Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(58)

Her cries took on a different tone—I knew I was pushing her limits—and her nails raked up and down my arms like claws. Maybe she’d even drawn blood.

I didn’t care.

Unless she asked for mercy, I was going to fuck her the way I needed to, the way my body begged me to. There was something I needed her to understand, and this was the only way to do it.

But she didn’t ask for mercy—even though she cried out in pain and gripped my arms like she was drowning and sank her teeth into my shoulder as I poured myself into her.

When it was over, I braced my arms above her shoulders and looked down at her. “Sorry if I was too rough. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Was it the crop top?”

I laughed. “No, although I do like it.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. Just forgot my manners, I guess.”

There was no way I could tell her the truth, which hit me hard as we curled up in my bed and she fell asleep in my arms.

It was panic. Pure and simple.

It was panic that I was about to lose something that mattered to me, and that it would be my own fault. It was panic that a deadline was approaching and a decision had to be made, but I wasn’t ready to make it. It was panic that I was on the verge of making a huge mistake, but I didn’t know what it was . . . letting her go? Or asking her to stay?

I felt like I was losing my mind.

What I’d told Cole was true—I didn’t want my life to change. I didn’t want to change. I’d put up these walls for a damn good reason, and I wasn’t about to tear them down. Not even for her.

But I wasn’t ready for this to be over yet either. I needed more time—time for whatever it was I felt for her to run its course. Time for the physical spark to burn out. Time for me to remember I didn’t want or need her in my life.

So when the parts for her car arrived early—the very next morning, in fact—I didn’t put them in her car.

I hid them.

And I didn’t say a thing about it to anyone.





Fifteen





Blair





I was dreading Wednesday, but I tried not to show it.

To be honest, I’d hoped Griffin would protest when I brought up calling the motel. Not that I blamed him for wanting his space back. I’d been here a week already. No matter how amazing the sex was, you couldn’t just move in with someone so fast. I wasn’t insane.

But I liked him. I didn’t want what we had to end.

All day Monday, I kept looking at the clock, dismayed to find that time seemed to be passing more quickly than usual. We were busy at the garage, which was great, but also made the day fly by. Plans for the anniversary event were also keeping me preoccupied. After we closed, I ran over to the print shop Darlene had recommended and ordered the photo enlargements, which the woman at the counter promised to have ready by Friday.

“Perfect,” I said. “I also wanted to ask you about printing some flyers for an event we’re having on Labor Day weekend.”

She helped me with the layout and design, and I hurried back to the garage as the skies darkened, lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled above me. Griffin was standing on the sidewalk in front of the garage as if he’d been waiting for me.

“I was about to get in the truck and come find you,” he said sternly, pulling open the lobby door and following me inside. “You weren’t answering your phone, and this is going to be a bad storm.”

“Sorry. I must have left it on the desk. I was in a hurry to get there because I was concerned about keeping the photos dry.”

He frowned. “I was worried about you. Take your phone with you when you go somewhere, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, unable to keep from smiling.

“What’s funny?” he demanded, his chest puffing up.

“You. Worried about me in the rain. It’s cute.”

“For the last time, mechanics are not cute.”

“Then what do I call a mechanic that makes my clothes fall off and my heart go pitter-pat?” I asked, patting my chest with one hand.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “There better only be one of those.”

I kissed his cheek. “There’s only you.”





Tuesday night, after I showed him how to make penne with summer vegetables and a kale salad—which he grumbled about eating but admitted it tasted better than he thought—he insisted on doing all the dishes. Then we stretched out on the couch and watched a movie together while the summer rain continued to thrum against the windows.

We made it about halfway through the latest Marvel movie before our minds and then our hands started to wander, and we ended up naked and sweaty on the rug between the couch and the coffee table. I don’t know what was louder, me or the thunder, but poor Bisou wouldn’t come out of her crate for the rest of the night.

“Aww, I feel bad,” I said to Griffin when she didn’t come out to eat.

“She’s okay. I fostered another cat once who was afraid of storms. She’ll eat when she gets hungry.” But I noticed he set her plate and bowl right outside her crate rather than where he usually kept them.

Eventually we made it into bed, where we snuggled up and listened to the thunder. My head was resting on his chest, my body tucked alongside his. A particularly loud crack of thunder made me jump.