Say It's Forever (Redemption Hills #2)(24)

I snapped a shot that captured my face, my shoulders, the skin of my chest, the barest brush of cleavage showing through.

In the shadows, it appeared…sexy.

Or maybe it was just the way Jud Lawson made me feel.

Real since the moment my spirit had gone dim.

With trembling hands, I pressed send before I thought better of it. Before I let myself contemplate the dangerous game I was playing.

Jud: Fuckin’ gorgeous. Thought I had to be dreaming when I saw you in the rain.





Another message came in right behind the last.

Jud: Tell me one thing, darlin’. Did you feel it? Did you feel it last night?





He didn’t even have to clarify what it was. Not when it’d been so vibrant and bold. The crash of energy. The crackle of attraction.

The shaking in my hands intensified, and I knew I should lie, tell him goodbye, that I couldn’t keep up with whatever we were doing.

It was only going to hurt in the end.

But what did I do? I typed out the confession on a needy breath.

Me: Yes.





A second later, a picture popped through.

And that needy breath was punching from my lungs. Jud was there as promised, lying back in this massive bed fit for a king.

Black hair long on top and cropped at the sides, a thick black beard, those eyes piercing me in the night. Every rugged edge of his face was on display, those plush lips curved into a smirk.

He’d sent the same angle as I’d sent him.

Just enough of his chest showed to make lust fist in my stomach. It overflowed like the rush of hot lava where it tingled my thighs and pulsed my center.

My teeth clenched, my eyes devouring every inch. There wasn’t enough light to make out the obscured tattoos that covered him whole, though I could tell the images were as mysterious as the man. Certainly drawn by the same artist who’d painted the pictures on his walls.

A dichotomy of demonic and angelic.

A war of dark and light.

A clash of evil and hope.

A fresh rush of desire streaked through my veins when another text buzzed through.

Jud: What I wouldn’t do to that tight little body…





And that was it, all I could take. I was on my feet and tiptoeing to that little bathroom. I shut the door and locked it behind me. Gasping, I leaned against the wood.

Darius was right.

I didn’t have enough privacy.

Not when I was feeling things I hadn’t felt in four long years.

Well, probably in ever.

It was something the trauma had turned sour, ugly and vile, that now boiled like bliss in my blood.

I set the phone on the counter and pressed my hands on either side of it, dropped my head as I tried to get a cleansing breath.

But I might as well have been breathing him in with the way I was assaulted with the memory of the man.

His aura filled my senses.

Citrus and cinnamon and spice.

I raised my gaze and saw my reflection through the shadows in the mirror. The room dark except for the nightlight plugged into the wall to the side of the sink.

My pupils were wide, my skin flushed, my tongue dried.

I wavered, teetered, torn between refusing the visions and giving into the fantasy.

To this feeling that lapped and burned and begged.

I spread my hand over my trembling belly, no longer recognizing myself.

Jud had ignited something long gone.

Flames and sparks and fire.

I should run from them. Fear them.

I slipped lower, whimpering when my hand slid beneath my underwear, where I found myself wet and throbbing. My fingertips brushed over my clit.

That fire spread.

I bit my lip to suppress a moan, and I squeezed my eyes closed and welcomed the visions of the man.

His scent.

His eyes.

That body.

That mouth.

I pretended it was him kneeling in front of me when I pressed my fingers into my pussy. Pretended it was his tongue that stroked. His mouth that whispered and sent my entire body quaking in ecstasy.

I gasped as I came, shocked, stunned, the ground slipping out from under me.

My eyes flew open when my phone buzzed on the counter and another message blipped through.

Jud: You touching yourself, Sweet Enchantress? Because you can be sure that I am.





SEVEN





SALEM





THIRTEEN YEARS OLD





“Oh my god, Salem, he is the hottest ever.” Talia whispered the scandal as she hugged the heart-shaped pink pillow to her chest. Salem and her best friend sat facing each other with their legs crisscrossed on Salem’s bed, their voices hushed, the hour late.

Scandalous, was right.

Furtively, Salem’s gaze darted toward her closed door as if he might be right there with his ear pressed to her door, listening to their conversation.

Salem’s heart thudded at the idea, and her stomach tangled in a knot. She couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way.

“Shh.” Salem leaned forward with the secret. “Someone’s gonna hear you. They’re right in the next room.”

About twenty minutes ago, Darius had stumbled in after a party with his friend Carlo.

Talia grinned and widened her eyes. “Um, hello. That’s the goal.”