Page 55 of Memories of Us

Demanding fingers dove into the depths of my hair at the first lick of my tongue from base to tip.

“Fuck,” he breathed. Those fingers tightened against my scalp at my soft hum of agreement.

My ass was in the air as Brenton shoved the thick denim to bunch at my waist. The sting of elastic stretched to its max against my skin lasted a few seconds before it snapped under the pressure. I groaned around him and shifted my angle to take him deeper with each dip of my head.

Fuck, that was hot. Never had my underwear ripped off my body before. Never had someone need me with that much intensity.

The first smack across my bare ass caught me by surprise, but the second I leaned into, silently asking for more. His hot palm skimmed down between both cheeks and dove between my legs to slide two fingers inside.

One hand still in my hair, he held me close as he shifted his hips off the seat.

“Fuck, yes. Damn your perfect mouth,” he groaned as he thrust faster. Each tilt of his hips was more demanding than the previous. In rhythm with his thrusts, his fingers pushed into me. We urged the other for more, desperate for release.

A quick twist of his fingers pressed my sensitive spot, shooting me over the edge. My moans and gasps triggered his own with a loud curse.

Fog covered the windows and our heavy pants echoed in the cab as we came down from the high. “You'll be impossible to let go, Beks,” he said into my hair after pulling me against his heaving chest.

As much as I didn't want it to, his words sparked a ray of hope in my heart.

Maybe this time he wouldn't leave after all.

**

AS WE MADE OUR WAYthrough the parking lot of Dos Amigos, the stiff denim skirt brushed against my sensitive ass cheeks, still stinging from Brenton’s rough slap. Music blared from inside the doors as a local band played on a small stage. With Brenton’s hand pressing against my lower back, we weaved through the crowd toward the bar.

A clearly frustrated Ryder stepped in front of us, blocking our path before she gripped my arm, yanking me toward the bathroom.

I glanced back at Brenton, who also looked confused, and shrugged. Whatever she wanted to talk about was urgent. Maybe she and Kyle got into a fight on the way over and needed a quick venting session.

Once inside the bathroom, Ryder leaned a hip against the sink and gave a knowing glare. “You reek of sex. Did you fuck him in the truck?”

All the other murmurs in the small space paused, and ten sets of eyes turned to me.

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “Not technically.” Shit, she was mad.

“Girl,” Ryder admonished. Pulling her disapproving gaze from me, she focused on the chipped mirror to touch up her lipstick. “You better know what you're doing. Because from my perspective, you're an idiot woman who's letting that hottie out there play you like a fiddle. Again.”

“And so what if I am?” I tossed my hands in the air before running them through my hair in frustration. “What does it matter if I like being around him again, or like the way he makes me feel? I'm just as confused as you, believe me. I'm still in love with the man who left me, but Ryder, that wasn't him. He's a good man, and an even better one now. What he did was terrible, and I should hate him, but guess what? I've hated him for years and it hasn't gotten me anywhere. And you know what else? It feels damn good to be wanted by someone again, to have that connection. So yeah, maybe I'm getting carried away, but I'm thirty fucking years old, not seventeen.”

“Don't be mad at me for saying out loud what you already know,” she deadpanned.

“What, that he's a good man who made a mistake?” I gritted out.

“That he's a Graves, and the moment you're not useful anymore, he will toss you aside. Again.”

“He might not! Tonight he said—”

“Oh, you should believe what a guy says after you let him fuck your mouth.”

“Stop it,” I yelled and turned for the door. “You don't get it. And I might not understand it either, but I'm not going to let that stop me from trying to be happy. Even if it's just for a few days.”

The door slammed against the wall when I shoved through it and stepped into the growing crowd. Glancing around for Brenton, I came up empty.

Where in the hell is he?

Damn, I need a drink.

A few cute cowboys tugged at my arm to detour my pursuit, but I shrugged each one off. At the bar, I hopped onto an open barstool, not giving two shits where Kyle and Brenton—or Ryder, for that matter—were.

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