Page 46 of Jagged Line Paradise

He holds my wrists tightly in his grip, painfully, but somehow that pain is okay. At least I don’t feel numb. He’s pressed into me so close that I can’t feel anything but him and I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt so alive. I can’t remember the last time I was kissed with such passionate intent.

Actually, I can remember.

The last time it was withhim.

His body moves against mine, his hips shifting forward, and I can feel him. Dear God, I can feel his shaft against my lower stomach. Everything I’m thinking and feeling coils deep inside me and I’m shut off to the world, to everything but feeling and wanting and needing.

Why do Ifeel like I need this?

He hurt me so much, so damn much. His abandonment caused unforgivable damage.

So, whydo my lips part for him? Why does my tongueslip out, unconsciously seeking to taste the metal of thelip ring that no longer exists? Why does he openfor me now, attacking my tongue with the thickness ofhis? Why did he come here? Why did he comeback? Why is he forcing himself back into my lifewhen I’ve worked so hard to erase him frommy memory and live my life without him?

I can cope with the numbness I’ve trained myself to feel, but if he makes me feel only to hurt me again, I don’t know that I’ll survive it.

Chapter 14

Andrés

DIOS MÍO.

What the fuckam I doing? Why am I here in this classroom,alone with Avalon Briar, kissing her like I can’tcontrol myself?

I can’t control myself…not with her.

I don’t know why the fuck I ever thought I could come back here, see her, and act like everything’s okay, act likeI’mokay. Because I’m not okay. I haven’t been since I left her behind, and I’ve been fooling myself to think otherwise.

She’s right. She’s right about everything.

I’m a piece of shit who left her behind when she had no one else. I was selfish, afraid of the negative attention I was getting from the locals as the son of the Canyon Carver. But it didn’t matter where I went—that truth followed me everywhere, haunting me like a ghost.

I had to embrace the truth to erase the stigma, to create the perfect image of myself as a charitable businessman, as a boy who made something of himself, became a worthy man, and did something good to make up for all that his father had done wrong.

But all the good could never make up for how much I hurt her. I didn’t understand how much I hurt her. I never bothered to fucking ask her.

I only ever reached out to her with the intention of connecting her with resources from my business, perhaps unintentionally treating her like another victim to add to our list of those served byVindication.Shit, never once did I bother to ask if she was okay. I’ve built up layers of protection against feeling anything, against viewing her or anyone else as anything other than pure and simple business transactions.

And then I touched her in front of the cupboard, fingering a strand of her hair, and everything rushed back.

Every memory of her that I’d tried so hard to forget, every touch, every smile, every laugh…it hit hard, shattering the fragile glass encasing my emotions—my unstable, aggressive as fuck emotions that I’ve worked so hard to control.

Fuck.

I’m dangerous. She makes me dangerous because I lose control when I’m with her.

I’m not my father.

I’mnot my father.

I’m not my father.

It’s a chant, an incantation to remind the demons within that I’m in control of my raw urges, my twisted desires, my dark sexual needs. She brings out the fucking worst in me, but it feels so good.

I’m not my fucking father.

It takes everything within me to drop her wrists and drag myself away from her, away from this toxic kiss that shatters my sensibility. I take backward steps until there’s three solid feet between us, swiping my hand over my mouth that’s slick from her kiss.

Fuck…that kiss.

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