“I’ll be back before Bristol’s awake,” Hannah says.
“Uh huh,” Tom grumbles, his eyes shifting to me. He takes a bite of his muffin and chews slowly, eyeing me.
“I won’t let her out of my sight,” I say in a hushed tone.
“Neither will I,” he responds.
I give him a tight smile and a nod and he does the same, looking down at his plate and waving me on. Tom’s expression is typical father, one tainted by our long history and the one I have with his daughter. But he’s also thinking of Alex, and Hannah and me being seen alone together, anywhere. I respect all of his worries. I have them, too.
I follow Hannah out the front door to the Supra, and she continues to let me do the simple things for her like opening the door and pulling the safety belt out from the side. By the time I join her in the car, the anticipation of the next however long we have alone together hits me hard—literally. My eyes flit to the exposed flesh of her thigh, the ripped jeans that I wish had ripped a little more, a little higher. I swallow those base thoughts down and check the mirrors as I crank the engine and slowly roll us out onto the road.
I’m tempted to fill the quiet with music but I also like the tension. It keeps me present and forces me to pay attention to every little thing. Hannah hasn’t made a motion to turn the stereo on either, and I hope it’s because she likes the pull as much as I do. As much as touching her, tasting her, being inside her is literal heaven on earth, the temptation of those things was always just as delicious. There is something deeply erotic about the almost. And right now, I want to fucking almost all night long.
“Drive fast for me, Dustin. Like you used to,” she says, rolling her head to the side and waiting for me to agree. This is a request I can grant, and I meet her gaze with a devilish grin as I come to a complete stop in the center of the desert road that leads from her parents’ street.
“You ready?”
She merely shifts her gaze to the road ahead as her lip tugs up on the side, her hands folded in her lap like a courtesan ready for a ride through the country. My girl—she’s never been nervous breaking top speeds with me on these roads. If anything, she tests me to go faster. And since that means I’ll be staring at her in the middle of my apartment sooner, I give her exactly what she wants.
We’re flying well over one-twenty within seconds, the road empty for miles ahead, the Supra hugging the lines of the road as I slip from the right lane to straddle the middle. If she really wants a rush, I could turn off the lights. I’ve done that a few times when I want to wake up my soul—when I want to remind myself that the edge is sharp and dangerous. I won’t go that far with her, though. I promised to keep her safe. And I will. But I do love to hear her squeal, so I push us faster, nearing two-hundred as her mouth stretches into a wide open grin. And seconds before I have to slow us down near the junction, she does it—she howls like a wild animal spotting their first kill.
My hungry lioness. Always chasing the need to go faster. Always . . . with me.
I slow the drive up the hill. Partly, I want Hannah to experience the way this desert brush grows thick and the moon lights up the center stripe that cuts up the mountainside. I’m not sure she’ll remember, but she and I rode our bikes up here once. At least a mile up. Not the full drive I’m making now, but it was one of those days that was especially hard for me to be home with Colt. He’d been drinking and my fake mom was rarely awake. I raced out of that trailer with a half-eaten bag of chips grasped in my hand, hungry because there hadn’t been breakfast or dinner the night before. He tore it as I fled through the door and the chips scattered down the steps. I paused just long enough to mourn them as my stomach rumbled and in that tiny break, Colt clawed at my back, ripping out some of my hair and drawing three bloody lines between my shoulder blades.
I hopped on my bike and pedaled as fast as I could to the Judges’ house, but everyone was busy. Everyone but Hannah. She gave me Tommy’s bike since my tires were running out of air, and we rode together for hours. It was her idea to ride on this road. It used to be private. Part of it still is, owned by some man who used to keep horses. He passed away a decade ago, but his family still holds title to the land. They sold the bottom acreage off to the condo developer, and it felt like a sign that I was meant to live here.
I glance to Hannah as we near the back garage. Her gaze has been fixed to her window, but I can see enough of her profile to see the start of a smile playing at her lips. She remembers.
“The ride down was so much better,” I say as we wait for the garage door to lift.
She turns to face me and that timid grin grows.
“Says the boy who did not skin both his knees.” She folds her arms over her chest and leans back to shoot me a playful and accusatory expression.
My head falls to the side with my laugh as I pull into the garage and close the door behind us before we step out. Nobody needs to see us here. No eyes means no mouths to share our secret.
“I told you to brake from the beginning,” I say, opening my door as soon as it feels safe to. I move to her side but she’s already got hers open. My gentleman’s days are over, it seems.
“I thought you were trying to slow me up so you could beat me down the hill.” She slams her door, but her smile says she’s still joking.
“I mean, yeah. That’s not wrong. But I didn’t want you to eat pavement, either.”
She wiggles her head with puckered lips, silently mocking me and my excuses as we relive our youth. Our eyes flirt for a few seconds, and my pulse picks up. When it’s clear we’re no longer laughing, that the pull of sexual tension has moved back into our space, I breathe it in and tilt my head toward the entry door.
“We should head in before the lights go out in here.” I hold my hand out and Hannah’s eyes flit toward it. She blinks twice, her mouth curved into a devious little smile, but eventually slips her hand into mine.
