I ALMOST REACH for Clay’s hand, but I stop myself. Swinging the door open, I bolt out of the room, making sure she’s behind me, and we run down the staircase, hearing a commotion of chatter, laughing, and squealing as the horn screams into the night outside.
Clay straightens her clothes and fixes her hair. “What is that?”
“It’s the old storm siren.”
“It’s still operating?”
Obviously. I peer out the window as we descend, seeing waves rising high and crashing onto the beach. Darts of rain spear the windows, the staircase now empty as everyone evacuates, not so much because people are scared, but because rain means the canal floods and a lot of rain means the tracks close in case a train needs to break schedule to get out of Dodge.
Anyone from St. Carmen needs to get home now or they’re here all night.
Bodies pour out of the lighthouse, running to cars, and Clay and I stop, looking around. Dallas, Trace, and Iron came with me, and I look past the lightkeeper’s house, down the dirt road running parallel to the beach, seeing my brother’s truck.
“Oh my God,” Clay breathes out, covering her head, rain plastering our clothes to us.
I turn to her, wondering if we’re saying goodbye now, but then I decide for her. “Get in my brother’s truck.”
She’s staying.
I walk and she better fucking follow.
We both run and then stop, cut off by the crowd running in every direction as they bump into each other and slip on the ground. Headlights light up the night, engines peel off, kicking up the inch of rain that’s accumulated already, and I see Dallas and Iron making their way for the truck.
But then I hear someone scream, “I don’t care!”
Krisjen stands opposite her shitty boyfriend, throwing her phone and then her arms, getting in his face and challenging him.
“I couldn’t care less!” she goes on.
He advances on her, the back door of his car open and a couple of guys from our school inside.
“Post them!” Krisjen tells him, the rain making her white crop top see-through as her hair hangs in her face. “Post the videos and my texts and everything! Fuck it all! I don’t care!”
He grabs her hair, and I jerk to attention. What the hell?
“Liv, come on!” I hear Iron at my side.
But I ignore him, seeing Clay head over to her friend ahead of me. “Milo!” she warns.
But he pays Clay no mind. “You don’t care, huh?” Milo growls in Krisjen’s face.
“What’s he talking about?” Clay yells at Krisjen.
“He took a video of me ages ago,” she chokes out as he yanks her in by the hair. “The little bitch didn’t like me dancing with another man tonight, so he posted it online.”
“He did what?” Clay barks, kind of forgetting she did the same thing to me, but whatever.
“And she doesn’t care,” Milo repeats her words. “Doesn’t care at all.”
“Nope, post them all!” she growls, defiant. “It’ll be the best way to get rid of you!”
And it happens before I can leap—his hand whips across her face, sending her spinning and falling into the car. She catches herself, I jump into action, but then I feel Iron advance first.
No. I stop and push him back, knowing one more arrest will be his last. “I will handle it,” I bite out, shoving him away.
“Fuck that.” He pushes, trying to get past me to slice Milo up.
“No!” I yell.
I spin around to help Krisjen, but she’s already recovered. Launching back around, she slams a fist across Milo’s face, and he grabs his jaw, hunching over a little. I barely have time to be impressed before the back of his hand sends her flying to the ground.
My brother grabs my shoulders, trying to throw me out of the way, but I dig in my heels, wanting to jump on Milo’s back and bring him down, but Iron is about to end his life, and my brother is more important right now.
Clay runs over to Krisjen, but Milo reaches down and grabs his girlfriend. He shoves her into the back seat. “Meet some of my friends,” he says, spitting blood onto the ground. “You wanna fuck other guys? You can fuck them.”
The guy in the passenger seat looks over his shoulder at the dazed Krisjen, while the guy next to her takes hold of her and Milo slams the door.
I launch myself toward the car, yanking on the handle and hitting the glass.
“Milo!” Clay screams. “No!”
“Fucking Saints pieces of shit!” Iron growls, trying to kick the windows in.
But Milo speeds off, all four men taking Krisjen with them.
“Liv,” Clay cries.
“Car now!” Iron yells over my head, and I turn, seeing Dallas and Trace jumping into the truck.
Jesus Christ . Iron’s going to jail tonight.
He runs, meeting the truck as Dallas pulls it around, and I push Clay toward the back door. “Get in.”
