Page 67 of The Prodigal

Our relationship seems too good to end any other way.

We met at a motel that houses maybe four guests a week. The odds of one of those patrons being a man my age with an attitude the size of Mars is slim. Not to mention, Remington is possibly the hottest man I’ve ever seen in Georgia. So, for me to actually love his warped sense of humor and share a painful childhood that only he could understand, I’d say fate is stepping in here—making our story seem too good to actually end well. This friendship is likely something else we will inevitably lose—a sacrifice we’ll have to make to be able to live through another year alone.

The weight of his body bears down against me, bringing my focus back to his sweet anger seeping through my skin and coating me from the inside out in something like contentment.

“I’m disappointed in you, love. You should know better than to analyze my words. They are nothing but a Trojan horse.” The feather-light touch of his finger runs along my spine. “They lure you in, play on your dreams, and promise you a future. But those words become lies, and those lies become promises. And just when you think you’re safe in their presence, those false promises turn into truths that stab you in the heart.” He moves my hair off my shoulder and kisses the space between my collarbones. “Beware of pretty lies, my love. They are as ruthless as the truth.”

I groan, relishing the feel of his lips on my skin and the lies he’s telling himself. “You kissed me…”

His fingers drift to the curve of my ass. “A mistake that won’t happen again.”

I smile. “I beg to differ.”

“And beg you will.” An animalistic sound rumbles through his chest right before his palm comes down and smacks my butt cheek, sending a blissful tingle throughout my center.

“Are you going to answer my phone again, love?” He’s panting, trying to maintain his mask of indifference. “Are you going to take what isn’t yours?” he asks again.

I turn, finding his eyes alight with intensity. This is the Remington I know—the one who gets off on my defiance. “Every chance I get,” I promise.

Another smack smarts my behind, and this time, I can’t suppress the moan that leaves my lips.

“You’re so brave,” he praises, massaging the tender spot with his hand. “So trusting… So determined…”

Roughly, he grips my hips and nips at my ear with his teeth. “But you will never disobey me again.” It’s not a question. “Swear it, Eden.”

“Never,” I whisper. “I will neverobeyyou, and you…you like me that way.”

The air seems to settle around us, dusting our skin with lingering lust and unspoken needs.

Love is a commodity we can’t afford.

Even if we could, we wouldn’t know how to care for it—not with the fortresses we’ve both built around ourselves. The broken are always readying for war. We are built to defend—not open the door for the slaughter.

But this feels different.

Being with Remingtonfeels different.

I’m not on guard. I’m not worried about tomorrow or the horror that awaits me in Georgia.

I’m…alive.

I’m no longer the girl in the fountain but the girl in the river.

I didn’t jump in the water for a broken necklace. This time, I was pulled under by a broken boy.

A boy drowning in his revenge.

A boy full of compassion behind the hard walls of his hatred.

A boy worth the risk of heartbreak.

Remington slowly moves down my body until I feel his breath fan across my stinging skin. “So beautiful,” he murmurs, as his lips press against the heated flesh of my behind. It’s so incredibly gentle that I almost beg him to do it again—kiss me one more time before he finds his control.

But I’m too late.

He moves to my ear and reminds me that while I may enjoy the gentle side of him, Ilovethe twisted side more. “Get in the car, love, before I drive across the country wearing your innocence on my cock.”

My breath catches in my throat as his weight and gentleness disappear in an instant.

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