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Placing one gentle kiss on my shoulder, he whispers against my skin, “That day you cut the grass. You had your hair tied up . . .” his hands glide from my hips, slowly and agonizingly, until they’re just beneath the swells of my breasts, “all I could think about was what it would be like to come up behind you and kiss your neck.” A surge runs through me as I fight the urge to lean back against him. “Seems so little, I know,” he chuckles huskily, “but I’ve fucking fantasized about it over and over. What would it feel like? How soft would your skin feel against my lips? How would you taste? What sounds would you make?” When he kisses my shoulder again, his lips barely brushing my flesh, a moan escapes me. “Damn, Demi,” he groans as he kisses toward my neck, each one growing harder. “It’s better than I could have ever imagined.”
When his hand moves up my back and threads my hair, forcing mine away, I reach back and hold his firm hips to keep myself steady as Co
“There are so many things I want to do to you, that I need to do to you, but right now . . . fuck,” he groans, “Demi, I just need you.” I want to tell him I feel the same, that I feel like I’m being eaten alive with desire for him, but my mouth won’t let me speak the words. Instead, I climb on his lap so that I’m straddling him, and with the head of his cock pressed to me, ready to enter me, I kiss him as I bare down, but his firm hands stop me. When he looks up at me, his eyes hooded, filled with lust. “Slow, Demi,” he orders me. “Go so painfully slow. I want to memorize and remember every single millisecond of this.”
Then he pulls my head to his and as our lips crush together, I push down slowly until Co
After Co
No.
Words aren’t needed.
Co
The mind is a fu
I sit up abruptly, waking suddenly from my deep sleep. The sound of a motorcycle roars from outside and silences seconds later. My heart is pounding in my throat, my stomach knotted, hands shaking. I remember what happened. Twisting my neck, I realize Co
“Co
He must know why I’m crying because as we fall to the ground, and I crawl in his lap, he holds me tightly and whispers, “You have nothing to worry about. I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Or anyone for that matter.”
I cry harder. Why does he think he has to always protect everyone else? When I manage to look up, I see Dusty leaning against the garage, arms crossed, looking away from us. He knows what happened too. Well, he knows most of it. That makes four of us. Four people with one giant secret that Co
“Demi Stevens!” A woman shouts, and I jerk my head up. A flash blinds me momentarily, and I blink a few times before realizing it’s a photographer. “Demi, do you know what happened to Mr. Jenson?” the photographer yells. Three more people run up beside her and start snapping pictures. Reporters? Really? Dusty rushes over and begins pushing everyone back as they shout questions to me.
“Are you and Co
“Are you lying to protect Co
“Get the fuck back you assholes,” Dusty shouts. I can’t move. I’m frozen as I watch the debacle.
“We’re going to stand up now, baby,” Co
Numbly, my body still shaking, he leads me inside and seats me at the kitchen table. He grabs a blanket from the living room and wraps it around me. Then he goes back to the porch and calls for Dusty. Pulling out the chair beside me, he moves it close to mine and sits, pulling me to him. Co
“Reporters?” I mumble.
“They showed up this morning,” Co
My tear filled gaze meets his. “I killed him,” I finally manage.
He squeezes me, before moving his hand to my head. “I killed him,” Co
“No, no you didn’t. I killed him.” I reiterate.
He kissed my temple again, long and hard, fisting my hair in his hand. He’s hurting. He’s hurting because he wanted to protect me from this. He hoped I wouldn’t remember, but I did.
“They have no proof of anything,” Dusty adds. “The only thing the prosecution can come up with is Co
“In a small town, that’s all they need,” I argue.
“Demi,” Co
I jerk away from him as tears stream down my cheeks. “Do you really think that’s what I’m worried about?”
He sucks in a deep breath, and his eyes go soft. “You don’t remember anything,” his tone is firm. It’s not a question. He’s telling me I don’t remember anything.
I stand up and pull the blanket around me. “If you think I’m going to sit here and play stupid while you take the rap, you are so wrong,” I warn.