I can’t let my brothers do this alone. Usually, it’s their own damn fault, but Krisjen needs help. I opened up the Bay to the Saints. This is my fault.
We climb in, Dallas kicks it into gear, and we speed off after Milo’s douchey BMW.
“Guys, don’t, okay?” I tell them. “Please. We’ll get her and then we’re gone.”
But no one hears me. “Where’s he going?” Dallas glances over his shoulder at Clay.
“How would I know?” She meets his eyes and then mine, suddenly defensive. “Back over the tracks where there’s more cops to stop you guys, probably.”
“His house, Fox Hill, somewhere else? Where?” I question her.
“I don’t know!” she insists. “There’s no clubhouse where our men take women to commit felonies, Liv! What do you want from me?”
Clubhouse…
“Fox Hill!” I shout to my brothers as I grab the dog tags and key around hanging from the chain around my neck. We’ll try there first.
Clay takes out her phone, probably calling Krisjen. “Pick up, pick up…” But after a moment, she grits out a Dammit and hangs up, dialing someone else. “Milo, you asshole.” And then she hangs up again, Milo not answering, either. “I’m calling the police,” she says. “I don’t care.”
But I push her phone down. “Don’t.”
She stares at me. “He’s going to hurt her.”
“They can hurt us .”
“Which is exactly what they want,” Dallas shouts from the front, eyeing Clay in the rearview mirror. “You all live for this, don’t you? Are you that bored? Need to slum to feel a little excitement once in a while? Huh?”
She narrows her eyes to slits, glaring back at him.
“You got this bitch messing around with Trace to make her boyfriend jealous,” Dallas gripes, “and you’re doing the same thing, flashing your fucking little ass around here and screwing with Liv’s head.”
I lock my jaw. Great. Thanks, Dallas.
But instead of yelling back at him, Clay jerks her head toward me. “I’m not trying to make Callum jealous.”
“You came with him, didn’t you?” I look at her. “Tryst Six is just toys to you.”
“That’s not true.”
“Shut up.”
I stare out the window, avoiding her eyes. I know I’m being unfair, but Dallas is right. The shit is hitting the fan, and it’s all the Saints’ fault. If Iron gets busted, we’re the ones who pay. Not Clay. She goes off to college in the fall, her little dalliance in girl snatch a nice memory for her. What the hell am I doing?
“You know,” she starts, her tone low and hard, “let’s stop pretending that I am making you do anything you don’t want to do. If you were so angry with me, you wouldn’t have come back to school. You wouldn’t have come back to me.”
“I didn’t come back to you.”
She falls silent for a moment, and as we bounce over the tracks, I hear her start to moan.
I turn toward her again.
“God, you have a beautiful body,” she whimpers my words. “I want you to lose it in my bed.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“I can do anything you want me to,” she whispers, breathing heavy and dragging her hand up and down her body. “That’s it, Collins. Fuck me.”
Trace snorts in the front seat, while Iron has turned and is watching her.
I see Dallas shake his head.
I swallow. “Yeah, you liked that, didn’t you?” I reply curtly. “You like me inside you. And you want more of it. Not of him. You know why?”
She arches a brow.
“Because you’re gay,” I tell her. “You’re queer, Clay. Just like me.”
The corners of her mouth tighten. “I am not.”
So, it’s just me, then? Just something about me? Bullshit. She was checking Krisjen out on the dance floor tonight. Well, not really checking her out, but she was definitely noticing her.
“And if I said I was in love with you?” I ask her. “What would you feel?”
She stares at me, her wet, blonde hair sticking to her amazing body, and those big, blue eyes losing their defiance for a fraction of a second. Her chest caves a little, breathing hard.
“I’m in love with you, Clay,” I tell her.
The car falls silent, like my brothers are afraid to breathe because they might miss something. Her lips open a little, and God, the softness that hits her eyes makes her look like she’d blow over in a light breeze. I swear I see a smile desperate to get out, and I want to say it again.
“Just kidding.” I force a scoff. “Just wanted you to see how fucking gay you are.”
She jerks her gaze away, focusing out the window, and I stare at the reflection of her in mine. I can almost see her little snarl as she stares at my reflection too.
I’m not in love with her. I’m leaving.
Rain swipes across the windows, the wind blowing the drops into lines streaking over the glass, and the next thing I know, Dallas is jerking the wheel to the left and stabbing the brakes.
