The Bully (Calamity Montana #4)(25)

“More. Harder.” I clung to his shoulders, aching for a release.

It had been too long. We hadn’t been together in months. Not since his last trip to Denver and one of our spontaneous hookups. The first time had been in Charlotte. Ever since, it had just . . . happened.

Push and pull. Cold or hot. Off to on.

Cal began to move in a punishing rhythm, thrust after thrust. With every stroke I built higher. Hotter. Together, we were an inferno. Sex with Cal was exhilarating and bold. He moved with the same arrogance he did in every other aspect of his life. He knew he could shatter me into pieces. He made sure of it. He worked me up until I was nothing but trembling limbs and hitched breaths.

“Come.” He dropped his mouth to my pulse and sucked, the pistoning of his cock never slowing. His shaft dragged against my clit as his hands palmed my ass.

Every cell in my being was on fire. One more thrust and I came undone, crying out as stars broke behind my eyes. I pulsed and clenched, so overwhelmed by sensation that I was lost to anything but the orgasm.

He growled against my neck, then groaned my name and came on a roar.

I forced my eyes open in time to see his handsome face twist in ecstasy. The parted lips. The sharp corners of his jaw. And that damn backward hat.

Even after his release Cal kept me against the wall for a few heartbeats until the aftershocks stopped. Then he pulled himself free and set me on my unsteady feet.

Regret flooded my mind, like a bucket of iced water being dumped over my head. It happened every time, at the exact moment our bodies were no longer connected. The guilt wasn’t only about the sex. It was also because we had nothing to say.

Because when it came to Cal, I was weak.

I could have stopped him. This time. The others. I probably should have stopped him.

Instead, I’d succumbed to this insatiable craving. That devilish little voice who hungered for Cal in a way that I’d never had with another man.

Why him?

That question would get me into trouble, so I pushed the hair out of my face and breezed past Cal, walking straight for the stairs. “Bye, Cal.”

I didn’t look back. I didn’t wait to see if he had anything to say. I doubted I’d want to hear it anyway.

Locked in my bedroom, I immediately went to the shower. My hands were jittery as I cleaned Cal’s scent from my body. I dropped the mascara wand twice while I freshened my makeup. The skin between my legs was tender as I pulled on fresh panties.

Dressed in jeans and a tee, I tiptoed downstairs, and as expected, found only my ruined clothes waiting. Cal was long gone.

Because this was what we did. This was who we were.

We fought. We fucked.

We went our separate ways. Until the next time I caved.

Until the next time I listened to that evil little voice.





-





Dear Diary,





* * *



I saw Cal kissing Phoebe McAdams today. He had her pushed up against a locker as they sucked face. I was coming out of the library. Mr. Edwards gave me a pass from study hall because I wanted some new books. I almost dropped my pile when I saw him totally making out with her. I don’t think they saw me because I tried to hide. Phoebe was grabbing Cal’s butt. He had his hands on her chest. They were like locked together. Like they couldn’t get close enough. He didn’t kiss me like that. How flipping pathetic am I that I let Cal Stark kiss me yesterday? Yeah. He kissed me yesterday. Sorry for not writing about it. I was sort of in a weird place last night. Like excited and confused and nervous. Dad warned me to stay away from him. He said Cal wasn’t like us. I think maybe Dad could tell I liked Cal, so I lied and called Cal a dumb jock. I told Dad that I hated Cal. I don’t know why I did that. I don’t like lying. Except it’s the truth now, isn’t it? Cal is a dumb jock. And a jerk. He was my first kiss too. I thought he liked me. I liked him. A lot. How stupid am I to think that a guy like Cal Stark could actually want me? I bet everything he told me yesterday about his dad and football was crap. It was some sick trick. I wish I could take that kiss back. I wish I could have a redo. Is this what it means to be used? Because I never want to feel this way again. Never ever. Boys suck. And I hate Cal Stark.





* * *



Nellie





CHAPTER SEVEN





CAL





The first entry in Nellie’s diary was the hardest one to read. So I’d made myself read it a hundred times.

The book rested on my chest as I stared at the Winnebago’s ceiling. My bedroom was cast in a dim gray. The lights from the motel and Harry’s porch seeped through the RV’s windows and thin shades.

In the past three days, I’d had a hell of a time sleeping. Not only from the light—I preferred pitch-black—but from the noise in my head. It was four in the morning and I’d popped awake like I’d been asleep for eight hours, not five.

Boredom was a fickle bastard. Retirement had given me too much free time and now my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up. My workouts got a little longer each day. I’d spent more time cooking and cleaning in the past three days than I had in three years. Marcy had let me do laundry in the motel’s utility room and as of this afternoon, besides the clothes on my back, not one article in the closet was dirty.