Текст книги "Falling for Danger"
Автор книги: Chanel Cleeton
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 14 страниц)
“Do you know what he’s been doing? Do you care about the blood on his hands? Or is it all just business as usual for you?”
Her lips pursed in a tight line. “You need to leave. Now.”
I ignored that, too. “He’s going down. He can’t keep hiding bodies and secrets, not in a town like this. Especially, if he’s going to run for president. Do you really want to stand next to him at some podium while he confesses his sins? Do you want to keep supporting him? How long do you think it’ll be before the blood spills over onto your hands, if it hasn’t already?”
I just wanted to see one flicker of emotion, one indication that she cared, wanted to feel like I had one parent I could rely upon.
“You need to leave,” she repeated, his eyes hard. “There’s nothing here for you anymore.”
And that was it. I’d known it years ago, but this was the final nail in the coffin.
I held her gaze. “There never was.”
I walked out of the house, each step taking me closer to Matt and farther away from an empire built on death and destruction, ready to topple it all like a castle made of sand.
Chapter Seventeen
An explosion rocked D.C. this evening …
–Capital Confessions blog
Matt
For the first time all night, it felt like the fucking anvil had been removed from my chest, the sight of Kate walking toward me, blue and white dress swaying around her, blonde hair waving in the breeze, making it possible to breathe again.
I got out of the driver’s seat of her car, wrapping my arms around her and pressing a swift kiss to her temple.
“Thank god you’re safe. I’ve been going crazy just sitting here.”
I’d parked a few blocks away from her parents’ house, close enough to be in range of the panic button, but far enough away to keep from attracting attention.
I released her and opened the passenger door, the urge to get her to safety overwhelming. I didn’t want to be here any longer than I had to be. She settled in and then I swung into the driver’s seat and started the car, my hand finding hers across the console as we drove away. Her fingers were ice.
“Did you find anything?” I asked, tearing my gaze away from the road to sneak a peek at her.
She seemed pale. Worn. Like she’d come through a battle.
Her mouth tightened, her voice strained. “He knew the whole time. Knew what we were up to. Suspected me from the beginning. He caught me searching his office.”
Fuck.
Fear slammed into me. “Why didn’t you let me know? Why didn’t you press the button?”
“Because I had it handled. He wasn’t going to hurt me.”
“Fuck. Kate.”
“I was fine.” She hesitated. “We have bigger problems. He knows that you’re alive.”
Fuck.
“Your father knew, too,” she added. “He said that your father was the one who was sending me the papers. When he ordered the hit on your unit, he didn’t realize it was yours. I guess he felt guilty and started digging into the circumstances surrounding your death and realized you were still alive. I think he was trying to right the wrong he did to you, and my father had him killed to keep the truth from coming out. I’m so sorry.”
I clenched the steering wheel, my knuckles white, her words pouring through me. I wasn’t naive; my father was still a bad fucking guy, but if I could find solace in any part of this, it was the knowledge that for all of his many flaws, he’d attempted to do the right thing, even if it had been far too late. Even as it angered me to hear that he’d been willing to pull Kate into this, ready to risk her safety.
“How did you end things with him? He can’t have just let you walk out of his office.”
She was silent for a moment, and I knew her well enough to recognize when she was stalling.
“He threatened you, didn’t he?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
I was going to put a bullet in him.
“What did he say? Tell me exactly what he said to you.”
“He told me that you had a target on your back, and that if I sided with you, the target would be on me, too. He said that this thing is bigger than him and that he’s been protecting me—apparently the stabbing was a case of an overzealous attacker and not intentional—but if I continue to push, all bets are off.”
Fuck.
“I’m going to leave—”
“No,” Kate interjected.
“What do you mean, ‘no’? I’m going to get you killed.”
“You aren’t leaving. If you leave, I’m just going to keep investigating. I’m not giving up on this, whether you’re here or not. This is bigger than you and me, and I would never be able to live with myself if I didn’t expose him for what he’s done. How many innocent people will die because of him if we don’t do anything? How many people will lose their loved ones because of his greed? How am I supposed to live with that kind of blood on my hands?”
She was right, but she was also someone I loved. And I couldn’t lose her.