The car stops, and Dallas shifts it into Park. “Get those motherfuckers,” Iron growls, grabbing a tire iron off the dash.
“Stop!” I yell, seeing we’re on Main Street. We’ve caught up to them before they were able to get to Fox Hill. This is too public.
But no one listens to me.
The boys open the doors, racing out of the cab as the storm rages and gusts of wind bend the palm trees. I jump out and run, seeing Clay and Trace run around the other side of the car.
I grab Iron by the belt and haul him back with everything I have. “Stop!”
He’s just looking for a fight. Damn him. He’s the most violent nice-guy I know.
Milo’s BMW sits stalled, his right front tire up on the sidewalk outside Enchantment, a boutique soap and shampoo shop. The traffic light above bounces on its wiring as it hangs over the middle of the thoroughfare, and the streets are empty, everyone taking cover in their homes.
Another car skids to a halt behind Dallas’s truck; Aracely and Santos jumping out with other friends of my brothers—Carissa, Benny, and Tomb. I spot headlights over the roof of Milo’s car, and Callum Ames drives up in his Mustang, hurrying to his friend’s aid.
Shiiiiiit.
“Krisjen!” Clay calls.
She swings open the back door, and pulls her friend out. Krisjen stumbles, holding her head, but her eyes are open and alert.
She sees Milo climb out of the car and run around the hood, the tire probably inoperable, the axle most likely broken.
My hair sticks to my body, a lock draped across my nose, and I grab Krisjen and shove her and Clay toward my brothers’ truck. “Get in.”
I turn, pushing Iron back. “Leave it,” I grit out, but his eyes bear into Milo. Iron doesn’t give a shit about him hitting Krisjen. I mean, he doesn’t like it, but this is an excuse for a fight, and men are fucking stupid.
He advances, and I push him back again. “No!” Then I look around. “Trace! Dallas! Get in the car! Everyone, now!”
But Krisjen pulls her hand away from her face, seeing blood smeared on her fingers and glares at Milo. “You son of a bitch!”
And she launches for him, her arms swinging and giving Iron the only invitation he needs.
He dives in, wraps an arm around her, and hauls her away, pushing her toward me before he lunges for Milo himself.
And the next thing I know, everyone is diving into the fray. “No!” I yell.
Iron grabs Milo’s collar and throws him onto the hood of his car, pinning him with the tire iron, and Dallas crashes to the ground, one of Milo’s friends slamming into him and falling with him.
I twist. “Clay!” I bark, seeing her hold Krisjen’s hand, looking left to right and backing up as their wet hair flies side to side. Why the hell isn’t she in the car?
She meets my eyes, and I start off, but something grips my hair, my scalp screaming. “Ahhh!” I cry out.
I hit the ground, my wrist twisting and hitting the pavement, and I flip around, blinking up at Aracely through the rain.
“Let them play, Liv,” she snarls. “Go take your little whitebread pussy and get out of here.”
I growl and shoot out my foot, slamming her in the knee. She flinches and hunches over, but before she can fall, Clay barrels in and shoves her to the ground.
I suck in a breath, watching Aracely crash to the sidewalk, falling into the curb and crying out.
I shoot my eyes to Clay. Dammit.
Milo charges Iron, throwing his shoulder into his gut, Santos and Trace punch a Preppy, taking him to the ground, and Dallas has Callum in a choke hold, but Callum heaves forward and throws Dallas over his shoulder and onto the sidewalk. My brother howls as he hits the ground.
“Clay!” I rush over, grabbing her arm. “Stop!” I yell.
She pinches her brows together.
“Take Krisjen and walk home!” I shout over the storm, glowering at them both. “This is all your fault anyway. Just leave!”
I don’t need her help. That’s the last thing I need. Aracely isn’t my friend, but she’s practically a sister. I can hit her. Clay can’t hit her.
“Just go home!” I yell at Clay and Krisjen.
I pull Aracely to her feet. Dallas is right. None of them will pay for this. Swamp doesn’t get away with shit. We’ll pay for everything, and tomorrow, my brothers will be in front of a judge.
As soon as Aracely rises, she shoves me off and runs back into the fray, reaching down and yanking Amy by the hair, dragging her off Carissa.
I turn back to Clay who stands in the street, chaos swirling around her, making her look like the eye of a storm. The rain pouring down her face looks like tears, her eyes glistening too.
