by Sosie Frost
Cassi tightened. She groaned, shocked and overwhelmed by the force of my hardness. I didn’t offer pleasure. I threatened it. I didn’t wish for her moans. I created them. She writhed in shock and delight and clutched at the wooden floorboards for any support the ground might have offered. She’d find none. I’d cruelly, passionately wrenched her out of this world and into a fantasy of my own lust.
This wasn’t how I’d planned to take her, but nothing else felt right. Just as my life began to unravel and the secrets and lies coated everything in a film of deceit, fucking became my salvation. My only way to prove how recklessly I needed this woman. How I’d do anything, ruin everything, and destroy my own humanity to keep her under me, beside me, with me.
I loved her.
And I fucked her.
And I claimed her.
And she came for me again and again, struggling under my hips for a reprieve so I might have let her breathe and whisper my name and any other words neither of us should have said.
I gave her none of it.
Only cock. Only lies. Only my heart and all the trouble it had ever caused.
And only when she’d sweated and shivered and cried out in lovely torment under the onslaught of my hips did I finally let myself feel that terrible urge that made me the worst man in the world for her.
I came.
Hard. Fast. Pumping my hips harder against her ass until I bottomed out as deeply as my cock could reach. It wasn’t a tingle or a rising swell of pressure. It was catastrophe and ecstasy, disaster and honesty.
A good man shared his pleasure. A bad man stole it. I jetted inside of her with every intention to mark her as mine. I’d have her remember this night and this moment and how desperately I wanted to be the only one she needed in this world. I wasn’t, but it didn’t stop me from wishing. From bucking my legs and filling her with warmth and passion and hope.
Hope wasn’t mine to have.
Neither was she.
I rolled off of her. Cassi panted, flipping onto her back to suck in the first full breaths of air she’d taken since she’d arrived at the cabin.
My cock hadn’t softened. She glanced at me, at it, and she…
Giggled.
“What’s gotten into you?” She struggled to catch her breath. “You fucked me like we wouldn’t be doing that again in twenty minutes.”
“Try ten.”
“Are you okay?”
I wasn’t answering that. Wasn’t thinking straight. Wasn’t anything.
“Wanna run away?” I asked. “Far from here? Just me and you. No past. No problems. No worries. Just…together.”
Far enough away and enveloped in so much pleasure she’d never again question that night, what’d had happened, what I’d done.
“And bring the kids?” She smirked.
Made it tougher, but manageable. “Sure.”
“And my brothers?”
“It’s looking less and less romantic, Sassy.”
“There’s plenty of romance right here at home.” She stroked my tattoos. Her fingers danced over the inked sunflower. “You came back and look what happened.”
Nothing yet, because the lies had mounted and the truth had been shielded from her.
Exhaustion overwhelmed me. Guilt punished what remained.
“Cas, I gotta tell you something.”
“I know my family was rough.” She slid to my side, covering my lips with her hand. “And I know that dinner was…terrible.”
“Listen, Cassi…”
Her kiss warmed me. “This is how it was meant to be. You, back home. Me, here and all sticky and sweaty. Us, together. We were idiots back then. But I’m going to do everything I can to make it work this time, Rem.” She bit her lip. “Even if it means the occasional food fight at family dinners. If I have to scrub some sweet potatoes out of the carpet to have you at my side, then I’ll pack a sponge in my purse.”
Cassi kicked off her pants and rolled over me, grinding that slippery, messy slit against my hardening cock. Her fingertips gently teased my beard.
“You are finally mine, Remington Marshall. And nothing could ever tear us apart.”
She angled her hips, taking me inside of her once more. Her eyes closed, and an absolute beauty gentle rode herself to bliss over my hips.
I wished I could have believed her. Offered her a promise. Security. Honesty.
If the truth would ruin this, then I’d never speak a word.
The past would die in silence.
But how badly our future be destroyed?
16
Cassi
Sex with Remington Marshall was like having sex with the physical embodiment of bourbon, timber, and sweat.
