AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nineteen
“What about the sheriff? He knows about us.”
Sarah ran her attention over the details of Dean’s face, who stared back at her. Maybe he could read the clash of desire and doubt churning her tummy. Maybe his offer that “no one else needed to know” about this relationship meant she could have what she wanted, him, and keep that want a secret. Or maybe his proposal was all too simplistic.
“The sheriff won’t tell anyone, and you know it.” He shrugged, his hand still resting on her cheek.
“You’re right, he won’t.” She clawed her fingers into the bedroom door frame, her focus unwittingly shifting to his bed with its masculine plain white sheets and dark blue throw. “But nothing stays a secret in Harlow.”
“Sarah?” His attention followed to where hers had been, to the bed and back to her, her heartbeat skipping since it didn’t take a genius to know where her mind had gone.
He held her, even as the tight tugging in her chest told her to step away from him and his bedroom.
She blinked up at him, slow and heavy, regretting every second she failed to run. “What?”
The breathiness in her voice alone opened a hollow within her. She didn’t want to leave. Begged for a reason to stay. Even if staying should have been the last thing she wanted.
And of course because of that conflict, she didn’t run when he leaned in close—so close that the smallest nudge would bring their lips together. “We could pretend we hate each other.”
She slammed her eyes shut, feeling stupid and numb and exhilarated all at once. “Sorry?”
He’d reduced her to a bumbling mess, and all it took was his simple touch—a simple touch that permeated through her body in gentle waves, seizing her ability to do the smart thing and leave.
“What if we let people believe we hate each other?” His thumb rubbed a firm line over her cheek, that caress seeming to plead with her to hear him out, to tip her chin upward and just kiss him. “We’ll trash talk each other to anyone who’ll listen, throw in a few public squabbles. No one will suspect a thing.”
“Dean…” She shook her head.
“It could work.”
“It could, but—”
“If outright hate is too strong, then we can fake indifference.” His voice was a soft whisper, words meant for her alone, words that melted her so much that she didn’t hesitate to close her eyes the moment he leaned in and pressed a soft but quick kiss to her lips.
How had she gotten here? She’d stormed into his house in search of confrontation, fully prepared never to speak to him again, and here she stood now, caving to the low thrum of need spreading roots throughout her body.
“Just give my idea a try. Can you at least do that?” His attention swept over her face, his soft focus pleading with her. “Tomorrow night, I’ll come to Maynard’s. You’ll get to pretend to be the biggest bitch you can muster—”
“Would it even be pretending?”
His lips stretched into a grin. “No comment. Either way, whatever you dish out, I’ll take and I’ll give right back. We can have fun with this. If my plan doesn’t work, we’ll call this whole thing quits. I promise.”
A slow smile tugged at her lips. She could unashamedly slam Dean’s pride in public, while having her fill of him in private. The best of two worlds.
She gave a small nod, only for his lips to crash down over hers like that small nod was something he’d been waiting for his entire life. And maybe it was. Maybe she’d been waiting her whole life too. Not for Dean exactly, but to give herself permission to be free, even if it was with just this one thing. With him.
He scooped her up and carried her to his bed.
So much for him putting on a new shirt. Even as his mouth ravaged hers, her fingers clawed and pulled at the loose cotton over his shoulders. She wanted him and his naked body over hers, and within moments, that’s exactly what she had.
He made love to her hard and fast—taking his fill, while she took hers—two people who’d waited far too long. Two people who could only ever be themselves around each other.
She arched into him. Clung to him. Her cries were wild and unabashed and a release in more ways than one. All while he took her, his stare pitching a challenge for her to break first. Or maybe there was more to her need and his demanding than two people seeking a thrill—a universe of buried pain and unspoken dreams.
He wanted. She wanted to run. That much was clear. But there was no escaping this—this moment where she relinquished control and relished all he had to give—his breaths exploding against her skin, his length swelling within her and pushing her to her limits.
Her heartbeat climbed at the intensity of it all. Of Dean and everything he drew from her.
She couldn’t hold on any longer, and her eyes slammed shut, her hands coming away from him to claw at the bedsheets. Every muscle in her body bunched as a deep cry tore from low in her chest. For once in her life, she was happy to lose. Happy to break.
He picked up the pace and broke along with her, his face buried at her neck, his kisses tracing the tendon there.
This wasn’t love. Not by a long shot.
But she loved how he felt, how he let her be someone else, or perhaps more herself than ever before. Either way, if tonight was all about making love, tomorrow would be nothing but all-out war.