“We’ll always be this,” I tell her, loud but there’s too much going on for anyone to hear us. “Do you see that? Me loyal to my family, and you afraid of yours and your friends. This is all we’ll ever be!”
Why did she have to come tonight? She should’ve just left me alone.
“No one is worth this much trouble,” I tell her. “Not even you.”
Her eyes fall, and for the first time, I see her speechless. She knows it’s true. We’re never going to hold hands, and I will always choose my family over her.
Amy crashes to the ground at Clay’s feet, crying out as she lands on her elbow. Red instantly starts staining the rainy street.
Clay barely notices, looking down and blinking as if she were beamed into this brawl and is trying to figure out what’s going on.
Aracely grabs her hair and yanks her head down. Clay’s face contorts in pain, but she doesn’t make a sound as Ara shoves her with her foot and she lands in a puddle, breaking her fall with her hands.
Aracely advances, I dive in to stop her, but she takes hold of Clay again, fisting her hair at the scalp and dragging her.
“Ara!” I bark.
But no one hears me. I glance up, searching for my brothers, the rain shrouding everything. Dallas holds his hand over his eye, probably to keep it from bleeding as he swings his foot back and kicks something on the other side of Milo’s car. I can’t see whomever he’s finally subdued.
Trace is on the ground, underneath Luke Houseman, choking him from the bottom, while Milo tries to get his legs under him and shake his head clear.
Aracely releases Clay, but only for a moment. Fisting Clay’s tank top, Ara pulls, ripping the back of the fabric, and I can hear it scream from here. Clay hugs herself with her arm, holding it to her body as everything seems to happen in slow motion.
Ara lets her go, takes out her knife, swings out the blade, gathers a handful of Clay’s hair, and…
I suck in a breath. Breaking into a run, I pull my own blade out of my back pocket, unsheath the knife, and reach out, yanking one of Aracely’s braids. She growls but releases Clay just in time, and I put myself between the two women, glaring at Ara.
“She’s mine,” I bite out. “Mine! Get the fuck away from her or she’ll be Army’s tonight, too.”
Aracely pins me with fire in her eyes, and I know that nothing makes her crazier than Army with another woman. Because he’s what she really wants. Even though he has no interest in her.
She rises, glaring at me. “She won’t always have you around, you know?”
And she walks off, the threat hanging in the air.
I peer down at Clay, her arm still holding her shirt to her body, no bra underneath the camisole. I untie the wet shirt around my waist, throwing it around her.
“Are you hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head as she lets her tank top fall away and slips her arms into my shirt. She stares off, not focusing on anything. Does she even realize Aracely was about to chop off her hair?
“I’m not gay,” she says quietly, and I have to strain to hear her over the rain. “I’m just in love with you.”
My mouth goes dry. What?
Tears pool in her eyes. “I can’t apologize for everything I do to hurt you, Liv.” She finally looks up, blinking against the rain. “Because I can’t promise I’ll stop.”
I watch her.
“But I promise,” she goes on, “I hurt every time you do.”
My chin trembles.
My instinct is to push back. What does that mean? You think that justifies the last three-and-a-half years?
But the pain in her eyes splits my heart down the middle, and in that moment, I don’t care what else she has planned for me, because I can push back too. Just don’t stop.
Sirens pierce the air, and we both twist our heads, seeing blue and red lights flash through the rain, making their way down the street. Some of the girls scatter, running to cars, while others race in between buildings, disappearing.
I shoot to my feet, pulling Clay to hers.
“My brothers,” I gasp.
They scatter, Dallas racing away in the truck, and I can’t tell if he has everyone with him, but the streets empty quickly, and I am not going to be taken in for this.
I grip Clay’s hand. “Come on.”
I run, pulling her behind me, but it only takes a moment for her legs to catch up, and before I know it, we’re around the corner. I slam into the boutique door, the neon sign reading Lavinia’s dark. I look around, noticing the streetlights off, as well. The power is out.
Pulling my keys from the breast pocket on Clay’s shirt—my shirt—I open the shop door, and wait for Clay to dip in before I follow her.
Lightning flashes, thunder roars, and my heart almost stops, the mannequins inside looking like people. I pull the door closed, locking it from the inside.
I move to the window and peer through the blinds. “See anything?” I call.