“You can’t save the fucking world. I know you want to fight, but you have to be smart about this, have to pick your battles.” My fingers gripped the steering wheel even tighter. “He’s been ahead of us every single step of the way. What do we have left? We’re all out of plays here.”
“I’m not giving up. You can stay and help me, or you can run, but either way, I’m seeing this through to the end.”
“Which is what, exactly? Your body lying in a morgue somewhere?” I snapped.
“It’s watching his power crumble. It’s us building a life together. It’s putting all of this behind us. Time is running out here. They’re getting desperate; killing your father was sloppy. If the authorities investigate his death too much, who knows what they’ll find? That tells me they’re losing control and willing to do whatever it takes to tie up loose ends.”
It told me they were beyond dangerous. You couldn’t predict desperate.
“I’ll take you back to your apartment, and then I’m going to go meet with the guy who was working for Intech,” I interjected. “I’ll press him harder. See if he has anything else he can give me. He’s the last lead we have.”
“I’m going with you.”
She was insane.
“Absolutely not.”
“Do you think I’m safe in my apartment anymore? We saw how easy it was for them to get into my place. I’m safer with you.”
I grimaced. Fuck. She was right; I hated leaving her alone. Jasper, the guy I’d had watching her when I was in Afghanistan, was on a job and there wasn’t anyone else I trusted. I could see if she could stay with Jackie and Will, but they wouldn’t be able to keep her safe if an assassin did come after her, and I doubted Kate wanted to put more people in danger.
“Fine. But we’re going in armed. We’ll go back to your place and get more supplies. I need to get the rest of my stuff from the hotel I booked when I came back to town. I didn’t trust the security on your apartment after the break-in, but we need to keep travel documents on us in case we need to leave.”
“Does this mean that you’ve accepted the fact that no matter where you go, I’m going with you?”
God help me, I had.
“Yes.”
“How long will it take to have documents made for me?”
“I started working on them before I left town last time.”
She shook a head, a smile playing at her lips. “So all of your protests were what exactly?”
“Me trying to get you to see logic and sense. Clearly I forgot how stubborn you are.” I took my eyes off of the road for a second, my gaze connecting with hers. “We’re in this together. Promise.”
She squeezed my hand and for a moment, it felt like we were kids again, like we could face anything as long as we were together.
It was late by the time we reached Kate’s apartment—just after nine. Now that her father had shown his cards, I didn’t want her staying at her place anymore. I needed to find a safe place where we could stay while we waited to see if we could get any information from my father’s former employee.
“Just grab whatever you need for a few days.”
“Should I stop going to work? I mean, how much of my routine needs to change here? Are we going underground now?”
She sounded scared, and I searched for some reassurance to give her.
“I don’t know. I think work is probably fine considering the security, but I would try to break up your habits a bit, make an effort not to frequent the same places. Patterns make it easy for someone to find you.”
I parked the car and opened the door for her a block away from her apartment building.
“I wish you would let me get the stuff for you.”
I was nervous about having her out in public, on edge about what her father would do next. I didn’t want to leave her alone in the car, but taking her with me seemed dangerous, too. Each option before me felt like a choice between bad and fucking worse.
Sometimes it was hard to distinguish between my days in Afghanistan and life back home. It felt like there was still a threat around every corner, like I was in someone’s crosshairs. And now I had Kate with me, dropped in the middle of a war zone.
I kept my body between hers and the street, tucking her against me in an attempt to shield her from any threat that could come her way. Adrenaline pumped through me, mixing with fear to create a cocktail that filtered into my veins. I kept my gaze sharp, scanning the streets, my fingers itching to grab the weapons I had on me.
Something felt off—a prickling under my skin and a tightening in my balls that fucked with my head.
“You okay?” Kate murmured, her hand reaching out and grasping mine.
I nodded with a sharp jerk. “Just ready to go inside. I don’t like being exposed like this.”
We lengthened our strides until we turned the corner, the glass doors of her apartment building a few feet away. I waited while she entered the security code and followed her into the lobby, my gaze sweeping the interior.
All clear.
We hit the staircase and I gave up the pretense of looking like a normal couple out for an evening stroll and grabbed the gun out of my waistband, clutching it in my hands with white knuckles while I led Kate up the stairs. With each step that took us closer and closer to her apartment, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, unease sliding down my spine.
I froze on the third floor landing, pressing Kate against the wall, keeping her body behind mine.
