Page 61 of Hide From Me

We’ve been past intimate. We’re tangled, twisted, bound by secrets neither of us can say out loud. I’m trying everything to get her to admit it, and if I have to cross every line to make her see we belong to each other, so be it.

“I didn’t say'me’, baby. You’re the one making assumptions in that head of yours,” I tease, trying to keep my cool and not start planning how I could turn this place into a house to keep her in instead. If she’s stuck here, then she’d have no choice but to confront the way she feels about me. It’s a win-win—this place could actually be useful for once.

“Oh…” she says quietly as I guide her hand to my chest again, letting her fingers rise and fall over each of my muscles down to my abdomen. I expect her to focus on the movement; she’s always so interested in my shirt coming off. I’ve been hesitant, but now she almost looks lost in thought, as if thisisn’tjust another thing I’m trying to give her.

“If your brother has the resources to track down your father, could he locate other people, too? Like someone who went missing?”

I freeze, and her hand stills against my skin. That wasn’t random, that was personal.

I’m not the only one hiding something.

My pulse kicks hard in my throat.

“Yes, baby. With what he does, he can find anyone.”

I could clarify that I’d be the one doing the digging, but that would just lead to a conversation I’m not ready to have.

She doesn’t answer. Instead, her hand slips the rest of the way under my shirt, like she’s just now realizing what I’ve been trying to give her.

I was right to call her my little ray of sunshine—her touch is warm, almost scalding, as her palm drags across my abdomen and flattens against my chest. Every scar she brushes over makes my breath catch. They’re healed, but they feel raw again under her fingertips—like she’s rewriting what they mean.

I step closer between her thighs, my fingers tracing her hips and then moving up along her ribs. It’s funny how she said that talking about her past was too intimate, yet this is the closest I’ve ever felt to her. Our breaths are shallow, and our hands explore each other as if we’re trying to memorize every detail.

“No fighting me tonight,” I mutter as I reach back and yank my shirt off. Her lips part—maybe to argue, maybe to tease—but I don’t give her the chance. I silence whatever smartass thing she’s about to say with my mouth, kissing her hard, pulling her attention from the fabric slipping to the floor.

Her gasp hits the back of my throat as my hand slides to the small of her back, guiding her gently to lie against the splintered wood beneath her. I lean intothe pressure, our chests flush, my tongue sweeping past her lips to swallow the sound she makes.

I just want her.

“What’s the fun in that?” she laughs, tilting her head away. My mouth drags across her cheek to her ear. She’s still teasing me, but now it feels softer and less guarded. It’s subtle, but I can sense the shift.

Something is different.

Just in a few hours, I’ve already noticed a significant change in our dynamic. I wish I could pinpoint whether it’s just my mind playing tricks on me or if it’s real, but either way, I don’t want it to go away. I want to keep hearing her tease me, to keep seeing that ghost of a smile, and to know that it’s me she’s falling for.

“Let me show you,” I murmur against her skin.

I don’t want ghosts here. I wanther—her voice, her heat, her scent in this place. Every time I return, let her be what haunts me instead of the past.

Like instinct, she lifts her hips and her feet find my shoulders as she slips off that last unbearable barrier between us.

“It doesn’t always have to be dirty and rough,” I murmur, my voice hitching as my fingers slide between her folds. She’s soaked and so fucking warm it makes me dizzy.

I’ve been with women before—I won’t pretend otherwise—but no one’s ever made my body react likeshedoes. It’s primal and raw. My blood thickens just to meet hers.

I brace one hand beside her head as her nails scrape down my stomach to my jeans, and fuck, the way she moves—it short-circuits every logical thought I had left.

“It can be smooth. Slow. It’ll still ruin you just the same,” I growl as her hand wraps around my cock, tugging once, firm, needy. My whole body goes rigid.

We’ve done this before, but somehow, italwaysfeels like the first time.

“Too—”

“Shut up.” My voice is sharp as I push into her in one unrelenting thrust. I bottom out before I even exhale.

She cries out, and fuck, it’severything.

Like a junkie desperate for the next hit, I already crave it again—but I hold back. That sound? It needs to melt into whimpers. Into soft moans and harsh exhales. Into nails dragging over sweat-slicked skin, the sound of her breath catching as her body clings to mine.

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