I should be with my brothers, but everything happened so fast. The last thing Dartmouth needs to hear is that I was arrested for brawling.
But Clay doesn’t answer me.
Stepping away from the window, I walk into the main room, drapes hanging to my left and sectioning off three dressing rooms. A riser sits in the center, an armchair on each side, and mirrors spread out around the walls. Clay stands at the windows to my right, next to the tiara and jewelry displays.
But she’s not looking out the window. She’s staring at me.
“Clay?” I prompt.
Is she okay?
My flannel hangs on her, water dripping from the unbuttoned sleeves, and I see the upside-down V patch of skin, starting underneath her breasts and falling below her belly button. She didn’t have a chance to finish buttoning the shirt.
Her hair is darkened with rain, drops shimmering across her face, while her skirt sticks to her thighs.
Red and blue lights flash beyond the curtains, and I jerk my attention to the window, it only taking a moment for them to pass and fade away down the street.
Clay moves, pulling her little handbag over her head and reaching inside for her phone before she tosses the purse down.
I should check my phone for water damage. The video she took on it pops in my head, filling me with excitement. I don’t have any pictures of us together, except for team photos.
She moves closer, inching forward and dragging her finger over the glass tables along the wall. I know what she wants. Her nipples look like berries poking through my shirt, and my eyes fall to her legs again, the water bringing out the tone of her thighs and her tan. I want to lick my lips, but I don’t.
“I want you to leave me alone,” I tell her quietly.
She walks her fingers—index and middle—playfully across the table, seemingly satisfied now to have me all to herself. “You know what I want?” she questions. “I want you to stop lying to me.”
Those are my words.
She taps her phone, taking her eyes off me for only a moment before a song starts playing. “Dirty Mind” begins, and Clay walks toward me, matching her steps to the tune, almost like a dance. Like she’s hunting.
“Because I know exactly what pleases you.” She meets my gaze. “Despite what comes out of your stupid mouth.”
Excuse me?
She grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back as she presses her chest to mine, taking my control for once. I don’t have time to draw in a breath before she releases me, throws me down into the cushioned chair behind me, and the chorus starts, her body coming down on top of mine in time with the music.
What the fuck? My eyes go wide, heat spreading between my legs as all of a sudden, the music fills the room, Clay hovers over my mouth, stares into my eyes, and rolls her hips into me.
Liquid fire spreads through my stomach, and I suddenly can’t catch my breath, breathing hard.
Oh my God.
Cocking her head, she plays with me, arching her back, closing her eyes, and bending her neck back as her body moves, fucking me with a dance. I scale my gaze down, unable to relax but unwilling to stop her. I can’t.
I slide my hands along her waist, but she plucks them off and pins them to the arms of the chair, pushing herself off me.
She backs up, moving slowly—so slowly—with the music, stretching her back long and graceful, and I don’t know when she lost her shoes, but her pretty toenails are painted so light a pink that I can barely see it.
Hooding her eyes, they never leave mine as she looks down at me and runs her hand down her body, unbuttoning her shirt. The shirt opens, falling off one shoulder, and I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, barely able to feel my limbs. She unzips her skirt, her hips rolling with the tempo.
I want to get up. Honestly, I do. I need to leave.
But Iron’s right. Everyone is our type when they’re naked. She lets everything fall, and her ass juts out, swaying in a circle before she turns and faces forward, giving me her whole body, naked except for her thong.
I can’t take my eyes off her, pain wracking through my body as I ball my fists.
Hanging an elbow over her head, she runs the other hand up her body, grazing her perfect breast. Her hands come down her face, her torso, and stop at her panties, her fingers threading through the white ribbon straps around her hips, a small triangle of white lace covering her in front.
What the hell was she doing wearing that with a skirt? And dancing with Callum with that on?
My eyes dart up to hers. She’s still watching me, barely moving anymore and looking down on me. Sticking three fingers in her mouth, she wets them and runs the hand back down her body, slowly driving for that little triangle between her legs. Her chest rises and falls hard, and I’m throbbing. God, look at her…
Threading her fingers underneath the strap with one hand, she plays with herself over her panties with the wet ones while slowly tugging at the ribbon and teasing me. Taunting me. The promise in her eyes that she’s going to pull it down farther and farther each time.
Falling back into me, she pushes me back, hovers over my mouth, and I want to touch her so badly. But I grip the armrests instead.
