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“Fuuuck, Birdie. Oh fuck, you’re so goddamn perfect,” he moans in my ear, his hips jerking between my legs, his cock pulsing inside me with his release.
I want to tell him I love him. That I’ve been in love with him since the day I met him and no amount of time, or distance, or dating other people, or hurt could have ever changed that, and I was an idiot for thinking it would, but nothing comes out of my mouth. My best friend, my everything is still thick and hard inside me, his hips twitching between my tightly clenched thighs around his waist with the last of his orgasm, and I’m already worrying about what this means. He said it would change everything. In a good way? In a bad way? Does he even want more than just this one stolen moment in a maintenance shed during a thunderstorm?
Maybe it’s the fact that we know each other so well and he could immediately sense what was going through my mind, or maybe he’s spent enough time staying quiet about how he feels, and now that it’s out in the open, he’s not hiding it anymore. Whatever it is, with Palmer’s hand still clutching to my throat and his lips still pressed against my ear, he thrusts into me deeply one last time, making me gasp as another hoarse growl comes out of his mouth against the shell of my ear.
“Mine.”CHAPTER 19Palmer
“Don’t tee me off.”Rapid heart rate… check.
Chest pains… check.
Shallow breathing… check.
Dizziness, sweating, nausea… check, check, motherfucking check.
Cue the panic attack!
“Where in the hell is my underwear?” Birdie mutters, wandering around the small shed that now feels like it’s 800 degrees inside, moving rakes and looking behind shovels as she pulls the straps of her damp, wrinkly tank top back up to her shoulders that was shoved down to her waist.
That I shoved down to her waist, along with her skirt that I yanked up, and her goddamn underwear that I ripped off like a caveman and tossed… who the hell knows where.
“Seriously, it’s a small scrap of lace. It didn’t just get up and walk away,” Birdie continues to complain, oblivious to the fact that I’m still standing here with my shorts shoved down to my upper thighs and my dick and my ass hanging out, having a panic attack ever since she unwound her legs from my waist and I had to pull out of her.
What the fuck have I done?! I just ravaged my best friend… my person against the goddamn wall of a maintenance shed!
Just watching Birdie, so clean, beautiful, and perfect, brushing her tangled, wet hair out of her face, getting down on her hands and knees on the fucking filthy floor to look under the dirty, disgusting riding lawn mower to try to find her clean, lacy piece of clothing that I yanked off of her so hard I heard it rip a little and then tossed to the side like it was trash makes that nausea turn into full-blown vomit working its way up my throat.
“I’m sorry.”
My words come out quiet and scratchy, and I have to clear my throat over the ball of shame currently sitting right behind my Adam’s apple. At least the storm has started moving away and I don’t have to shout over the pounding rain against the roof, since it’s pretty much stopped.
She deserves so much better than this.
“It’s fine.” Birdie waves me away with a distracted flap of her hand as she gets up from the floor and brushes her knees off. “It was a thong from Target. I have plenty more.” She snorts a little, readjusting her wrinkled tank top and equally creased and crumpled short skirt, trying to smooth it out when she stands facing me a few feet away.
She’s not wearing any underwear under that skirt. I had to give her my wrinkled, wet T-shirt so she could wipe away my cum dripping out of her and down the inside of her thighs.
Wow, it’s getting hotter in here.
No! Stop being a horny asshole. You just defiled her against a wall like she meant nothing to you! You don’t get the pleasure of getting hard again right now.
Birdie’s hand brushes her hair off one shoulder, and a quiet, miserable moan comes out of me when I see a small, red bite mark on her perfect skin right where her neck connects to her shoulder.
Jesus Christ, I’m a fucking animal. Why is she even still in this room with me right now?
“Birdie… I’m sorry.” My words are a whisper I can barely get out of my mouth, my hands shaking with the need to run them softly and delicately over every inch of her body I touched too roughly, gripped too hard, needed too much…. She’s probably got bruises on her ass and marks on her hips and thighs from the hard dig of my fingers into her flesh. And let’s not even get into the state of her fucking spine right now, with how many times I slammed her into the wall.
