Page 54 of Don't Make Me Beg
“Get your fucking hands off her.” I shove him in the chest, sending him sprawling backward into the chairs with a loud metallic crash.
I know it’s a bit of an overkill considering I’m at least forty years younger than the old bastard and could’ve handled him easily. But right now, I don’t care.
Samantha, Scout’s mother, lets out a horrified shriek, and if my shove wasn’t enough to draw everyone’s attention, we definitely have the spotlight now.
Judge Sinclair grunts as he hits the floor, and Samantha rushes to help him up. But the second he reaches for Scout again, I’m there. I step between them and shove him once more, this time getting in his face. “She’s not going anywhere with you. And if you put your hands on my wife again, I’ll happily add another conviction to my record.”
I shove him again, planting myself like a wall between them and Scout. “Now get the fuck out of my town and don’t come back.”
He finally staggers to his feet and adjusts his suit, like he’s attempting to preserve some of his dignity. But before he can take another step in Scout’s direction, Jett’s there. He grabs the collar of his shirt and starts dragging him toward the door.
Everyone in the room parts like the Red Sea. Not a soul daring to intervene—not that they need to.
Samantha turns to Scout, her lips pressed so tight they’re almost white. “Scout, do something!”
But Scout just stands there, frozen in place.
Samantha scoffs, her voice dripping with contempt. “Fine. I hope he’s worth it. I always knew you’d throw your life away. After everything we’ve done for you, this is how you repay us?”
“Mama…” Scout finally says, barely audible. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”
It’s only then that I notice the tears streaking down her cheeks.
“Do not call me that,” Samantha hisses, her eyes sharp and cold as steel.
The room goes so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
And then, heels clicking across the floor, Miss Scarlett steps forward and grabs Samantha by the arm. “All right that’s enough,” she says cooly, spinning her around and giving her a firm shove toward the exit. “Time to go. Good riddance.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Scout
It was easy to see that Luka was in his head almost as much as I was after the encounter with my parents tonight. So I wasn’t surprised, nor was I disappointed, when he passed the turn to go home. I think we both needed time to process everything that went down tonight, and as much as I hate to admit it, there really aren’t many better ways to get out of your head than riding on the back of a motorcycle.
My arms lock tightly around Luka’s waist as the warm summer breeze caresses my skin, whipping my clothes around me in every direction. As complicated as our relationship may be, I’m thankful for the excuse to just hold Luka, finding comfort in his strong confidence as he maneuvers us through the dense forest where we all but disappear.
The air around us is thick, and it smells like asphalt and rain, and the only sounds I hear is the rush of wind mixed with Luka’s soft breaths through the speakers of my helmet. I can tell by the shift in his breathing that he’s starting to calm down, like this ride was exactly what he needed to clear his head.
That makes two of us.
I’m not sure what changed between us tonight, but I definitely felt something shift. I’m not delusional enough to think he may actually like me… but maybe he’s on his way to hating me a little less than he did before. I can’t help but hope anyway…
As if reading my mind, I feel his hand move to my thigh, casually massaging me like it’s the most natural thing in the world… like a husband reassuring his wife with a silent gesture. And maybe it’s the cover of the darkness, or the fact that we’re in the middle of the forest, or maybe it’s just the excuse of riding on the back of his motorcycle, but I find myself leaning in. My grip tightens around his waist as my hands begin to move, tentative at first, exploring the hard lines of his body.
My fingertips graze the firmness of his chest, and in response, his free hand trails along my thigh, slow, deliberate, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. My eyelids flutter shut, and I draw in a slow, steadying breath, trying to will my body into stillness, trying not to betray just how badly I’m craving more.
He must take that as encouragement because his touch grows bolder, his hand gliding higher up my thigh in a slow rhythm as he alternates between kneading and caressing touches.
Maybe he means to soothe me. Maybe this is nothing more than physical comfort from a husband to his only married on paper, wife… Maybe if I’d had more experience with men touching me, my body wouldn’t be reacting like this.
But I haven’t. And it is.
When his fingers brush the sensitive crease of my thigh, I suck in a sharp breath. My legs part instinctively, hips rocking forward in search of contact, any contact. I grind against him, just enough for my clit to catch the seam of my shorts, sending abolt of pleasure through me. Warmth begins to pool between my thighs, and I suck in a hiss of a breath as my thighs part just a little more. My hips rock of their own volition, desperate as they slide closer in search of any friction they can find.
It’s only when I hear his soft chuckle that I realize what I’m doing.
Holy shit. What is wrong with me? Do I have no shame?
