Page 101 of The Love Bandits

That means she doesn’t fully believe it.

Still, my feelings are sore, and I say, “You told me you know everything.”

I go to step away, but she reaches for my shirt, grabbing fistfuls of it to keep me in place.

Her eyes boring into me in the low light, she asks, “Why?”

“I didn’t take it,” I say, my heart pounding, everything in me needing her to believe me. “I wouldn’t. Ilikedhim. He…” I search for words that will fully encompass what Dale’s offer did to me. The way he held out something precious to him and told me to take it.Me. My voice is strangled as I add, “He changed my life.”

“So why was he so sure you took it? Damien showed him a photo.”

I don’t say anything—I can’t. My need for her to believe me, to trust me, has rendered me mute. I just stare back at her.

Something flashes in her eyes. “He thought it was you, but it wasn’t.”

I don’t flinch, but I don’t tell her. I wait.

“You’re twins. You and Ryan are identical twins. He gave it to Ryan because he thought he was giving it to you.”

An old ugliness is unleashed in my gut. I couldn’t talk to Ryan after that, not for months, not until Roark called me to say he’d caught my brother trying to steal the watch back. Because I cared about Dale, and now he only remembers me as one more person who screwed him over.

“You thought the worst of me,” I say, the words coming out harsh. “Youimmediatelythought the worst of me. You’re the one person who I thought understood me. Even more than Ryan…”

She pulls on her two fistfuls of shirt. For a second, I think she’s about to slap me, but then her soft lips are pressing againstmine. Maybe this is just her way of saying goodbye, but even if it is, I can’t bring myself to say no.

I back her into an area of the wall empty of shelves, attacking her mouth, because I have a need for her that’s feverish and probably not entirely sane. Her hand slips down to my pants, my button, my zipper, and I swear into her mouth. A fucking kickball falls from the shelf next to us, jostled free, and hits me in the head, but it doesn’t stop me for more than the half a second it takes to swear.

We shouldn’t be doing this here in their house. They could come back, for one thing, for another, we’ll be leaving behind plenty of DNA, not that we intend to steal anything. But it doesn’t matter. I need her more than I need the air in my lungs and the ground at my feet. I fuckingneedher. And I need her to forgive me for the things I’m not sure I can forgive myself for.

She pushes down my pants and my underwear, her hand wrapping around me roughly. A hiss escapes me, captured by her lips, and she swallows it up, as greedy as I am.

I pull away enough to say, “I don’t have anything with me.”

“I don’t care.”

Jesus. “I can’t risk…”

She’s staring into my eyes, my dick in her hand, and I can tell from the flash of understanding in her eyes that she gets it. My mother, knocked up at seventeen. My mother, abandoning us.

She understands me. She really fucking does.

“I’m on the pill.”

I tug her hand, earning an angry sound from her, but then I get down on my knees and flip up her dress. Capturing the side of her underwear in my teeth, I pull them down, glancing up at her. Watching her watch me, her eyes wide with lust. When her panties get past her knees, they fall the rest of the way. As she steps out of them, still in her shoes, I rise back up, pausing to lick and suck, my head fully buried under the bottom of her dress.

I meant to just go in for a quick taste, but I grip her hips and go in deeper, wanting more of her, wanting to show her what I can give her. What we are together. Wanting to bury myself inside of her and stay because when we’re together I feel better than okay. I feel happy. I feel…hopeful. And when I’m tasting her and feeling her writhe against me, I’m a god among men.

Her hand weaves into my hair, keeping me in place and then pulling me up.

“I need you inside of meright now,” she says, her eyes shiny, and fuck, is she crying? I didn’t want to make her cry. I want her happy, joyful, and writhing with pleasure, but not crying.

I lift my hand, tracing through the wetness lingering on her bottom lashes.

“Right now, Jake,” she repeats.

So I do what my woman has fucking asked. I lift her up, and she wraps her legs around me as I back her into the wall.

I flip up her dress, and in seconds I’m buried deep inside of her—the relief of it nearly enough to make my eyes roll back in my head.It’s even better like this, with nothing between us. Every sensation is ten times brighter, sharper. She bites the lobe of my ear, arcing into me, encouraging me not so gently to get on with it.

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