Page 60 of Beneath the Hood

And honestly, it’s scaring the shit out of me. I came here to get away from love, and now here I am putting my fractured heart on a silver platter, practically asking for someone to complete the break.

But I can’t help it. The things Blakely draws up—the way she makes me feel—it’s a maelstrom in the center of my chest, upheaving everything I thought I knew about how someone could make you feel.

It hasn’t been easy. Every single second in her presence is a euphoric kind of torment. Being with her is a balm to my wounds. To my loneliness. To the depression that likes to creep up and choke the life out of me at a moment’s notice.

But being with her has also been torture. Having to stem the rawneedthat lights up my body like an electrical storm, wanting to touch every inch of her skin. Worship every part of her soul.

I want to consume her. Wrap her in my arms and show her all the ways I can take care of every need. The ways I could bring her to the brink of pleasure and prolong it. The ways I could lose myself inside of her and never come up for air.

She asked to go slow, and so I’ve been restraining my desires—biting my tongue against the urge to part her thighs and lap up her innocence, drown in the satisfaction of knowing I’m the only man to explore her untouched flesh. And I’ve also been holding back for myself, worried that once I give in fully, my feelings will explode into complete chaos, blinding me to the reason I’m really here.

To fulfill my dad’s dream.

But at the end of the day, I’m still a man. One who’s used to using sex as a way to deal with my demons. The ones I don’t ever speak of or let anyone know exist. And while the temptation to pick up a random woman is gone, my body still craves the connection, only now the craving is stronger because my curiosity makes me wonder if it will feel different.

I’ve never had sex with feelings before.

Blakely caught me off guard, spinning me on my axis and making the light hit a different way.

That thought is being pile-driven into my brain right now, as I watch her film content for her platforms.

Blakely’s prancing around her pool deck, the tiniest white bikini caressing her skin, being pathetically held together by string that’s as small as floss. Her hair is slicked back with product, her skin sprayed with moisture to cast a dewy glow, and my eyes can’t stop drinking her in.

My cock is hard as hell in my jeans, but I let it pulse and throb—let myself live in the torment of wanting her and the discipline of holding myself back.

We haven’t talked much about her career, beyond her need to look “perfect,” and me going with her to paid gigs.

But right now, I’m in awe of her.

She floats effortlessly from one area to the next, intuitively knowing what to do before they tell her, and her aura shines so bright it’s impossible to look away. She’s a master of attention, a light switch that she flips, her persona beaming strong while she’s in front of the camera.

But it’s when she’s working behind the scenes that she shines the brightest.

In the past few weeks, I’ve seen a side to her that I never knew existed. At first, before I really knew her, I assumed she was lazy. Spoiled. A rich brat who lived off her last name and her daddy’s fortune. And then, once I became part of her world, I thought she allowed everyone else to control her life. A pretty, perfect, useless puppet, dangling until the masters moved her the way they wanted. And while I still see that manipulation, I also see her leadership.

The way she commands a room full of people, demanding their attention while she negotiates terms of a contract. The way her team and all the industry people I’ve seen come and go watch and listen to everything she says, no questions asked. The way she never loses her temper, how she treats everyone in her world with respect. As an equal.

It makes me wonder if her father just doesn’t realize how much she reflects him in everything she does, or if it’s something he’s refusing to see.

But he’s another thing we don’t talk about.

I’ll admit, I didn’t know anything about it either. I only know social media from an everyday person’s perspective, and hardly that if I’m honest. Sugarlake is a bubble, none of my friends subscribe to the social media platforms. Not since everything imploded on Lee and Chase the night of her mom’s death, all from a Facebook post.

That was a wake-up call. Personal business never stays personal once you put it on the web. And in Sugarlake, there’s no need to be online when you’ll hear the gossip from Susan at the church, or Martha at the store.

Suddenly the French doors leading to the pool deck swing open, Sierra bursting through, her mouth pinched and her gaze zoned in on Blakely, a rolled-up magazine in her hand.

Her eyes move up and down Blakely’s body critically as she moves toward her, and for some reason, a protective fire starts to burn inside my chest.

Blakely’s smile dims as Sierra walks closer, her arm reaching out to pass off the rolled-up tabloid.

Unease circles my gut.

I see the moment the energy shifts, Blakely’s shoulders stiffening, her eyes turning down while she stares at whatever is on the cover.

Her hand covers her stomach, then drops to her side, fingers curling into a tight fist.

Without a second thought, I’m up and moving, sensing she needs me without her so much as looking in my direction. I hear Sierra’s voice screeching, but I’m focused on Blakely and don’t pay attention to her words.

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