Rules of Survival(65)

“Say the word,” he growled between kisses. “Say the word and I’ll stop.”

I bit my lip as he swung a leg over, pulling away to hover above me. He tilted his head back and ground his hips against me, letting me feel all of him, hard and ready.

“Say it,” he tried again. The words were halfway between a plea and a curse. The words. The movement. The feel of him against me. I moaned and arched against him.

That was the end of it. He threaded the fingers of his right hand through my left, and raised it above my head. With his free hand he undid the button of his jeans. It took a second, but a few moments later, his pants joined mine in a pile on the floor next to the bed.

He was everywhere all at once. Hands running up my thighs, gripping the edge of my bra and yanking it down, fingers slipping inside me… I gasped as he moved, first a single finger, then two, slowly making tiny circles. The very air became electric.

I couldn’t stop myself. I cried out as a tremor ran through me, and he chuckled. “You like it?”

“Oh my God,” I breathed, trying to move with him to increase the friction. Something was building, deep inside. My body had a mind of its own. The only thing that mattered was holding on to this as long as I could.

He brought his mouth to my left breast, tongue flicking the nipple twice before he took it lightly between his teeth. Tingles, so exquisite, washed over me, and I arched off the bed with a gasp.

He chuckled again, and I nearly died when he stopped moving his fingers, pulling them out and placing his hand next to my head. “Don’t stop,” I whimpered, desperate. “Please…”

He made a sound—a low noise close to a growl that stole away the last bits of my control. “No way,” he said, breathing heavy. He brought his lips to my ear and took the tip between his teeth, giving a pull. “Not like that.”

A moment later, I felt the tip of him pressed against me. The pressure was frightening and exciting. A maddening need came over me, and I tried to push up against him, but he held me in place. Frustratingly slow, he moved forward. I envied his control. Mine had dissolved.

I wrapped my legs around his back, urging him closer, but he resisted, still determined to work slowly. He was afraid to hurt me, I realized. Scare me. But I didn’t want him to treat me gently. Not really. I wanted something real. Something raw. Bringing my free hand up, I tangled my fingers into a chunk of his hair and pulled hard. He liked things on the rough side. That’s what I’d give him.

He inhaled sharply and jerked forward. We both gasped, and a part of me thrilled. Me. I’d done that. Destroyed his control. The feeling of power was intoxicating, and it spurred me on. I raked my nails down the back of his neck, grabbing his shoulders and digging into the skin.

“Fuck,” he panted, pushing just a little harder. Grabbing my cuffed hand, he brought it to his chest, placing it over his heart and covering it with his own. For a second he stayed like that, looking into my eyes. In that moment there were no walls separating us. The outside world was gone—our pasts, who we were—all of it never existed. Raw connection and brutal honesty, something that made me feel unencumbered, shone in his eyes. It lasted seconds. Maybe even less. But it’d been the most real thing I’d ever experienced.

His lip twitched, the right-hand corner tipping up just a hair. In a single, swift motion, he was buried inside me. There was an instant of intense pain that gave way to something amazing. A sensation that lit me up from the inside out, bringing all the dead and sleeping parts to life.

He began to move, slowly at first, then faster. His kisses grew savage and all-consuming. With his cuffed hand still on mine, he braced himself against the bed and buried his face in my neck, shuddering at the release.

Wave after wave of euphoria rolled over me, turning my entire body into one live wire. The universe exploded, and for the first time in my life, I was at peace.





Chapter Twenty-One


Twelve Picker Street was a collection of tall evergreens and sprawling pine trees. There was a mailbox marking the street number, but no house in sight. Next to it, a narrow dirt driveway stretched out before us and tilted upward at a disturbing angle. Mom hadn’t taught me to drive—she’d promised to do it this past year—but I couldn’t imagine trying to get up something like this in the snow.

“So, um, about last night,” I said, as we started up the driveway. We’d “borrowed” a car and left it three blocks away, walking the entire way in silence. It was driving me nuts.

Shaun slowed but didn’t stop. He wouldn’t look at me. “If I hurt you, I’m—”

I pulled him to a stop as we came to the steepest part of the hill and stepped in front of him. I smiled and said, “You didn’t hurt me.”

The relief in his eyes was instant, and I realized it was why he’d been so quiet. He was worried. He grinned. “Wait ’til I can use both my hands freely…”

I shivered, not only at his words, but at the thought that there would be a next time. I didn’t say anything, but took his hand and started walking again. It took a few minutes, but when we finally got to the top of the hill, there was a modest-looking blue Cape Cod with black shutters and a fake deer on the lawn tucked inside a chain-link fence.

On the other side of the fence there was a man. Somewhere in his late thirties, or early forties—I was a horrible judge. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a mop of chocolate-brown hair the exact shade of mine. It had to be Mick.