Page 56 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Let her go,” Chris grumbles. Always my hero. Always with half of my heart. “They’re fine.”

I shove the gate open and step into the alleyway out back, where deliveries come during the day, not only for the bar but the bakery a few doors down and the newsagents after that. There are no streetlights out here, andthe moon isn’t bright enough to illuminate my path more than five feet ahead.

Fresh, cool air hits my face, almost as nice as the cold lake water, but tequila still rushes through my veins like tiny ants marching to battle. It makes my blood run hotter, and my stomach rolls nauseatingly. My heart pounds faster every minute I wander alone. Darkness is my old enemy, haunting my memories and reminding me what happens to girls when no one is around to save her.

Nerves strip away a layer of my tequila bravery, but when I come to the end of the block and consider strolling onto the road, a dangerous arm swings around, a broad, firm hand sliding into my hair and holding on.

But there’s no time for panic. No room for fear.

Because I smell him, even before he pulls me into the shadows beneath the awning of the mechanic next door. I cry for him, even as he crushes me against his chest.

“Had, Alana? Orhave?” He drags me to the tips of my toes and takes my lips with his, swallowing my cry of desperation and sliding his tongue over mine.

I couldn’t fight him even if I wanted to. And dammit, I don’t want to.

Instead, I drape my arms over his shoulders and float away on the magic of what we can pretend to be.

Alcohol means we get to pretend.

“Answer me.” He bites my lip, snarling when the sound that escapes my throat is one of pleasure and not pain. “Had or have?”

“Have.” I squeeze my arms and climb his broad frame, because we’re in the dark, and this isn’t real. It’s make-believe, the way I’ve fantasized for years. “I don’t get to turn it off.”

He drops the bottle so it lands on the ground with a thud and, miraculously,doesn’tbreak. Then he scoops me up and turns with fury beating in his veins, slamming me against the brick wall and stealing the oxygen from my lungs.

When that’s not enough, he pulls away and slams me a second time. Because he’s still so angry. So hurt and devastated and furious.

“You’re wet for me.” He bruises my thighs and grinds his rock-hard cock against my core. He’s not asking. Not even guessing. He’s making a statement, so we both know he knows. He slips his fingers beneath my panties and finds me exactly how he knew he would. Dripping wet and desperate. “You still want me, don’t you, Lana? Your body still wants mine, even if your mind did some seriously stupid shit.”

“Yes.” I drop my head back and whimper when he latches on to my neck. He nibbles and laves. Bites until it stings, then soothes with his tongue until I groan.

“Alana—”

“Yes, my body still wants your body. Always. It never stopped.”

“You fuck your husband and think of me?” He slides two thick fingers inside my pussy, oblivious to the fact that he’s the first to do so in ten years. Unaware that pain radiates through my core and leaves me breathless. “You ever wake up in the middle of the night hurting for me? Throbbing because you remembered what we had, knowing no one else could fuck you the way I could?”

I ride his hand, whimpering as my first release washes into his palm and drips along his wrist.

“How many times did you lie in that bed in New York and wish for me?”

“So many.” I cinch my legs tight and cry out when he tosses me over the ledge, once, twice, three times so easily. “So many times.”

“If I can’t have your heart, then I’ll take your cunt and destroy us both.” He pumps his fingers, effortlessly drawing me to another peak and growling when I fall apart in his arms. “I’d rather die wrapped in you than live any other way.”

“Shhh.” I clap my hand over his mouth to quieten his words, hissing when he bites. And though he tears his fingers free of my underwear, stealing my pleasure and risking my cry of sorrow,I know him. Even after all this time, I know what he needs.

He’s the boy who would sleep with his hand resting between my breasts and his cock nestled inside my pussy. He chose touching me over eating, more times than I can count. Over breathing, if he thought those were his only options. He chose me, no matter what else he had to give up. So he reaches between us and unsnaps the button of his jeans, just like I knew he would, then he shoves his zipper down and frees his cock… just like I knew he would.

Like Ihopedhe would.

“Yes?” He slides the tip along my wet heat, collecting my own natural lubrication. “Alana? Yes?”

“Yes.” I tug him closer and take his lips with mine, swallowing his snarl and crying when his thick head nestles at my opening. I suckle on his tongue, letting the taste of tequila spur me on, and the farce ofthis is all make-believecarry me through what I know I’ll regret tomorrow. Then Ichoke on fresh pain when he surges forward, filling me with his cock and pinning me to the wall at my back.

Because maybe we’ve done this before. And obviously, I’m no longer a virgin. But he was a boy back then, and a man now, and I’m so long out of practice, it’s like I’m brand new all over again.

He leaves me no room to adjust. No time to catch my breath. He pulls back and pistons forward, wrecking me with his savagery and holding me captive with his bruising hands. He kisses me with the desperation of a starving man, and because I’m just as needy as he is, I forget my pain and focus on pleasure instead. I ride him gratefully, squeezing my arms tighter and returning his biting kiss with one of my own.

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