Page 108 of Bad For Me (Rock Canyon, Idaho 5)

Inside her, turmoil and frustration raged. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt so out of control, so angry that she wanted to lash out. It was part of why she’d continued to drink, the total oblivion that came from letting go and getting sucked into a dreamlike state. Being drunk had calmed her. She’d only been able to find one other thing to do that since.

Sex.

Callie heard Everett jogging behind her, and she picked up the pace, ignoring her still-tender ankle. Suddenly, he grabbed her arm and spun her to face him.

“Callie, stop.”

She swung her arm at him, but he caught her wrist, so she swung with the other hand, but he caught that one too. Sobbing, she struggled, trying to hit him, but Everett just pulled her into his body, holding her tight. She hated him. Hated that he’d made her think he understood.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He just kept repeating it, tightening his hold each time she moved.

But Callie didn’t want love and understanding. She was fucked up beyond repair and nothing could fix her. She’d thought that she could have it all—Everett and a new life—but just seeing Tristan reminded her that she would always bear the scars. She would always be the lucky girl who survived—only to have pissed her life down the toilet.

Why did she continue to suffer while he got to find peace?

The comfort and safety that usually came over her with Everett wasn’t happening. Instead her body pulsed from the back of her neck to between her legs, and she just wished he would grab her, bend her over, or lift her up—she didn’t care. She just wanted to feel the calm.

But with Everett, sex was about love and so much more than filling a need.

Only she was beyond rationale or caring. She couldn’t get Tristan’s puppy-dog look out of her head, as if she had victimized him. Callie suddenly couldn’t breathe and pulled her head back, gasping for air.

“God, Callie, I’m sorry. What can I do?”

What could he do? She got her hand loose and grabbed the back of his head, digging her fingers into his neck until he bent his head to hers. And then she kissed him, showing him what he could do to help with every harsh, angry move she made. She kissed him with teeth and tongue, everything inside screaming that she needed more. Needed this.

Everett lifted her into his arms and carried her back toward the truck at a jog. When the first raindrop hit her cheek she didn’t care, didn’t think. All she wanted was to feel Everett, hot and hard, inside her, fucking the anger and frustration away.

When he set her down to open the truck, she grabbed the front of his jeans, jerking the buttons and zipper open in a fever of need. Before she could blink they were both stripped from the waist down, and he had her pressed against the side of the truck.

Everett kissed her as his hand delved between her legs, his finger slipping between her wet folds, but she pushed his hand away. She needed to forget and just feel something beyond the rage that had her burning up inside.

“Fuck me, Rhett. Now.”

Without an argument or excuse, he pinned her hands above her head, his eyes blazing down into hers, and her heart skidded to a halt. She’d just told him she didn’t want his touch, rejected his sweetness.

And then his mouth slammed down on hers, giving her what she’d been begging for. Hard, hot fucking. This time, he wasn’t telling her no. He was giving her what she needed.

She took what he gave and demanded more.

He lifted her up higher, cool metal at her back and solid muscle at her front. She heard him rustling through his clothes, and then he brought up a condom, tearing it open with his teeth. There was no twinkle, no laughter in his eyes now. Just a white-hot passion.

In one moment of clarity, she admitted—if only to herself—that she was using him to fix something broken in herself. She’d said she loved him, yet she was trying to chase away her pain with him as if he was any other of her nameless lovers.

She almost opened her mouth to stop him, to apologize and bear the turmoil on her own . . .

But he had already positioned himself at her entrance, and then he was thrusting into her, working himself into her tightness, and she was caught up in the sensation. He was big, and she hadn’t been fully ready, but she didn’t complain, her body adjusting to him as he slid home once more, and she forgot everything else but the raw need to drive every emotion away.

When his hands gripped her hips, and he took her mouth in a hard kiss, she moaned hoarsely into his mouth. This wasn’t the sweet, tender lovemaking that Everett preferred, or the teasing passion he usually evoked in her. He pounded her against the side of his truck, shallow, fast strokes that hit her high up and built a pressure inside like nothing she’d felt before. A type of intense pleasure and pain that shot right into the core of her. She couldn’t think about the c

ost, just that the storm would be over soon.

As his teeth bit down on her bottom lip and his cock jerked inside her, she shattered, screaming with pleasure and pain until she was limp as a rag doll, pulling away from his mouth to gasp for air. She wrapped her arms around Everett’s shoulders, burying her face in his neck as she shook with the aftershocks. The sex had been raw and dark and hot.

And draining. She had spent every ounce of emotion, and now she was hollow, quiet. It was better than a shot of Jack, and she sank into him.

Everett slowly pulled out and lowered her to the ground as she winced at the soreness.

“Damn it, Callie.”

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