I swear the last thing I hear him say is, “Sometimes love isn’t enough and sometimes it’s not right. You have to know when to move on,” he whispers.
And that right there breaks me. I know he loves me and I know that he wants me.
But he won’t let himself be happy. He blames himself and no matter what I say or do, I can’t seem to change his mind.
Can’t seem to make him realize that he’s wrong. The only thing that will help me through all these terrible things is him.
The door slams open and I jump, screaming.
“Jesus Christ, baby. It’s just me.”
With those harsh words, he walks in and drops more of my boxes, the dog leaping to me and begging for pats.
I bend down and gently stroke his smooth head, laughing as he laps it up like the good dog he is.
“Hello, Linc. It’s so nice to meet you. I bet you’re the best boy ever.”
“He’s not. And if you think that you’re a born sucker.”
Huffing, I glare at him. “Maybe you should be a bit nicer to him. One of these days, this dog might be all that stands between you and a bear or something.”
“I’ve got a gun and I know how to use it. That dog would be useless in a fight. He’d probably stop to cuddle with a bear or something equally stupid.”
He strides down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
When he comes back out, there’s a towel wrapped around his wet torso and his shirt is missing.
My mouth goes dry, my eyes sliding slowly down his chest, barely noticing the scars that trail down his pectoral muscle and his ribs. Nothing can mar the beauty of him. He’s a work of art, a beautiful thing like David in the museum.
He has another white towel draped over the top of his head and his arm is raised, rubbing his wet hair harshly, until it’s standing on end.
His bicep flexes and heat curls in my belly. I swear I can feel his fingers running deftly along my body, the callouses rough on my skin. His warm breath kisses my ear, those soft lips mouthing my lobe as his teeth nip.
I can’t breathe, can’t think. All I can see is his body. I can smell his warm scent from here. Something masculine and wild. Like leather and pine had a baby. So sexy and manly that my whole body clenches, needing to feel him hovering over me, sliding inside me.
I can feel him inside me. Feel him push inside me over and over again, thrusting like a wild animal as he ruts into me, using me for his pleasure and yet taking my body to heights of passion I’ve never felt before.
He looks up and his golden-brown gaze locks on mine, passion and lust coiling in it, holding me in place. I can’t look away.
He paces towards me and I barely notice that his jeans are undone, his black boxer briefs barely visible. His dusting of dart chest hair curls damply on his skin and arrows down the hard planes of his belly straight towards where his jeans lie open.
I can’t breathe. My head is swimming and it’s not a concussion messing with it.
It’s pheromones. It’s love and lust and the wild, insane need for him that I’ve never gotten over.
His fingers reach out slowly, leaving time for me to back away.
But I don’t. And as soon as his finger trace my forearm, I move closer to him, whimpering softly, my own hands reaching blindly for what I can’t resist.
Him.
CHAPTER 8
Jeremiah
Her skin is so soft under mine. I can smell that scent she always wore. A light floral with warm peach undertones that always makes me think about her.
My fingers trail down her arm and then wrap around her hand, pulling her tight against me.