This was not good.
“What’s wrong?”
I gripped the gun even tighter. “I don’t know. Something just feels off.”
Maybe I was paranoid. Maybe it was the PTSD. But no matter how I tried to convince myself that I was overreacting, that it was all in my head, I couldn’t make my body go up those remaining steps. My instincts had kept me alive for four years and every single instinct in my head told me that something was not fucking right.
Kate clutched my hand tightly, her nails digging into my skin. Her breath hitched. “Do you think someone’s up in the apartment?”
I hesitated. That was the worst part of all of it—my instincts had kept me alive and at the same time, my instincts had gotten me “killed.” I hadn’t felt any special sense of awareness that day I watched my friends die around me, hadn’t seen the danger coming my way until it was too fucking late. Whatever confidence I’d had in my abilities was now called into question by the one glaring time I should have seen the threat coming and missed it entirely.
“Matt.”
Kate’s hand on my arm jolted me back.
“Are you okay?” she asked, worry threading through her voice.
I nodded, not entirely sure that was the truth, but not knowing what else to say. These were the moments when I felt the most fucked up, when I didn’t know what to do, and I ended up frozen with indecision. And the worst part, the hardest part, was that I’d always been someone she trusted, someone she’d looked up to when we were younger. Now I felt broken.
She pushed her way through life, making no apologies, not letting anything stop her. I didn’t want her to see what it was like in my head, to know that the things I’d survived had messed me up more than I cared to admit, and that I didn’t always know when it would trigger, when I’d feel fine one minute and off the next. That was the part that frustrated me the most, the side of it that made me want to scream. I couldn’t manage it; it managed me.
“Matt?”
Her voice pulled me out again.
“We need to go,” I muttered, flight taking over.
Kate didn’t argue, following my lead down the stairs. Maybe I was overreacting, but all I knew was that each step made me feel like fresh air filled my lungs, like I could suddenly breathe again, like I’d left the cloying decay of death behind me in the staircase. We hit the lobby, my arm wrapped protectively around her waist.
“I’ll see if I can come back for your stuff. It just doesn’t feel right. I don’t know how to describe it; it’s just an instinct thing …”
“Matt?”
“Yeah?”
Kate’s gaze met mine, compassion in her brown eyes. “You don’t have to explain.”
The compassion did me in. It was too close to pity, too close to her seeing inside me—all of my fears, all of my weaknesses. To her looking at me like someone who was weak rather than someone she could lean on.
That night I’d burst into her apartment, I’d been so determined to keep her safe, so focused on getting between the guy who’d broken in and her, that I hadn’t had time for doubts, had just acted. But now I was reduced to this giant fucking weight dragging me down, quicksand beneath my feet, and the action that had once been so easy fled me. That was the thing about this—it snuck up and sucker punched you when you weren’t prepared.
I opened my mouth to answer her, when all of a sudden, a loud boom exploded around us. I didn’t hesitate, didn’t think, just hit the ground, my body covering Kate’s.
Chapter Eighteen
We’ve received reports that tonight’s explosion took place at the apartment of Kate Reynolds, Senator Edward Reynolds’s daughter. Our thoughts go out to Kate …
–Capital Confessions blog
Kate
I hadn’t truly appreciated how big Matt was until he was lying on top of me, his hard body pressing me into the concrete sidewalk. I didn’t think I’d ever seem someone move as quickly as he had; one minute I was standing there, the next I was roadkill.
My ears rang, smoke billowing around us, the faint sound of shouts mixing with the bell-like noise pounding my head. I gripped Matt, trying to get his attention, feeling like I was about to suffocate under his weight.
“Matt.” I shook him gently. “Matt.”
His head jerked down, his gaze meeting mine, his eyes wide and unfocused. Oh, shit. I’d seen the tension in his body when we’d been in the staircase, experienced the demons he lived with on a daily basis. I’d done a little research on PTSD since he’d returned and knew that certain events could trigger a reaction. I figured the stress of the past few weeks qualified, and the explosion definitely hadn’t helped.
“Can you let me up?” I asked, trying to keep my voice soft while simultaneously wondering if he could hear me, or if like me, his hearing had been affected by the blast.
