Page 78 of Truck Stop Tempest

WARM LIPS AND A scratchy beard dragged across my abdomen, leaving prickly tingles before moving lower and lingering on the sweet spot between my thighs. A sharp nip forced a squeal from my lips. A deep chuckle rumbled from between my legs. The room was pitch black, but I could feel Tito’s hot breath on my bare skin, his strong hands on my hips.

My entire body ached from exertion as well as lack of sleep. Tito had been insatiable since our tiff last Sunday. We hadn’t spoken about my outburst, how I’d pushed him, or the aftermath, but we’d communicated our apologies in other ways.

Tito’s sex drive was voracious, but he was never selfish. What he took from my body, he gave back tenfold. And while I couldn’t get enough of him, night after night of mindless bliss had me worn. I had zero energy to spend. I squeezed my thighs together, tightening them around his solid shoulders. “Tito. I can’t. I’m so tired. Can we sleep a little longer, please?”

“No more sleeping.” He kissed my thigh and pushed off the bed. “Don’t worry; I’m not ready for another go. My dick needs a break, you insatiable beast. Get up. We’re going for a run.”

“Run? It’s still dark.” I wrestled a mess of hair off my face. “What time is it?”

“Five.” He grabbed my big toe and gave it a tug. “Come on; you’ll thank me later.”

I rolled over with a moan, my mind already halfway back to dreamland.

A sharp sting bit my butt cheek. “You can get yourself up, or a cold shower can do the trick. Your choice.”

“Okay. Okay.” I pushed off the mattress.

Tito offered a hand to help me stand. “Your clothes are here.” He patted the end of the bed. “We’re leaving in five.”

I slipped into the outfit he laid out for me, fumbling through the dark. I’d never bought workout clothes for myself, and I wondered when he’d had time to go shopping. He hadn’t left my side since the night of the attack.

Lately, I’d find gifts hiding in plain sight. New clothes hanging in the closet. My favorite candy bars in the bottom of my purse. New perfume on the bathroom shelf. I’d thank him, and he would merely shrug. No big deal.

When I made my way to the living room, Tito waited in his signature dark pants, black running shoes, and grim reaper hoodie. I looked down at myself and laughed. We matched.

“Here, put this on. It’s chilly out.” He offered me a pullover hoodie, that surprise, surprise, was black like the one he wore.

I pulled the cloak over my head and grumbled, “Okay, Grim. Let’s do this.”

“Grim.” Laughing, he ducked to my level and planted a kiss on my dry, worn lips. “If you only knew.”

When we stepped outside, the crisp morning air shocked the sleep haze from my system. We started at a slow pace, toward the city beach, then followed the running trail that stretched around the north side of Lake Willow and along the river toward Hollow Falls.

I did my best to keep up but slowed to walk on several occasions. Walking, I could do. Lord knows I’d done plenty of hiking over the past months. Running, though? My legs were lead weights.

Tito didn’t complain when I needed a break, didn’t chastise, only stayed by my side, reminding me to breathe, checking often to make sure I was okay.

I wanted to be strong for him. I wanted to keep up, even though my insides felt like boiled pudding and my legs trembled like a toddler wearing her mama’s heels. We came around a bend alongside Ravendale Park and I cried for joy when Tito stopped at a bench that overlooked the river.

We stretched for a minute, then he wrapped an arm around my shoulders and turned me to face the way we’d come. Blinding light peeked over the mountains in the distance. The scene was beautiful and breathtaking but had nothing on the intensity of the man standing next to me.

I dropped to my butt on the damp running path and leaned back on my arms, taking in the bright blue sky, the green and golden hues of the landscape, and waited on the warm sun at my front to chase away the dark sky lingering at my back.

Tito sat next to me, forearms resting on his bent knees. The world was quiet, aside from the rush of the river and the chatter of birds calling each other to rise. I watched Tito watching the sunrise. He gnawed on his lower lip, fists clenching and unclenching. I sensed a shift in his mood and my stomach lurched.

I ached to know his thoughts.

Drawn to him, I reached up and dusted a fingertip across the puckered skin on his face, tracing the length of his disfigurement. “Tell me about the fire.”

His chest rose and fell. His gaze sliced toward me, never landing, and focused again on the newborn sunlight rolling toward us like a swelling wave.

I dropped my arm and waited, chest concave, for an answer. When he didn’t speak, I swallowed my apprehension. “Why don’t you like going to church?”

A huff. Tito dropped his head back on his shoulders, clearly frustrated.

Again, my stomach lurched, then flipped.

I shouldn’t have pushed. Eyes down, lips sealed. That’s how men liked their women. I shouldn’t have pushed, but I did.

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