I lead her through the garage entry, passing through the small mudroom where Tommy keeps his snowboard, and the laundry room that’s been ignored for too many days. She starts to shake her head at me for being bad at keeping house, but her scolding doesn’t last but a second as the reason I wanted her here comes into view.
“Oh, Dustin.” Hannah moves past me, our hands slipping apart as she steps through the open living space toward the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the trickling water in the creek and the small town that made us who we are lit up below.
“This place is pretty beautiful from up here,” I say, stepping close behind her. My hands hover at her hips, but I curl my fingers into fists and drop them in my pockets.
Hannah turns to meet my eyes and show off her smile, her hair flirting with my chest as she looks to me then turns back to face the view.
“It’s magical. I didn’t realize how high we were.” She moves close enough to press her palms to the glass and lean forward, resting her head on the cold window pane. I remain where I am so I can experience this through her eyes.
“It’s the only row of condos that has the view of the creek and the town. The trees get too thick on the east side of the hill.”
She rolls her head so her eyes can follow the trail of lights that spans only a few miles and looks like spilt glitter.
“Camp Verde is spectacular from up here. I never would have known.”
The town is aglow with holiday lights, a mile’s worth along the main drag that is lit up beginning on Thanksgiving night every year. Rooftops puff smoke and show off rainbows of bulbs and twinkling icicles.
Last year, on Christmas, it snowed, and it was as if I were staring into a life-sized snow globe. I want Hannah to be here for that, should it snow again. I want her to be here for the sunrise—every sunrise. And the sunsets too. I want to watch the spring blossoms catch the wind and land in the water below with her at my side, and to open the windows wide on summer nights and breathe in the faint smell of pine and red dirt and rain.
“We never rode our bikes this far, did we?
” She looks to me over her shoulder.
I shake my head.
“I’m pretty sure we would have died on the way down from here.”
Her eyes hold mine hostage for a full breath and I find it hard to shake my smile.
“What a place to die, though.” She turns her back to the scene below and steps closer, pulling her sweater from her arms, and her wallet, phone, and keys from her pockets. She bundles it all into a ball that she rests on the edge of the sofa then circles the room, taking long, slow strides while her eyes roam the cavernous ceiling and rafters above.
“I always thought your black-and-white collage of me, you, and Tommy would look good there,” I say, motioning to the towering blank wall that soars over the sleek, silver fireplace.
“I think that wall would swallow it up,” she says, looking on with one eye squinted.
“You’ll have to create something else for me then, something special, made just for this place.”
Her open-mouthed smile locks in place and she lowers her gaze back to me.
“You’d hang my work in your house?”
It’s our house.
“I’d wear it on my body if I could,” I say. I’m chasing the feeling again, the intoxicating one that’s better than a high. This sensation comes only from sharing air, space and time with this woman. I haven’t truly inhaled in years. I’ve been starving.
Her eyes flit up to the loft.
“Is that your bedroom?” She lowers her gaze to mine.
“It is.”
My hands are still safely put away in my pockets, but my muscles twitch to rush at her. I can’t act on impulse, and I have to fight temptation. Every step we take has to be thoughtful. It has to stand on its own and have space before and after it. We have time.
“Can I see it?” She moves toward the floating staircase and I swallow hard.
“You may.” I breathe in deep and let her scale the steps on her own. I widen my stance as she climbs slowly, her hips counting the seconds with their sway. My view from here allows me to see her entire trip into my space. The loft doesn’t have walls, and my bed sits in the very center so when I sit up in the morning the first thing I see is the crest of mountaintops and blue sky—blue like Hannah’s eyes.
I hold my breath as her body roams my personal space. Her hand runs along the beam that divides the open vault from the landing, and her head falls back as she takes in the skylight cut through the ceiling.
“You can see the stars,” she says, her chin falling to her chest to reveal the look of wonder that’s taken over her face.
“You can,” I say, lifting my chin and shifting my weight, reminding myself why I’m down here instead. It becomes harder to stay the longer her eyes hold on to mine, and when she turns to face me, palms resting on the beam as she leans forward and lets her hair fall over her shoulders, I give in a step or two so I can keep our eye contact.
“Dustin.”
“Yes.”
I’m not going to make it.
“I miss you, too.”
I give in to the grin, letting it round my cheeks and stretch until my teeth show. I laugh nervously, a breathy laugh that accompanies my glance to the side. My head falls to my shoulder as I rotate my gaze back up and nod. We miss each other. Lost time is here to be found.
“I’ll be right up.”
Her lips part as I tug on the first button of my shirt. She falls back from the railing toward my bed as I slowly take the stairs, pulling open another button, finishing them all by the time I stand in the loft with her. I toss my shirt to the floor and move toward her, expecting her to back up during my approach, but she doesn’t. She holds her position, readies herself, and when my body crashes into hers, our mouths hungrily search each other out. Hannah’s hands sink into my hair and mine tug up the bottom of her shirt, gathering it up her midriff and over her breasts, and eventually head, as she raises her arms in the air.
Her hands fumble with the snap on my jeans, and mine work hers open, thumbs tugging down denim and the silk panties underneath. Her hips wriggle and I kick away my jeans and boxers while my mouth fights to devour more of her.