For a minute I didn’t think my words had registered, and then he pushed off of me, holding a shaky hand out and pulling me up off of the ground, his body tense. A crowd began to gather around us, residents spilling out of the building, people on the street rushing over. The shouts and questions still seemed so far away.
I looked up at the glass windows of my apartment building, doing a mental count of how far up the explosion had been, my gaze drifting over until it reached the window that had been my bedroom. My stomach clenched, my mouth went dry. It looked like the blast had taken out my place and the apartment next to mine—which thankfully, had been vacant since the last tenant was evicted. This had been no accident, and if Matt hadn’t stopped us, we would be dead.
“Are you okay?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me, burrowing me into his body.
I nodded, not quite trusting my voice, tremors shooting through me as the full impact of what had just happened hit me like a ton of bricks. Someone had tried to blow me up. My father had tried to blow me up. The lump in my throat became a boulder.
Sirens sounded in the background, the noise growing louder, more people spilling out onto the sidewalk outside my building. I felt like an immovable object, unable to pick my feet up, panic and fear planting me to the asphalt as surely as though I’d sprouted roots.
“We need to get out of here.” Matt’s gaze swept over the crowd. “We don’t know when they set up the bomb, if they’re still here. And I really don’t want the police getting involved. There are too many questions I’m not ready to answer, the likelihood that someone on your father’s payroll could get involved, too high.”
My breath hitched, feeling inescapably like a caged animal. I’d been full of bravado before, but now, a few steps separating me from life and death, I realized how stupid I’d been, how arrogant my lack of fear was. I’d underestimated my opponent, and that had been an almost deadly mistake.
My father tried to have me killed.
“Kate.” Matt tugged on my hand. “We have to go. Now.”
He propelled me forward and I followed, grateful for his strength. I ducked my head, following his lead as we blended into the crowd, heading toward my car. The farther we walked, the more I thought about the things I’d lost, my apartment that, while kind of crappy, had been my home, one I’d been proud of, one I’d built through my own hard work. I still remembered the day I’d rented it—the moment when I’d decided I could no longer be a part of my parents’ lives anymore. I’d been absolutely terrified and completely free at the same time. It had been the first time I’d really been on my own—independent of Blair playing big sister, Matt looking out for me, or the weight of the Reynolds name mucking everything up. I’d just been a college student there, living on ramen when the occasion called for it, mourning the loss of the boy I’d loved, plodding through my life, day after day.
I fingered the gold necklace around my neck, my thumb rubbing over the “K” etched there, grateful that it had been safe, at least. Grateful that we were safe.
I told myself that it was just stuff, that if we were going to run, I would have left a lot if it anyway, but it wasn’t as much about the stuff as it was the violation of it all. Someone had broken into my home again. Gone through my stuff. Tried to kill me. Tried to kill us.
My heart pounded, my breath hitching, the urge to cry bubbling over. My steps slowed, my knees buckling, legs trembling, the air whooshing through my lungs. Matt’s hold on me tightened, jerking my hand and pulling me along, his strides lengthening, each one full of purpose as he put more distance between us and my apartment building.
When we finally reached the car, my heart slowed a bit, those four doors feeling a lot like safety.
My fingers shook as I buckled my seat belt, my mind racing. When my father had basically told me to watch my back, I’d sort of assumed that I had a few days or something, not exactly, “Watch your back, I’m going to have you killed right fucking now.” Apparently, I was an idiot and needed to lower my expectations when it came to people’s humanity.
I doubled over at the waist, putting my head between my legs, breathing in and out, struggling to steady myself. I felt Matt’s hands stroking my back, tracing the length of my spine, threading through my hair, each touch a soothing caress. I allowed myself to relax into him for a moment, trying to expel the pressure and panic building inside of me. With each brush of his fingers, the fear inside of me ebbed. A minute passed and then I sat up, feeling like I’d regained a little bit of my sanity.
“What do we do now?” I asked.
Matt pulled away from me, turning the key in the ignition. The car roared to life, but he just sat there, wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel, his body tense.
“Stay alive.”
“That’s looking more difficult with each moment that passes.”
“Yeah, it is.”
He put the car in drive, maneuvering onto the D.C. street with ease. I heard more sirens in the distance, watched as a fire truck drove by us. Matt pulled over to let it pass, and then we were driving through the intersection, heading away from my apartment.
“Where are you going?”
