Page 47 of Was I Ever Free

What’s the point of having words likebreathtakingwhen it doesn’t even come close to describing the sight of her like this?

She’s so fucking perfect, it hurts.

I smile, my thumb dragging across her cheek as I do so. I lift her chin even higher, her darkened gaze throwing me into the deep end.

“What a sweet little slut you’re becoming,” I whisper.

Her eyes flare with heat and my mind splinters.

Then, finally, I let go.

I lean one of my forearms on the wall above us, my other hand jerking myself off as hot white ropes paint her pretty face, her eyelids fluttering closed.

When it’s finally over, I try to catch my breath, my chest heaving up and down. Lucy is still peering up at me, a small grin on her lovely lips. I give her a half smile in return. Smearing my fingers in my cum, I rub it into her skin. Slowly, I drag those same fingers into her mouth, her lips closing around them as soon as she tastes me on her tongue. Her quiet little mewl is suddenly fucking with my head and I take a step back, as she releases me with a long drag of her tongue.

I take her hand and pull her up, resisting the impulse to circle my arm around her waist and press her warm body against mine.

“You should shower,” I tell her while pulling up my jeans. Then look around the wrecked room. “I think it’s time to leave.”

She nods, still standing half-naked in front of me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but then her smile drops, looking worried.

“I just want to know that Bridget will be okay before we go,” she says softly while making her way to her own bathroom.

“Why?” I ask, but,shit, I already fucking know what she’s about to say.

“Ritchie hurt her. Hehurtsher.”

“How do you know?” I press her.

“I saw the bruises,” she says dejectedly.

My mind is already ten steps ahead, Ritchie dead and rotting somewhere dark, but I keep my face blank, and nod. “We’ll see what we can do for her, okay? But we can’t stay here. We need to go.”

She studies me for a few seconds and then lets out a long exhale. “Okay,” she says, a little defeated.

I’m out of the motel room as soon as Lucy closes the bathroom door.

25

Afew hours later, and a short hiatus from the room on my part, we’re back on the road.

“Is that your bucket list?” I glance toward the passenger side as Lucy slams her notebook shut. She asked me to drive today and I happily obliged, needing some distractions from everything that transpired in the past twenty-four hours. We’ve been on the road for over an hour, and she’s been silent for most of it.

My gaze falls on her closed notebook, a pink flamingo illustrated on the cover. I bring my attention back to the road, but that same prickling feeling at my nape sends shivers down my spine. It’s that same—and now ever-present—feeling of having already seen such a random and innocuous thing, like this fucking flamingo notebook, before. I just know I’d find it somewhere scrawled inside my notebook back home.

“Uh, yes…” Lucy replies as if harboring a shameful secret.

“What are you hiding in there, Luce?” I say playfully—only half-jokingly.

The hit of jealousy straight to the gut I felt when I learned that she had told Bridget about her list before telling me was… shocking, to say the least. It’s ridiculous that I’d feel anything other than apathy. Instead of letting that feeling linger any longer, I did the first thing to come to mind—just so happens that thing was to make Lucy come on my tongue.

“Nothing.” Her tone is higher than usual while she shoves the notebook into her backpack at her feet. “It’s silly really,” she adds with a quick sigh.

Nothing about you is silly, Luce.

It’s at the tip of my tongue, I can taste every single ridge of every word. Still, I keep my mouth shut, staring at the road ahead, hating myself.

Thankfully, my phone rings, relieved that I don’t have to stew in whatever was happening just now.

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