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“Tell me to stop,” I demanded, barely recognizing my own voice – low, quiet almost, not something anyone would usually accuse me of being in terms of tone.
“I…” she started, mouth opening and closing. “I don’t want you to stop,” she told me.
And that was it.
That was the last thread of control I was holding onto.
Ripped away, my thumb moved under her chin, tilting it up as my head shifted downward.
My heart hammered in my chest as my lips pressed to hers.
There was a low, throaty whimper at the contact, something that was nearly drowned out by the rumble that came from deep in my own chest.
Soft.
It had been so fucking long since I knew anything close to it. But that was exactly what she was. The feel of her hair, her skin, her lips as they moved with mine, accepting, and demanding more.
Her back arched, pressing her breasts into my chest as her hand rose, fingers sinking into my upper arm, holding on as my tongue moved inside to claim hers.
It took everything I had not to take her right there when I felt her body shudder against mine, as a moan escaped her lips, muffled by my own.
It was the feel of her other arm looping around my neck that stripped me of the hesitance, gentleness. My hands fell, sinking into her hips, pulling up, lifting her off her feet, pinning her against the wall. Her legs dangled for all of a breath before pulling up, wrapping around my lower back, opening her up to me.
The shirt had shifted up at the motion, and when my hands slipped down, they met the bare skin of her ass. Softer still than I could have imagined. I could feel the heat of her pressing against my pelvis, knew I could shift back slightly, press my hand there, feel her need.
Desire was an all-consuming thing in my system, my lips pressing harder, demanding more, a rough assault she happily agreed to.
But that thought was an ice bath to my system.
Assault.
Fuck.
Goddamnit.
What was wrong with me?
It didn’t matter that I’d wanted her more intensely than I could have anticipated.
It didn’t mean I could touch her.
Expose a weakness, her need for comfort, connectedness.
It was too soon.
She’d barely had time to process what had happened to her. And here I was, fucking pawing at her like an animal.
“Fuck,” I hissed, lips ripping from hers, hands sliding back up to touch only the material, easing her back down onto her own feet. “Fuck,” I snapped again, pulling against her hold, turning away, storming outside. “Goddamnit,” I growled to myself, slamming my hand into a tree, feeling the pain slice through the overpowering need coursing through my system.
I don’t know how long I was out there alone. It felt like ages. Yet not long enough to pull myself fully together.
But I heard footsteps, slow, tentative.
“Ranger…”
“We need to go. It’s getting dark.”
I couldn’t see, but I imagined she cringed backward at the sharpness of my tone, the borderline brutality of it.
What she didn’t know as she followed a safe distance behind me with Captain at her side was that it had nothing to do with her, it was directly linked to the battle going on inside me – the part of me that wanted to turn back, take whatever she wanted to give me, and the part that knew it was wrong, too soon. It was a fight between lesser and better angels.
Had we not made it home when we did, I didn’t know who would have won.
Meadow rushed to the side, snagging Gadget who ran out to greet her, then storming into the house several feet ahead of me, stopping at the fireplace to grab a pile of things, then sealing herself into the bathroom, the door closing with a loud slam.
It was then that I realized that it wasn’t that she hadn’t noticed the clothes before, but that she had chosen to wear just my shirt instead.
It had been a while since I made a beeline for the liquor stashed in a cabinet over the fridge, but I did so then, pouring three fingers as Finn paused from his scrubbing of the inside of the sink to raise his brows at me.
“I’m such a fuck,” I told him, tipping back the glass.
And I was.
EIGHT
Meadow
Maybe I was being childish.
It certainly felt childish to storm into the bathroom, to throw on the new clothes – buttery soft lounge pants in a floral pattern, an oversized, but not like Ranger’s clothes – gray sweatshirt, panties, socks that fit, then storm back out, grabbing Gadget, and curling up on the couch facing the cushions, pretending no one else was in the cabin.
Not only childish.
But also rude seeing as Finn was here. And none of this was his fault, yet he had to feel like he was in the middle of it all. Especially since there was so little space in the house.
