I claim your ass. Until then, your pussy is mine.”

Cementing the statement, I line myself up behind her and fill her in one fluid motion until I’m seated in the tightest, hottest heaven that I’ve ever felt before.

Georgia freezes, making a garbled sound muted by the couch cushion she buries her face into as I pump into her. Her hand reaches out, gripping the edge of the corduroy fabric until her knuckles turn white. At first, I think the noises she makes are hot—out of control, like she’s trying to hold them back because she’s embarrassed.

But then I look down and notice the blood.

“Did you get your…?” I stop myself when I see the smear of red on her thighs, then realize how tense she is. I’ve seen it before, in high school, when inexperience was something I shared with my first girlfriend. “Georgia…”

Very gently, as gently as possible, I pull out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, staring down at the blood caked on my dick. Helping her turn onto her back on the cushions, I see the vulnerability in her glassy eyes that wasn’t there before.

She swallows, experimentally moving and wincing at the pain I created between her thighs moments ago. She closes her eyes, squeezing the lids once before opening them to meet mine. The fresh glaze of tears kills me. “Because in the family I was raised, virtue is everything.”

I study her face, swiping at a fallen tear as it rolls down her cheek with the pad of my thumb. “What does that mean?”

It’s my job to read people; I never would have guessed that she hadn’t done this before. She came to the bar with a purpose. Gave me that look—thetake me homelook that instantly hardened my dick. Hell, she was wearing matching panties.

She lets out a quiet breath and wraps her bare legs around my waist, pulling me back down to her. “It means I’mfree.”

She leans up and pauses only a moment before she kisses me, using the heels of her feet to push me back in, where I’m already nudging at her entrance. I can feel her lock up, her body flinching as she arches up to allow me in deeper, past the pain from the first time.

“Are you sure?” I ask against her lips.

She loosens a small breath before nodding, experimentally bringing her lips back to mine and exploring my mouth.

The invitation is all I need, though my movements are far more calculated this time. My kisses become gentler, coaxing her to relax as my hand finds its way back between her thighs to toy with her nerves and loosen her up. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

Her little gasp as I tweak her clit is the response that stirs something primal inside me, and I spend the next hour making sure her body is sated before burying myself inside her fully again, letting her search and explore and feel comfortable with every position I put her in throughout the sleepless night.

It means I’m free.

I fall asleep thinking about those words.

When I wake up to my phone going off well after the sun has risen, I feel the cold sheets beside me and call out to her groggily.

I sit up and look around and realize I’m alone.

The only thing left of her is the scent on my pillows and the blood droplets on my sheets.

CHAPTER SIX

Lincoln / Present

The crinkle ofthe paper on the examination room table fills the silence of the small room as heavy footsteps and light laughter fill the other side of the door. Shifting for what seems the third time since I was brought in here, I lift my watch and sigh when I realize only five minutes have passed since the bright-eyed nurse, who I’m fairly certain was hitting on me, told me the doctor would be in soon.

Knee bouncing, I try convincing myself not to get pissed. Doctor Lucero is usually on time, so today is an oddity. He knows I don’t like being kept waiting and have better shit to do than sit here in a cold-ass room that smells like cleaner and bad news.

I hate the doctor’s office. Hate the hospital worse. Nothing good ever happens here. You go in, pay money for somebody to either tell you that you’re fine, dying, or somewhere in between, and then get sent on your way after waiting for what seems like forever. If hell exists, mine would look like this.

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