Fight(18)

My hands touched her waist. I slipped my fingers under her shirt, touching her soft and warm skin. My hand moved across her belly, my thumb touching her belly button. Her stomach tensed and she gasped. She was f*cking ticklish.

Slowly, I moved both hands up her shirt, grabbing it, wanting the damn thing off her body. Winter lifted her arms and her shirt went up and over her head. It dropped to the floor. Her breasts were beautiful, pushing so heavily against her white laced bra. There was something innocent about the color white and it completely went against everything that was happening with me and her.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her tits. I wanted to rip her bra off and devour her.

Winter let out a cry of pain and I opened my hands. That’s when I saw the bruise on her left shoulder. My left hand touched her belly again and I spun her so her shoulder was facing me.

God, her f*cking tits were amazing. They way they bounced when I moved her…

“What happened?” I asked. “Did one of those f*ckers touch you?”

Winter looked at me, her face flushed. “No. You did it.”

“Me? What?”

I thought about the night before. Being drunk. Did something happen? Did I hurt her? No f*cking way. I’d never touch a woman like that. Not after everything I’d been through. No way…

“Tripp?”

I shook my head. “What? What happened? How did I…”

Winter turned to face me again. Her tits were calling to me, but I forced to keep my eyes to hers. It was killing me from the inside.

“When we went into the house,” she said. “You saw Harlan on the couch and pushed me out of the way. I fell into the wall and hit my shoulder.”

“Jesus Christ, darling,” I said. I touched just below the bruise. “I’m so sorry. I’d never…”

“I believe you,” she said. “You didn’t mean to. You were protecting me.”

The bruise took up most of her shoulder. I leaned forward and pressed my lips to it. Winter jumped, winced, and groaned. Her hand shot to the back of my head, her fingers digging.

My left hand was still against her stomach. If I moved my hand up, I could cup her tit. Rip it right from her bra. Feel the warmth and heaviness. My thumb teasing her nipple, feeling it getting hard. Better yet, I could move my hand down. Shove my hand right into her jeans and panties and find her wet slit. She’d be wet for me. She’d be wet for my touch. But she wouldn’t be prepared for what I wanted to do to her.

I gritted my teeth and broke away from her again.

I walked forward, my back to her. “Put your shirt back on.”

“What?”

“You f*cking heard me. Enough.”

I rushed to the bathroom door and slammed the door shut. I went to the sink and turned on the cold water. I leaned down and considered drowning myself in. I considered opening my jeans and stuffing my dick into the sink, too.

This was bullshit. This had to stop.

I couldn’t touch her again. I couldn’t kiss her. I couldn’t f*ck her.

I had to keep to the plan.

Just keep her alive.





12.


(Winter)



I lost track of the days because they all started to blend together. The first night was the worst though. Tripp ordered food and went to pick it up. He left his gun under the pillow on the bed and told me to kill anyone who wasn’t him.

We ate in silence. We barely talked. I lay in the bed that night as he stood on the balcony. Part of me wanted to wake up and find him next to me, but that didn’t happen. He slept on the floor.

It then became rinse and repeat.

We left the motel to walk for food, to do laundry, and I got Tripp to break down and actually take me to the beach. That lasted all of twenty minutes and consisted of him constantly looking around, not enjoying himself. Yeah, we weren’t there on a vacation. We were there to hide and survive. I was fully clothed, couldn’t enjoy the atmosphere. I locked myself in the bathroom after that for an hour and cried. When I emerged, Tripp was on the balcony again, on his cell phone. One hand to his ear, the other waving like crazy.

He was pissed.

Probably about taking care of me.

I had been nothing but a liability from day one - not just to Tripp either.

That night I considered bolting. If it meant stealing his car, then I would do it. I could get on the highway and go east. As far east as I could make it before I’d figure out a plan or get caught and killed.

I fell asleep with intentions of doing just that. When I woke a few hours later, Tripp was at the door. Sitting at the door, asleep. One leg up, a hat down over his face, his keys in his hand. It was like he knew what I was thinking. He was f*cking with me even worse than when he talked to me and touched me.

The worst part of it all was feeling stuck. I didn’t want to go home because there was no home for me. The converted garage was owned by the MC. It had been Rocky’s place and now the MC had their hands on it. Which was fine. This wasn’t my dream house or dream town. I was like a wave in the ocean; just going with the flow. Moving along, pushing to the shore, pulling back, doing it again and again.

I was outside on the balcony watching the water, a nice breeze blowing from the side. I begged my mind to slip away. It started to do just that when I heard the door slide open.

Tripp then stood next to me. Black jeans. A white shirt that seemed unfair to fit his body the way it did. For the love of everything, I could see the ripples of his stomach when the wind pushed the shirt tight to his body! I couldn’t remember the last time I felt really turned on and really able to be pleasured. There was a difference between coming and feeling good while coming.