Worshiped like a goddess.
Ravished like a lady.
Fucked like a slut.
Best of all worlds.
In bed, Rem was the lover I’d always imagined. Compassionate, kind, and devoted.
But when we returned to the real world, outside of the cabin and our own little forest on the mountain, everything changed. He’d started to withdraw. Avoided the kids. Refused to travel into town.
Was he pulling away?
Why was he so reluctant to seize the chance at a fresh start in Butterpond?
What was he still hiding from me?
I wasn’t about to let it come between us.
Or him and the kids.
He’d felt guilty about Mellie’s outbursts while I was gone—and even worse about the slight burn on her hand. She’d recovered, simply delighted for a chance to wear a bedazzled band-aid. It’d scarred Rem more. Not just the injury, but the words she’d spoken that she didn’t understand.
It was almost adorable to see his confidence shaken by a three-year-old.
He needed some time with Mellie. Quality time. So I dragged him and the kids into Butterpond for a new event offered by the local library. It was a pretty happening place in the town. They had Quilting Mondays, Knitting Tuesdays, Embroidery Thursdays, and, the current favorite, Slow Cooker Sunday.
Unfortunately, Martial Arts Wednesdays was cancelled following a particularly heated sparring contest which had resulted in Mrs. Miller’s shattered hip. The Silver Exercise program had recently reworked their mission statement from TaekwonDO to …Taekwon-probably-shouldn’t.
Rem stared at the library, hesitant to cross the red brick threshold. “The last time I was here…” He pointed to the dumpster adjacent to the building. “Tidus and I dropped an M80 into the can.”
I nodded. “I remember. You frightened Mrs. Tulley’s homing pigeons. Six of them fled across the state line.”
Rem glanced to the overhead wires. “The others ended up eleven secret herbs and spices short of a KFC crispy bucket.”
“Don’t worry. No pigeons will be harmed today. This should be cute.” I handed him the flyer. Daddy-Daughter Painting. The friendly bubble letters didn’t excite him. “You and Mellie will love it. Right, Mellie?”
The toddler never ran, she bounced. Off of everyone and everything. She’d ricocheted off the library’s brick half-fence and collided with Rem’s legs. She tugged on his shirt to hop into his arms, but he didn’t reach for her.
Hadn’t really held her all week.
“Paint!” She beamed at him. “Come on, Uncle Rem!”
He didn’t return her smile, and my heart broke. He stared at the library, the town, the whispering people as they passed us on the steps. He might have been gone for a few years, but everyone remembered Remington Marshall. That wasn’t a good thing for either of us.
Robert Bunting and his two twin girls crossed the street towards the library, though he cautiously diverted the kids onto the sidewalk, choosing to enter through a second entrance, far from Rem.
Rem noticed.
Of course he noticed.
I frowned. “Mr. Bunting has no room to talk…and no liver either. He’s spent the last fifteen years cheating on his wife with Jim Beam.” I took Rem’s hand. “Don’t worry about them.�
�
“You sure about this, Sassy?” Rem never sounded beaten. If anything, the reluctance made him all that more confident that what he did, where he hid, why he ran was the right thing. “I gotta give Mellie and Tabby the best start they can get. If I keep hanging around, what’ll that do to them?”
“This is your home.” I mussed with Mellie’s blonde curls. “And this is your niece who wants nothing more than to paint with you this afternoon.”
He handed the flyer back. “It’s daddy-daughter, Cas.”
“They’ll make an exception for an uncle, especially one who cares so much about his nieces.”
Rem wasn’t convinced. “You know what’s going to happen the instant I step foot in there.”
Yeah. If the little old volunteer librarians didn’t drop dead, the shock would tangle their knitting and unravel Rem in gossip throughout Butterpond. Knit twice, purl once, and hide the women.
“Ignore them.”
I pulled him close for a kiss, but Tabby stole him instead, puckering her own lips. He smirked and gave her two.