I was glad he was driving; I was way too shaken up, my mind further along in the process of what had happened than my body. Whatever had plagued Matt back in the stairwell and later on when we were outside on the sidewalk seemed to have been replaced by a steely resolve.
He changed lanes with ease, winding his way through the evening traffic.
“The hotel I checked into when I first came back to the city,” he answered. “It’s a shit hole, but I checked in with a false ID, so I don’t have any reason to believe it’ll be compromised.”
“Then what?”
He turned down a side street, crossing the boundary between my neighborhood, which just barely straddled the line on sketchy, and into trouble.
“I don’t know. I need to come up with a plan. Need to see if my father’s employee can help us at all.” His gaze shifted to me, his voice softening. “I’m sorry about your apartment. Sorry you lost everything. We’ll get you some clothes and stuff.”
I hadn’t even thought about the fact that everything I owned now consisted of this stupid blue and white dress and matching heels.
“I didn’t lose everything,” I replied. “Trust me, I thought I’d lost everything before. This is just stuff. It could have been so much worse.” I reached across the armrest between us, grabbing Matt’s hand and holding on tight. “Thank you for saving my life.”
He nodded, squeezing my fingers, something about the sight of our linked hands making me feel as though everything was all right in my world, even as the walls crumbled down around us.
He hadn’t been kidding about the hotel.
It was rough, in a part of D.C. I’d certainly never been to, and if I hadn’t had big, strong, beard-sporting, six-two, Army badass Matt with me, I probably would have been just as scared over my chances of getting randomly knifed as I was about the odds that whoever had blown up my apartment was still out there trying to kill us.
I followed Matt into the cramped room, a strange odor in the air that I didn’t even want to name, feeling like my life had taken a surreal turn somewhere along the way.
“Is your back okay?” Matt asked. “You hit the concrete pretty hard. I tried to protect your head, but you probably have some scrapes.”
My back, like the rest of my body, felt completely numb. I didn’t know if it was shock or what, but it was as if I was floating through this evening, as though everything had happened to someone else. Just a few hours earlier, I’d been at work writing a report on Syrian intelligence, preparing for dinner with my parents, and now I was here, in hiding, trying to keep from being killed. It was times like these when I wished my skills had been in covert affairs and not analysis. My job training would have served me well.
I sat on the edge of the bed while Matt grabbed the first-aid kit, his movements confident and clearly rote. How many times had he patched himself up? How many nights did he spend in places like this, hiding and fearing for his life?
The mattress sunk down as Matt joined me on the bed, his big body behind me, his presence reassuring. His hands came up to my nape, dragging the zipper down my dress, his knuckles brushing against my bare skin just above my bra strap. I shivered beneath his touch, his lips following his fingers to press soft kisses along my skin in a line down my spine.
“You have a few scrapes, but it isn’t terrible,” he murmured. “I’m going to put some peroxide on them to clean them out and then I’ll use an antibiotic cream.”
“Thanks.”
“Does it hurt?”
I shook my head. “I’m not sure I feel much of anything right now.”
“Your body is probably in shock. It happens. It’ll wear off eventually.”
It felt like I’d been in shock since he came back from the dead; this was starting to feel normal. Everything else felt like the anomaly.
I heard Matt opening the kit, rifling around for what he needed.
“This’ll probably sting a bit.”
His fingers grazed my skin again, his touch gentle.
“How did you know? Back in my apartment, how did you know that we shouldn’t go up there? Does that happen to you a lot?”
He didn’t answer me for a moment as he dabbed at my back.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I sense danger and it’s nothing at all.”
I could hear the frustration in his voice, could feel the tension vibrating from him now. Part of me wanted to back down, knew this was a can of worms that probably shouldn’t be opened with everything else we faced, but we’d always been able to talk about everything. Our relationship had been built on our friendship, so nothing had ever been off-limits or too difficult to share. He needed to talk to someone, and as far as I knew, I was the person he was closest to. I hadn’t lived through the things he had, and I didn’t know what it was like to watch your friends die before you, but I knew him, and I couldn’t sit by while this ate at him, not when I thought that I could help. He needed someone to listen to him, someone to take some of the burden off of his shoulders and give him somewhere to lean.
“You had a moment back there, didn’t you?” I asked, not sure how else to describe it.