“I can’t leave you alone,” she whispers.
My fingers hum.
Don’t leave me alone. I’m an idiot.
“Sometimes my feelings for you are good and sometimes they’re bad,” she tells me, “but they’re always strong, Liv. Like no one else.”
Twisting around, she faces the mirrors and lowers herself onto my lap. Threading her fingers through mine, she keeps my hands at bay as she leans back into me, her head on my shoulder. Rolling her hips with the music, she looks up into my eyes as she rubs her ass into my crotch, and even though my clothes are wet and cold, I’m sweating.
I find her in the mirror ahead, a groan escaping as soon as I see the picture of her body writhing on top of me. Her nipples are dark and hard, her stomach like an hourglass, and I can’t take it anymore. My hands start to shake, and I fight free, taking hold of her, one arm around her waist and the other reaches up to thread fingers through her hair. Holding her in place, I sink my mouth into hers, finding her tongue and so fucking hungry I want to swallow her whole.
Her wet mouth brushes mine, and I slide my other hand down into her panties, finding her nub and caressing it oh-so-gentle.
She moans, and I can feel her smile through the kiss. “I want to taste you,” she begs. “It’s my turn.”
But I can’t let go of this view right now. “You will,” I say. “Pay attention to what I do to you. What you like. So you know what to do to me, okay?”
She nods.
I continue to tease her clit, slow and gentle, drawing her out, caressing her pussy.
“You like that?” I ask.
She nods. “Yeah.”
I pull my fingers off her, bring them to my mouth and suck on one. She watches me wet it and slide it back down into her panties. Her nipples pebble, the skin shrinking, and I smile.
I rub her just a little faster.
“Did you like that ?” I ask.
She swallows. “Yeah,” she whispers.
I watch her in the mirror, her legs between my spread jeans-clad ones, and she kisses my jaw as I play inside her panties.
“I’m going to put a finger inside you,” I tell her.
She searches my eyes, a hint of fear there.
“I’ll go slow.”
Her jaw flexes, but she doesn’t respond, and I take that as my go-ahead.
Sliding my hand down a little farther, I feel her legs stiffen.
“Open,” I whisper over her mouth. “Open your legs, baby.”
She hesitates, and I don’t think she’s breathing, but after a moment, she relaxes and slides a leg over mine, opening for me.
I find her entrance and rub the outside, not going in yet. “God.” I kiss her cheek, lightly taking a chunk between my teeth. “You’re so tight. I can already tell you’re going to be so fucking warm.”
She whimpers, shuddering under my touch, and I feel it. Her slick heat coating my fingertip. She’s ready.
I take it a centimeter at a time, working my middle finger just past her opening, little by little, kissing and licking her skin as I move my other hand from her hair to her breast. I knead the handful, distracting her.
Her warmth travels up my arm, and I groan, feeling it between my legs, too. “So fucking tight,” I murmur in her ear. “I want to go deeper, Clay.”
She reaches back and threads her fingers through my hair, turned on.
I push my finger a little more, her body clenching and tightening around me, its natural resistance kicking in. She squirms in my arms, and I wanna fucking die, my arms so charged with how good this feels.
I massage her clit again. “Open your cunt,” I whisper. “Open.”
She sucks in a breath but finally nods like a good girl. “Okay.”
She spreads wider, and I finally have my finger buried to the knuckle, enough that I don’t have to go any farther. I crook it, slowly and gently, moving, massaging, and testing over and over until I feel her jerk and hear her gasp.
I smile, closing my eyes for a moment as I kiss her temple.
There it is.
She stops breathing for a moment, and I continue, bending my fingers into her belly, hitting the same spot over and over again.
Finally, she exhales, relaxes into me, and spreads her thighs wider, giving me all of the room I need to finger her.
“Don’t stop,” she moans, searching for my mouth.
Jesus Christ, this is better than me coming.
“Pull your panties down,” I tell her. “Let me see.”
She slips her thong down to her thighs, and I look in the mirror. She slides a hand around the back of my neck and starts relaxing more, moving into my finger and searching for it. Her breasts bounce with the thrusts, and she arches her back so her tits pop up. The room sways in front of me.
“I wanted to be the first girl to kiss you,” she says.
I look down at her in my arms. I wanted you to be the only one to kiss me.