Her skin bare everywhere but the black lace around her breasts, I suck along the curve of her neck and walk her backward until her legs meet the edge of my bed. She falls back into my soft king-sized platform bed and I crawl above her, my arms caging her in, hands brushing against her cheeks as I move to kiss her more, kiss her harder, as if that’s possible.
Every break of our kiss is punctuated with a sharp breath, with panting and want, with desire and weakness. So much for going slow. I should have known that was impossible with this woman. We have too much history. We’ve waited too long.
My hands move to her shoulders and slide the straps of her bra down her arms. The lace rests loosely against the swell of her breasts and I drop my chin to her skin, my teeth grabbing the edge of the fabric and pulling it down her body. My nose grazes the hard peak of her nipple as I do and she arches her back, her arm covering her eyes as she moans.
I slip a hand behind her back to unclasp her bra, then move my mouth to the other breast, still covered in lace, and bite through the fabric, bringing that nipple to an even harder crest.
“Dustin,” she cries, and I’m empowered by hearing my name slip from her lips.
I toss the black lace to the floor and slip both of my hands behind her back, pulling her body up and into me so my mouth can suckle her harder. I want to make her tits raw with my need, to own them and eat them whole so they may never be able to be worshipped by any other man.
Her leg bends at my hip and my cock pulses at the invitation. My hand glides down her back to her ass, fingers digging into her soft, supple skin as I claw my way down her thigh and pull her leg up more so my hard-on presses against her wet center. The moment I do, she cries out, and it lights a forest fire inside my body.
“Stay here. Stay tonight. Stay tomorrow. Stay always. Just . . . stay,” I plead between kisses I drop all over her body. I kiss my way along her throat and back down her breasts, flicking the tips with my tongue as she writhes under my weight. My tongue draws a slow line down the center of her body to her stomach, small lightning-shaped scars in her skin marking the life she carried, the one we created together. I worship those too, and continue my path down to the soft, sensitive flesh between her legs. She reaches into my hair, grabbing fistfuls as my tongue traces the swollen folds of her center, her legs threatening to hold me hostage. I press her thighs apart and force her to take the brunt of my pleasure, licking her pink skin to near breaking point before stopping to admire her hungry, ravenous body as it squirms and grips at the cotton sheets beneath us.
“Goddamn, Hannah. I swear I only wanted to watch you sleep,” I say, lifting myself above her and meeting her eyes before bringing my forehead down to rest against hers. I squeeze my eyes shut, holding on by a thread to that ever-moving line.
“I know you did. But I wanted you. I want to feel you. I need to.” Her sweat plea, her soft voice, hoarse from passion, wrecked from pleasure, completely breaks my self-made code.
“God, I want to feel you, too. I want to be in you, now,” I groan.
Her hands grip at my sides, sliding down my hips and pulling me toward her. My chest heaves with one final breath, the last vestige of willpower, before I rock forward, my cock sliding into her sweet home. Even in the dark room I see sparks of light as I sink so deep into her that she moves up the mattress.
“Again,” she begs.
I oblige, rolling my hips again and sinking into her. My cock swells at the caress of her insides, her legs squeezing at my hips, her back arching as she bites her knuckles and gives way to complete and utter pleasure.
Her voice is a mere whimper, and I’ve succumbed to the growling beast inside.
My hand grips her thigh, pulling her right leg up as her other one wraps around my body, welcoming me deeper. I slide nearly all the way out each time, her body wet and pulsing more with every p
ass of my dick against her throbbing center. I crash into her again and again, and she lets out a loud cry of pleasure that I chase until I’m calling out her name and falling apart on my own.
I fill her completely, and wrap my arms around her as I collapse and roll us to our sides. My cock pulses inside her as it releases but remains hard and ready. Our bodies are sticky with sweat and sex, and the glass window overlooking the city and stars slightly fogs from the heat inside.
We remain tethered, touching, needing, hungry for several minutes before Hannah urges me to my back and rocks her hips with me still inside her. Her hands fall to my chest and I grip the one covering her initials. I stare into her eyes, hold on to her gaze through the chase. I meet each sway of her hips by lifting my own, driving my cock deep inside, reaching parts of her I want to wreck and imprison under my control. I want her to want nothing else, just me and us and our love and our lust.
I want to own her.
I want to love her. Again.
To feel that closeness that was there once, that let me say it.
I want to never say it to anyone else.
But first, I want her to come undone. I want her to come until sun-up, and when her body is so tired she can’t fathom ever vibrating with pleasure again, I want to fuck her numb.
I can tell she wants that, too. She grips me tight, rides me over the edge and collapses against my sweat-marred chest. Our bodies have never held secrets from one another, and tonight—and tomorrow—we need to let them work things out before we turn to words.
17
My body is his.
This is what it’s like to be the undead. The gloriously satiated, claimed and ruined undead. My body aches in the best possible way. My skin is raw, from the soft pink of my nipples to my insides that somehow, despite aching from a night of unflinching ecstasy, still wants to feel Dustin inside.
Burn: The Fuel Series Book 3 Page 14
