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“Maybe.”
Doubt it. She’s smart. The girl has had my number since we met, but damn if she hasn’t fallen for me anyhow. “Are you going to make me repeat my request?”
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m not sure if you know, but I have this nasty habit of forgetting things...”
I tangle our fingers, pull her to me and take her lips with mine. Our mouths open and our tongues dance. Asking and giving, possessing and relenting.
My hand is along her back, drawing up her sweater and tank, and when Breanna shifts, granting me permission, I have the material up and over her head. We’re close to skin against skin and my mind becomes a whirlwind. She’s heat, softness, curves and sighs. Hair that’s like silk, kisses that cause earthquakes and she has a sweet scent that drives me insane.
A flick of my fingers, a clasp undone and the gentle pressure of all of Breanna is too much to bear. Our bodies move, my lips are on her neck, my hands are memorizing, and Breanna whispers in my ear, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
There’s no pain. Only a building heat and an impending rush. I shake my head to calm her fears and reclaim her mouth. The momentum grows and she presses closer to me as I press closer to her. It’s fast and out of control and there’s a light pain in my right arm, but I shove all that away as I grip her hips, encouraging this rhythm to pick up speed.
She’s kissing me and I’m kissing her, then she turns her head as she gasps and shifts so that we’re no longer in sync. Both of us are struggling for air and my body pulses with the need to continue. Breanna sits up, still straddling me, and looks down with wild and apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry...it’s just a little...”
“Fast,” I finish for her. “It’s okay. Don’t apologize. Never apologize.”
I rub my eyes and scrub a hand over my face to try to
ease the blood now pounding in my head, then encourage Breanna to lie next to me.
Her body becomes pliant and she settles against my side again. This time her arm and leg drape over me. My fingers knot in her hair and I kiss her lips several times. Each of the kisses soft. Each of them a promise that this moment is forever burned in my brain.
She’s my girl now and I’ll do anything for her at any time. I’m in love with her.
Breanna snatches her bra, tank and sweater and I do my best to school my expression so she can’t tell how I’m admiring the view or of how I find her innocence cute when she slips the tank and sweater over her head and then clumsily puts on her bra underneath them.
Before me, she’d only kissed a boy and she’s in my territory now. We visited new areas and I want her to trust me enough to return to those places with me.
“Are you tired?” she asks. “Do you want me to leave?”
I’m fucking beat. “Stay.” It’s a request in the tone of an order.
“I have to leave in enough time to sneak out and make it home by four thirty.”
If she’s staying... “I’ll get you home in time.”
When she’s done rearranging, I tug on her hand to indicate for her to lie down next to me, and she does. Her head’s on my chest and my arm keeps her tucked close. My world, for the first time in years, is full of peace. “You’re my girl, Breanna. You’re my girl.”
If she says something back, I don’t hear it as dreams have already started to invade my mind. It’s no longer nightmares, but dreams of Breanna and an open field and her wrapped tight around me.
Breanna
I’M HIS GIRL. His statement brought on a wave of excitement mixed with an intense dose of fear. Razor’s chest rises and falls and his heartbeat against my ear is steady and strong. He flinches in his sleep and what I love is how he angles closer to me each time he readjusts.
I outline one of his bruises on his stomach with my fingertip and appreciate his chiseled chest. Walking away in the forest would have been the smart, logical Bre thing to do, but I like who I am when I’m with him. I like how, for once, I belong.
Razor has an angelic face, but he doesn’t look like a man old enough to be carrying a gun, protecting semi loads of goods, and whatever other responsibilities he has in being part of a motorcycle club. He shaved, so he has this smooth baby face I itch to caress, and the tips of his hair barely kiss his eyelids.
A light knock on the door and Razor rouses from his slumber. He opens his eyes as Rebecca pops her head in. “Are you decent?”
“Yeah,” Razor answers. “Come on in.”
Oh my freaking God, did she really ask that and would she be okay if we weren’t? Razor gives me a swift kiss before sitting up. “Rules are different here.”
“So you keep saying,” I mutter as I slip off the bed.
Razor pulls a shirt over his head, shrugs into his cut and then shoves his feet into his black boots. He grimaces once in the process and I wonder how it’s possible to hide the pain.