My heart would pump so hard. So fucking hard, and she never saw it, did she? And then everything started to feel cold—years of cold—and I didn’t even notice how cold everything was, and nothing feels like this. Nothing.
I hold her tighter, burying my nose in her hair and hating her for so much, but most of all, hating her for denying us this for so long.
“I know I’m not your first,” she says. “But you’re mine. I want to be sacred to you.”
Tears fills my eyes. She’s such a cunt, but then she says things like that and I just want to give her everything she wants. I want her to know that I wish to God this didn’t feel so good and that she didn’t feel so good.
The rain rages outside, the streets deserted, and it feels like we’re the only two people on the planet. And if that’s the case, all would be right with the world, because no one would be in our way. “Baby,” I mouth against her skin, “You make me melt.”
She climbs off me, turns around, and straddles me, and I slide the same finger back in, hearing that sweet, little whimper of pain as I fill her again.
With my fingers tangled in the strap of her thong, I grip her ass as she fucks my hand. I want to lean up and suck on her breast, but I love the view too much as she rocks on me and I rub her with my thumb.
A ringing pierces the air, and we both blink but don’t stop.
One hand in her pussy and the other on her ass, I keep her going as she digs on the side of the chair for her phone.
Pulling it out, she pants. “My mom.”
“Answer it,” I tell her. “If you don’t, she’ll worry, and then she’ll track it.”
Her mouth falls open, caught up in the pleasure.
“Hurry,” I tell her.
I’m about to come with her writhing on top of me like this. Shit.
She answers it, holding it to her ear. “Mom,” she says, breathless.
I laugh quietly, hearing her mother on the other end.
Clay rolls her hips, biting her bottom lip as she stares down at me. “I’m okay,” she pants and then clamps a hand over her mouth. “I’m, um… I’m with Callum.”
I lean up, flicking her nipple with my tongue and smiling. “Yeah, Mom. She’s with Callum.”
I suck hard, and she moans. “Uh-huh,” she says to whatever Gigi is telling her. “I’m safe. I’ll be home as soon as the rain lets up.”
“You’ll be home when I’m done,” I correct her, jerking her harder into my hand.
Clay comes down, covering my mouth with hers, a smile peeking out. “Shhhh…”
My clit throbs, and I’m so wet. I push up into her as I bury my finger inside of her, feeling all the warmth pool at my center and my orgasm almost there.
God, fuck, Clay… She grinds harder.
She mewls, and I bite my bottom lip again to stifle my own orgasm as I clamp a hand over her mouth, watching her getting ready to come.
“I’ll just sleep at Krisjen’s, actually,” she spits out really quickly. “It’s already so late. I’ll be home first thing in the morning, okay?”
A pause, Clay jerks, her face twists in pain, and I stick two fingers inside, breathing hard as she loses her mind.
“Mom, I have to go,” she gasps. “Krisjen’s leaving. I’ll call you in the morning!”
Ending the call, she throws the phone somewhere, and her pussy clenches around my fingers as she cries out.
I shake, my body exploding as she rides it out, and I arch as she comes down and kisses me. Her cry disappears down my throat, and I feel the sweat trickle down my back.
“Fuck,” I gasp.
I can’t believe I came. I’m still fully dressed. I groan, keeping my fingers inside her for another minute as she lays down on top of me.
I wrap my arms around her, feeling warm and wet, surrounded by her heavenly skin.
“Is there blood?” she asks, her voice sounding weak and so sweet.
I hold back my laugh. I slide my hand out from between us and take a quick glance at my glistening fingers, a shot of pride that I got her so wet.
“No.”
It’s going to take something bigger and wider than my finger. Contrary to popular belief, a hymen isn’t really something you break. It’s stretched, flexed, strained… It’s not a barrier the way most people think.
She sits up, and I wipe my finger on my jeans.
“Look at me,” I tell her.
She does.
“Virginity is a concept invented by people to make women feel worthless for having sex.” I raise my eyebrows matter-of-factly. “You want to worry about protecting something. Protect your credit score. That’ll come in a lot handier someday.”
She breaks into a laugh, and my face falls a little, her smile leveling me. I don’t make her laugh much. Of course, she doesn’t give me much reason to, but how wonderfully we might get along if we could stop fighting. I’d love to find out who she really is.
She leans down, kissing my forehead. “Hot shower,” she says against my skin. “Take me home with you. Now.”
