Page 95 of His Heart

Brooke

We spentthe long drive back from Waverly in silence. Charlie and Olivia spoke to each other in hushed whispers in the back seat, but other than that, it was quiet. Sebastian was tense, his bulging muscles flexed and rigid, the veins in his forearms protruding. Heat emanated from his body, like his blood was actually boiling. Under different circumstances, it would have been sexy as hell.

He held my hand, kissing the back of it now and then, letting me know he wasn’t upset with me. He didn’t need to say it. I understood.

That had been one of the most uncomfortable situations of my entire life. I’d known without Sebastian telling me that Cami had to be his ex. There was no mistaking the way he’d looked at her. I didn’t know much about her, or what had happened between them, except that she’d left him when he’d been sick.

I hated her for it.

It wasn’t the general dislike a woman might have for her boyfriend’s ex. It didn’t bother me that he had a girl in his past, even one he’d been serious about. What made me hate her was knowing she’d abandoned him when he’d been weak.

And now that he was strong again, she wanted him back.

That was perfectly clear. She hadn’t been at dinner because she was an old friend who wanted to see how Sebastian was doing. Or to catch up after years apart. I knew a thirsty girl when I saw one.

But the worst part had been Sebastian’s mother. An ex-girlfriend who thought she might have another chance was one thing. A mom who had orchestrated the meeting, obviously thinking her son would come alone, was another. She’d invited Cami because she wanted Sebastian to get back together with her. Even knowing he was with me.

Made it obvious what she thought of me—and my relationship with her son.

The first time we’d met, I’d been one step away from homelessness, sporting a black eye and a split lip. I knew what she must think. I was trash—not good enough for her son. It wasn’t because I wore beaded bracelets, peasant blouses, and boots. Although maybe if I’d come over in a cardigan buttoned up to my neck and a modest skirt that hung below my knees, like a good little Iowa girl, she would have thought twice about judging me.

But it wasn’t just the way I dressed or my lack of a manicure—though I’d seen her notice that too. She didn’t need to know the details of my past to see it. She could tell. Some people just could. I didn’t know how to explain it, but sometimes I encountered people who could read my past. As if the story of my fucked-up life was tattooed on my skin. Often it was because they shared a similar history—a child of an addict or an abusive parent recognizing a kindred spirit. But others took one look at me and knew I’d grown up poor and neglected—and instantly looked down on me for it.

Mrs. McKinney had done just that. She’d done it the first time we’d met, when her eyes had widened with alarm at the thought that her son was associating with that kind of girl. And she was doing it now—even to the point of attempting to sabotage our relationship by getting Sebastian to hook up with his ex.

It made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to cause a rift between Sebastian and his family. But it was probably too late.

We dropped off Charlie and Olivia at the guys’ place, then drove the short distance to my house. We went inside, and as soon as the door closed behind us, he grabbed me with rough hands and kissed me. I melted against him, draping my arms around his thick neck. Raised up on my tip-toes and pressed my body against his.

He held me tight, his kiss hard and aggressive. Filled with the anger coursing through him—turning rage into lust and desire. I could feel the urgency in his thick muscles, in his tight biceps and flexing chest.

“I love you,” he growled into my ear, backing me up toward my bedroom. “I love you and I’m sorry.”

His mouth on mine cut off my reply. There would be time for talking later.

In my room, we yanked off our clothes, but he stopped me from taking off my boots. He slipped my panties down over them, then turned me around and bent me over the side of the bed.

“Fuck, that’s hot,” he said.

I looked back at him while he got out a condom and rolled it on. His hard length stood up straight, protruding from his lean hips. He had the perfect amount of hair on his broad chest—enough to make him look manly and powerful—and the sexiest happy trail running down his lower abs. The veins in his arms stood out and his mesmerizing eyes roved over me.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you in those boots since I watched you put them on,” he said.

He slid his hand down the center of my ass until his fingers brushed across my opening. I practically vibrated at the light touch. He put pressure on my clit and rubbed slowly while his other hand gripped my hip, holding me in place. I tried to arch back, to make him give me more, but he held me fast.

“I know, baby,” he said. “You want my cock, don’t you? You want me inside you.”

“Yes.”

He rubbed faster and my eyes rolled back. He knew exactly where to touch me to make me insane. Slipping his fingers into my pussy, he groaned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “So wet for me. I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby. Are you ready for this?”

“Oh my god, yes,” I said.

In one quick movement, he took out his fingers, grabbed hold of my hips with both hands, and thrust his cock in. I called out at the abruptness of it. The fury. He held tight, his fingers digging into my flesh, and plunged into me—hard. Over and over. His hips drove his thick cock in and out, his body slamming against mine.

I clutched the sheets for dear life, arching my back to take all of him in. His power and strength were overwhelming. I wanted him to take it all out on me—all his anger and frustration. I wanted to forget how I’d felt, wilting under his mother’s judgmental gaze. The humiliation and shame. The guilt. I wanted him to fuck it all out of me.

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