“He didn’t get very far,” she whispers. “The police showed up because of some anonymous noise complaint. The cop recognized me and took me to the station. I gave a statement. Told them everything. And my father…made it allgo away.”
My blood turns molten in my veins.
“Hissolutionto the problem was to send me here until the rumors died down and the case they were working on was over. To protecthisreputation and avoid the inevitable scandal.”
Her shoulders curl inward slightly and I tighten my hold on her hand, because I don’t know what else to do with all the rage burning beneath my skin.
How the fuck did I ever convince myself that keeping my distance was the safer choice, when she’s spent her entire life feeling unwanted and being punished for existing?
I’m even angrier at Lane now. Knowing what I know—knowing what she endured—makes every shitty thing he put her through a thousand times worse.
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice is low and useless, but it’s all I have.
“It’s not your fault. It’s whatever.” She tries to smile but it dims under the quiver of her bottom lip.
“For what it’s worth…thewhydoesn’t matter,” I tell her quietly. “The only thing that matters is that you’re here.” I squeeze her hand lightly. “Fuck, now Ireallywish I’d broken a lot more than just Lane’s nose.”
That earns me a soft laugh as she bumps her shoulder into mine. “You did more than enough. I’ve never actually had anyone throw a punch for me before,” she murmurs.
“Sadie, I’m serious,” I say, tilting her chin up with my knuckles until she’s looking at me again. “If I’d known everything thatnight, the outcome would’ve been…a lotdifferent.” My eyes flick between hers. “You don’t deserve any of it.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth, slow and unmistakable. When she looks back up, it feels like she wants me—wants this—just as badly as I do.
“Your turn,” she whispers.
My thumb finds the edge of her jaw, tracing the warm, soft line of her. Her breath stutters, a tiny hitch that goes straight through me. I lean in, her breath mixing with mine. My tongue sweeps over my lower lip and I wish it was hers.
“I want to kiss you.”
She tilts her head closer, and the tiniest inch between us feels infinite. “Me too.”
Fuck it.
I close the distance. There’s no thinking, no deciding, just surrender. My mouth crashes into hers, and her lips part for me. I thread my hands into her hair, tugging gently, and she melts against me, exhaling a soft and desperate sound.
The kiss deepens, slow at first, then hungrier. She shifts closer, swinging one leg over my hips until she’s straddling me.
My hands brush against her waist, shaking with the effort of not pulling her in too fast. But she moves—barely, subtly, a soft grind, like she’s testing my reaction. The slow roll of her hips drags a low groan from my throat.
My restraint detonates, shattering into a million tiny fragments.
I cannot resist her any longer.
My hands slide down the curve of her waist, roaming farther until I grip her ass, pulling her closer and pressing my hips up into her.
She gasps at the pressure, but it’s nothing compared to what’s happening behind my ribs—this explosive, spiraling need thatmakes me feel fucking nineteen again and seconds away from coming in my pants just from making out with a pretty girl.
But she’s so much more than that.
A whimper slips out of her—soft, but so goddamn needy—and then her fingers tug at my shirt, pulling it up, over my head, casting it aside. Her palms skim across my bare skin, exploring, learning, and something ignites so deep inside me it feels prehistoric, like I’m a fucking caveman.
An insatiable hunger. A feverish need.
She trails kisses down my jaw, my neck, nipping lightly, and I bite back a groan so rough it vibrates in my chest.
Finally. Finally. Finally.
And yet, it still doesn’t feel real.
