Page 62 of August Lane
He leaned back to get his head straight, but then her hands were on him, sliding under his shirt, while she kissed his neck and chin. He started trembling, fuckingshaking—that’s how good it felt. But he needed to stop. His brain knew this was a bad idea for so many reasons, but his hands didn’t care. They’d been waiting years for this moment, so he let them roam. He gifted his palms with her hips, his fingers with the dip of her spine.
“What are you doing to me?” was all he could ask, because he’d never felt so out of control before. Not high. Not drunk. He nudged her back to the table, knowing he shouldn’t. He fisted her hair and tugged, opening her wider, fully aware it was a mistake. He kissed her again and again, damning himself thoroughly because a man like him, who’d done the things he had, could only have something this good if he stole it.
He stepped back to do what he’d been dying to ever since he saw her in one of those little sundresses. He pulled the skirt up, baring her thighsand a strip of cotton. He traced the edge, watching her face. She looked ready to catch fire. One good spark and she’d be ashes.
He licked two fingers, and August made a strangled sound that raked through his body. He pulled her panties to one side and massaged her clit. She grabbed his neck, whispering, “That’s good. You’re so good Luke.” Her praise poured into him, weighing him down, filling all the empty gaps. He wanted more of it. He wanted to be so heavy and full that if he waded into water, he’d sink like a stone.
She was writhing, quaking with tight little shivers. One strap of her sundress had collapsed, and he leaned over, kissed her bare shoulder, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. He pushed his fingers inside her, and she cried out, clenching over them. Feeling that, owning it, triggered some primitive part of his brain that wanted to know how much she could take.
He started stretching her. She moaned, then whispered, “Don’t stop.” The words echoed and fractured in his mind. Don’t stop. Don’tstop.
Don’t.
Stop.
What the hell was he doing?
Luke straightened and pulled his hand away. “August, I’m—”
“Shhh.” She tugged him closer. “Don’t say whatever you’re about to say.”
He felt her thigh press against his damp hand, her skin soft as silk. “We need to talk.”
“You’re right. I’m on birth control. Condoms are in my purse. I’ve been tested recently. All negative. What about you?”
That wasn’t what he meant, but he answered anyway. “I’ve been tested. Plus, it’s been over a year, so…”
Her eyes widened. “A year?”
Yes, a year. Because people in recovery weren’t supposed to date. Or at least they should be slow about it. Luke had been glacial. He didn’t want to inflict himself on anyone ever again. But August didn’t know that. She didn’t know he was defective in ways he’d never told her.
Luke took a step back. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”
August looked confused. “What?”
“This was a mistake, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have… I took advantage, and I’m—”
“Are you being serious right now?” She yanked her skirt down and righted the strap that had fallen. “Don’t apologize to me. And don’t ever call me a mistake. I’m not a fucking mistake.”
“No, of course not! I meant me.” He touched his chest. “I’mthe mistake. What we just did… it’s too fast—”
“It’s been thirteen years!” She was breathing hard, blinking through damp eyes. “Which I don’t want to talk about anymore. It hurts!”
“I know,” Luke said. “But you’re still angry with me. I can’t sleep with you and not—” He stopped because the confession was too big. She would never forgive him. She shouldn’t. Which meant if he had her, he couldn’t keep her. And he’d never survive that. “I don’t want it to be another thing you regret.”
Her faced flattened into an expression he couldn’t read. And that hurt more than anything—how quickly she closed herself off to him. “What do you think I regret, Luke?”
He’d turned it over in his mind so many times, rewound every choice that led to this: lost moments, misspoken words, every chance he had to love her the way she deserved, but saved himself instead. He gathered it all in his mind, held it there, and said, “You never should have met me.”
She smiled the worst smile he’d ever seen. Like a gaping wound. “You’re wrong. I never should have lost you.”
Luke was too stunned to respond. She used his paralysis as an opportunity to gather her things. There was so much to say. But none of it mattered. “You didn’t” was all he could manage as she slipped out the door.
PART FIVE
THE SECOND VERSE
This Is Our Country: Podcast Transcript