“You’ve been gone for a long time,” I said. “They might not welcome you back overnight.”
“I don’t care what they think.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Then why are you so worried?”
“I care what you think—and what will happen to your reputation.”
“We played this game five years ago too, Rem.” I winked. “Didn’t scare me away then. Won’t work on me now. Besides…I need the paycheck.”
“And the truth finally comes out.”
I pushed him towards the door. “Both of you. March. I’m ordering you to have fun.”
“Ordering me?”
“That’s right.”
“Oh, no little girl.” Rem opened the door for me with a wicked smile and no sense of his surroundings. “Think I’ll have to punish that rebellious streak out of you…”
A horrified Mrs. Jenkins crossed herself as she hurried out of the library. She cast two indignant glances at us and tutted her disapproval.
Well, we’d be the hot topic at bridge club that night.
“I really can’t take you anywhere, can I?” I gave his ass a subtle slap.
He intercepted the spanking and kissed my hand. “That was a mistake, Sassy. Tonight, I’m getting you back.”
“Tenfold.”
“Oh, at least twenty.”
The library welcomed a dozen families into the rec room, exchanging a crisp twenty-dollar bill for an easel, a paint-stained smock, and entry into the ring of kids eagerly waiting for permission to begin wrecking the construction paper clipped to their workstations.
Mellie, as usual, ran full-speed, arms outstretched, braying like a donkey. Unfortunately, this time she collided with the one girl also spazzing her way across the carpet, somersault after somersault.
Both knocked heads and landed on their bottoms.
The little redheaded girl began to cry.
Mellie shushed the other girl with too much sass for her own good. “No crying! Don’t be a baby!”
“Mellie!” I passed Tabby to Rem and stormed forward, ensuring the girls were only bruised, not broken. “You’re supposed to say you’re sorry for hitting her. Apologize. Now, young lady.”
Mellie pointed at Rem. “Uncle Rem said only babies cry.”
“Oh, did he?”
At least he looked ashamed.
I helped the other girl to her feet. Only one child in Butterpond had such fiery hair—tomato soup, Tidus always said. I searched for Sheriff Samson in the crowd and brushed the flecks of dirt off his granddaughter, Tina.
The Sherriff wasn’t as mobile with the bum knee—injured after a late night, last call after the Rivets’ playoff win. He masked the limp with a swagger that fooled no one except the couple punk kids under the age of twelve who happened to skateboard in the municipal office’s parking lot.
“Whoopsie-daisy.” Sherriff Samson swooped down, groaned as his back audibly cracked, and instead patted Tina’s head. “You good, sweetpea?”
“Just had a little toddler head-on collision,” I smiled. “I think they’re okay.”
“This is Emma Marshall’s baby.”
“Yep,” I said. “I’m her nanny…”
Samson wasn’t listening. His gaze passed to Rem.
Just my luck.
“You got the kids?” Samson asked.
Rem nodded. “Yeah.”
“Brought her to paint?”
“That’s right.”
“Oddly wholesome for a boy like you, ain’t it?”
“Men change, Sherriff.”
The library was no place for the town’s resident bad boy to face off against the Sherriff. I would not have the YA section become the OK Corral. Especially since the last five years had been kinder to Rem than Samson.
Rem had filled out, bulked up, and transformed into a hardened hunk of muscle and poise. In the same amount of time, Sherriff Samson had shrunk three inches, gained a gut, and threatened retirement after a flock of Canadian geese invaded the municipal center’s parking lot, soiled his SUV, and attacked him every evening as he left the office.
No longer was Sherriff Samson chasing after Rem and Tidus as they transitioned from boyhood pranks and into the drugs that nearly ruined both of their lives. But that didn’t mean a truce was struck. Neither man trusted the other.
“Thought the Paynes chased you out of Butterpond with whatever pitchforks were left in the rubble of the barn?” Samson asked.