He swallowed, his hand on my back still. “Yeah.”
I paused, waiting to see if he’d share more, wondering if he was ready to let me in.
“I can’t control it. Don’t know when it’s going to come on. Usually stress is a trigger. Sometimes everything will be calm and then something will happen, something that reminds me of what it was like in Afghanistan, and I’m back again. It can be as simple as opening a door with bells on it, and instead of walking into a coffee shop, I feel like I’m in a market somewhere, the people pushing into me, unable to see where the attack is coming from.
“I can be having a perfectly normal day, and then I’ll hear a car backfire or kids setting off firecrackers, and suddenly I’m right back there, my friends being shot around me, bullets tearing through my flesh.”
I held my breath, tears welling up in my eyes as he described the fear he lived with, the uncertainty of it all. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for him to carry that around with him. I’d always looked up to him; with the age difference between us he’d always been a heroic figure in my life, someone I viewed as capable of anything. But now? His strength astounded me. Not because he seemed capable of anything, but because he’d survived everything. He’d lived through a hell that was unimaginable, sacrificed his life for his country, and still he fought with honor and dignity. He was a hero whether he recognized it or not.
Matt’s fingers swept across my skin again, the medicinal smell of the antibiotic cream filling my nostrils.
“Don’t feel sorry for me.” He said the words like a warning.
“I don’t,” I sort-of lied, not exactly sure how to describe the feelings inside of me. I didn’t feel sorry for him exactly, just an ache in my breast that seemed tied to the hurt inside him. I wanted to treat his wounds as he did mine, knowing his were the kind that couldn’t be eased with a simple balm.
“You know you can talk to me,” I added. “Always. I wish you had more of a support network, wish you could reach out to guys who’d been through some of the things you have. I’m sorry that was taken from you, sorry everything is so fucked up. I know I’m not ideal, but I do want you to know that I’m here for you. Anything you need. Always.”
He stroked my back above the scrapes he’d treated, his voice raw. “I know.”
I shifted on the bed so we stared at each other, my dress gaping open in the back. I lifted both of my hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, the scratchy hair on his face now familiar. My thumbs darted out and traced his cheekbones, running over the lines that had popped up on his skin in the years apart, the ridges that spoke to the life he’d lived in my absence. He closed his eyes, his dark lashes fanning down as I stroked his face, my thumb sweeping over his full lips.
“I love you,” I whispered. “I never stopped loving you. I will always love you.”
Matt shuddered in my embrace, and then his eyes fluttered open and the look there knocked me back.
He’d always had the most expressive eyes and I’d always been able to look at him and know what he was thinking, what he wanted, how he felt. Since he’d come back into my life, his gaze had changed; it was more guarded now, those dark depths filled with secrets that at times felt like he shut me out.
Not anymore.
All of the love I had once seen in his eyes reflected back at me like a mirror into my own soul.
“I love you, too,” he groaned. His hands threaded through my hair, holding me in place. “Always.” His mouth came down on mine, his lips devouring me, his tongue sliding inside.
We moved together, a crazy tangle of limbs, until Matt was on his back on the bed and I straddled him. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth, laving the bite with his tongue. My nipples pebbled, a pulse starting between my legs—a low, throbbing beat that demanded to be filled.
Matt reached for the shoulder of my dress, the unzipped back causing it to slip down my arm, then he slid the other side off my skin, a trail of goose bumps rising in his wake.
I curled into his touch, wanting his hands and mouth on me, needing to let go for a moment.
His eyes darkened as his gaze locked on my lacy bra, his hands coming behind me to unhook the clasp, and then he dragged the lace from my body until I rode him, my breasts bare, my dress bunched around my hips. There was something about the contrast of it that spiked my arousal—the dress I’d worn to try to be the proper girl I’d never been, and the fact that I was naked, my clit aching with need as I rubbed myself over his denim-clad cock, the hard ridge there doing so many things for the wet heat pooling between my legs.
“You look like a good girl gone bad,” he whispered, his voice husky, his big hands cupping my breasts, his thumbs tweaking my nipples, his mouth nipping at the curve between my neck and shoulder.
I bit back a moan.
“My dirty fucking girl.”
Yes.
I arched forward, pressing my breasts into his hands, wanting it rougher, harder, wanting to indulge the explosion building inside of me.
