Page 37 of Hidden Memories

My chest tightens with a mix of emotions I can’t untangle. I don’t owe Kat anything, but the thought of her and Theo being in danger stirs something deep within me. I’ll deal with my feelings about her later. Right now, she needs help, and I’m not the kind of man to turn my back on that—not then, and not now.

Chapter Nine

THIRTEEN YEARS AGO

We’ve been meeting herefor almost two months now, any trace of winter fading into memory, replaced by the kind of green that smells like new beginnings. The air is crisp, tinged with the damp sweetness of fresh grass. The tree that once sheltered us from the cold now watches over something warmer, deeper.

Kat’s hair no longer smells of jasmine.

She’s changed her shampoo since we met.

Now, she wears the perfume I bought her. Musk and roses. Dark, but still sweet—just like her. Everytime I breathe her in, it clings to me, lingering on my clothes, my pillow, my skin.

Like she’s marking me.

And when we’re here at our tree, the one with our names carved into its trunk, it isn’t just where we meet anymore. It’s where we belong.

We still meet here more than anywhere else. We talk until the stars become constellations of dreams above us. We bring headlamps and blankets now, sometimes staying so late that I expect dawn to break before we find the strength to leave each other.

It’s still cold at night, but the heat between us keeps us warm despite being half-naked under this blanket.

I slide my hands up the smooth curve of her torso, my thumbs grazing the swell of her breasts, catching on the stiff peaks of her nipples.

A moan spills from her lips. Breathless. Wanting.

I press slow, open-mouthed kisses down her neck, tracing a path only I get to explore. When I take her nipple between my lips, she arches into me, a silent plea for more.

I answer her without words—spreading her legs wider, feeling her through the thin barrier of her panties. I’m so hard it’s painful, so desperate for her I don’t even care that I’m grinding against nothing but the fabric between us.

This shouldn’t be enough.

But it could be. Because it’s her.

My groan pours onto her skin, hungry, restless, reckless.

She laces her cold fingers through mine, arching herself so close it’s like she’s trying to fuse us together.

“Mmm. You’re fucking killing me…” she murmurs, her voice husky, dark with need.

She doesn’t know the half of it.

I grind harder, deeper, feeling the dewy heat of her eventhrough the layers between us. She moves in sync with me until I swear we’re not two people anymore, just raw sensation, just aching need. Then, she grabs my wrist, guiding my hand where she wants it.

“God, you feel good,” she hisses, lifting her hips. Offering. Begging.

I slide my thumbs under the waistband of her panties, dragging them down with slow, torturous precision.

Her bare skin greets the cool night air.

I cup one perfect breast, savoring the warmth, the weight of it in my palm. Then, I sink my teeth into the soft swell of her flesh.

She gasps.

I bite again, harder this time.

I’m starving. I can’t stop.

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t pull away. “Fuck, cowboy…” she moans.

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