Our equipment had been stored in a separate shed, but I wasn’t getting in the middle of the pissing match without an umbrella. Rem bounced Tabby to his other arm and tried to maintain his stare while the baby stuck her fingers in his ears.
“Came back to help Em,” he said. “Someone’s gotta watch the kids while she gets better.”
“Heroin, right?”
Of all the words for the librarians to hush. Rem stiffened, his jaw tight. “She’s recovered. Clean for a couple weeks now.”
“Hope it stays that way. A shame. First your father. Then you. Now her.”
Rem didn’t let it piss him off. “I’ve been sober a long time. My father’s dead, buried, and rotting. But Em is getting help. She’s beaten the addiction, no thanks to people like you who would kick her when she’s down.”
“Who do you think took the kids out of the house?”
Rem wouldn’t hear it. “Well, I got the girls now, and Mellie wants to paint.”
“You?” Samson’s laugh filled the library. “Family man Remington Marshall. Responsible for two young kids. Surprised they haven’t knocked over a preschool yet.”
“I’m waiting until we can pull a heist on the Toys R Us in Ironfield.” Rem’s slick tongue would get us all in trouble. “Figured I’d teach them their ABCs—assault, battery, and counterfeiting.”
I interrupted before the librarians were summoned. They were old, but they were damn accurate with their canes. These ladies didn’t shush—they struck, right behind the knees.
I took Tabby away before Rem’s fist clenched her as well. “I’m the girls’ nanny, but Rem’s been really good with them.”
Samson’s tone gentled for me. “At least they have some good influences then. Hate to see a third generation of Marshall end up in the gutter like the rest.”
Rem endured enough. He poked Samson’s chest in a way that would get Rem maced if the sheriff could have found his pockets under his gut.
“Look.” Rem’s voice lowered—just enough of a grunt to accuse him of threatening Butterpond’s two-member police department. “I know my family’s name isn’t worth the spit to say it. But those girls aren’t me. They’re innocent. They don’t know anything about their momma or uncle except both read ‘em bedtime stories and feed ‘em chicken nuggets. You will not insult them.” He stepped closer. A challenge. “I don’t got a lot to be proud of, but those girls mean more to me than a night in the lock-up for punching you square in the balls.”
“Best thing you ever did for this town…and for her…” Samson pointed at me. “Was leaving.”
“Well, now I’m back.” Rem held his arms out. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Hopefully, nothing.” Samson narrowed his eyes. “I did a favor for you, boy. Five years ago, when Bill Payne wanted you locked up for that fire. I did you a favor.”
A favor? I frowned, but Rem didn’t let me ask the question.
“No. You did the Paynes a favor,” Rem said. “Don’t act like it was for me.”
“You aren’t that noble, Marshall. Go and pretend that you’re some martyr, but I know the truth. You were no good then, you’re no good now, and the entire town of Butterpond—including this pretty lady—were better off with you gone.”
A step too far for both of us, but I didn’t get to defend my own honor.
A shocked librarian cried over the room. “She’s covered in paint!”
And that was my cue.
I didn’t have to ask. Didn’t even need to look.
I just knew.
That punch in the gut, this is going to take forever to clean, does paint come out of a car seat instinct that all people inherited when working with small children.
The crowd parted as I rushed inside the rec room.
It was worse than I’d thought.
Mellie had plunked down on the carpet with her shirt off, but I couldn’t tell. A thick layer of red, blue, yellow, and green paint smeared over her arms, chest, and fingers. The child had become a goddamned macaw, and only once the room had panicked did she stop slapping the paint over herself. A drizzle of blue dripped from her fingertips.
“Oh, Mellie…” I covered my mouth. “What did you do?”
The gaze of every parent seared through me. The judgment was next. Why was she left unattended? Who would allow their child to behave in such a way? Who raises an abstract artist when that trend is so early 2000s?
I knelt down, but I didn’t have enough wetnaps in my purse to fix this one.
Mellie grinned at her uncle and gave him a cheeky wave. “Look! I’m Uncle Rem!”
