Page 94 of After All The Wreckage
Why the hell would I want to?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Gage
WRECKAGE
Performed by Nate Smith
I pacedthe length of the suite, tugging at my hair as each second felt like a lifetime while I waited for Rory to return. I debated leaping into the hall, pounding on the door, and demanding she get out of there.
But none of that would win me any points with her.
I’d told Rory and Casada that I trusted her. Believed in her. And I did. I trusted she knew what she was doing. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t worry about her getting caught. Because what would Walden do if he found her? If he’d killed his own brother, or hired someone to do it for him, killing some meddling PI wasn’t above him.
What if I lost her just as she’d swept back into our lives?
Texting her would make her think Walden had arrived, but I couldn’t stand not knowing if she was okay a moment longer.I typed out the words and then waited for the dots to show up saying she was responding. They didn’t come.
I swallowed hard.
The camera app she’d installed flickered with a notification just as I heard laughter outside the door. When I opened the app, a couple, twined together, sauntered down the hall, and I realized I didn’t even know what Shawn Walden looked like. I held my breath as they continued past our door.
In the silence that followed, our door lock beeped and then Rory was there.
Dressed in black from head to toe, she looked exactly like what she was—a PI. A real-life Veronica Mars. Her hair was in a ponytail, and even though we’d both gotten drenched in the rain earlier, it was still smooth and straight, pulled back from her face.
Her eyes glimmered with emotions across the room. Ones I couldn’t read.
The innate goodness that spread from her aura was layered with grief, but the strength that rebounded off her like some sort of shield seemed to pull all the air from my lungs.
She was beautiful. And brave. A stunning soul.
The kisses we’d shared had done nothing but increase the desire that had flickered to life since she’d walked into the bar last weekend. I craved more. I wanted to be burned from the inside out by it. Consumed by it until there was nothing left but her.
I’d never wanted to be lost in that way. The tease I’d dropped earlier had been true. I’d always needed to be in control, and the women I’d been with had been happy to hand it over to me in the bedroom. Been happy to let me lead while I brought us both the satisfaction we sought.
But with Rory… I didn’t think I’d be able to hold back.
“Thank God,” I uttered, dropping my phone onto the bed and taking two long strides to reach her. One hand went to her waist, jerking her to me, the other tangled in her ponytail, drawing her head back so I could see every inch of her face glowing in the soft lamplight.
I didn’t hesitate. I kissed her. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t regretful or wondering. It was me demanding she let go and be devoured by the same emotions I was feeling. My tongue invaded her mouth, seeking the inner softness. The honeyed taste of her. The sweetness that existed beyond her tough outer shell that so few got to see.
I moved so she had her back pressed up against the wall while my hands tugged off her leather jacket, all while my lips plundered hers. Days of worry. Days of grief. Days of desire all seemed to slam together requiring release.
She let the jacket slip from her fingers before she wrapped her hands around my neck. Her short, neatly filed nails dug into my skin, and the spike of pain and lust it brought had me driving my body into hers. I pressed my hard length into the softness of her stomach.
My palms skimmed under her shirt where her skin was cool from rain-dampened clothes, and yet somehow it still felt like putting my hand on a flame. Burning with electricity that was all chemistry-driven hormones but might as well be the lightning that had flashed all week long in the skies.
The storm had finally settled over us.
My lips slid down her cheek, finding the soft hollow below her ear, and she gasped. A little throaty noise that made me impossibly harder. One of her legs wrapped along my thigh, drawing me closer, and I lifted her until our cores were aligned.
My lips journeyed down the long slope of her neck until I was shoving aside her clothes and leaving open-mouthed kissesalong her collarbone and shoulder. I braced her against the wall and lifted my head to pull her shirt off.
Our eyes met. Reciprocal flames burned in the depths of hers.
My eyes slid down to her purple lace bra and the peaked tips pushing against the material. I slid a finger over one before rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger. Her head slammed into the wall as a moan escaped her. I drew the material aside, baring the rosy perfection, and bent to pull it into my mouth. My tongue twisted it, nipping at it, and her thighs pulsed around me.
