“You have enchanted me, Lexa. I can’t stop thinking about you—it’s driving me crazy. I’ve never had the guts to talk to you before, but I have to make my move now. It’s my last chance.”
He kissed me so deeply that I could feel it in my core. My blood sang, my nipples hardened to the point of pain, and a fierce, throbbing ache started between my legs.
“Give yourself to me, Lexa. Let me love you. It’s you and me, forever. I promise. Trust me. I won’t hurt you.”
A soft moan slips through my lips as I remember how I melted in his hands. How I writhed in his grip, moaning and screaming as he devoured me. Even though all of these memories are soaked in the pain of his betrayal, the next day, I can’t deny the urges reawakening in my body.
With a tear still trickling down my cheek, I bite my lip and run my hand down my thigh, searching for that hot, aching point between my legs. Shutting off all thoughts of rejection and pain, I relive that moment when all I needed was the pleasure of him inside me and the earth-shattering force of my release.
Chapter 6 - Kit
I listen to the dull roar of the water filling the bathtub, not even bothering to try and stop myself from thinking about Lexa. Being trapped in the car with her was bad enough—immersed in her scent, her body just inches away from mine. But then, standing in front of the altar, holding her hand…
Kissing her.
That was one of the hardest moments of my life. The urge to grab her shoulders, yank her against me, and press my lips to hers was overwhelming. My fantasy was so strong, I could taste her, feel the wet heat of her lips as I explored her mouth with my tongue.
When I lightly pecked her cheek and stepped back from her, the effort of holding myself back literally made me dizzy. Luckily, my townhouse is close to the church, so I didn’t have to keep my shit together for long.
Except now she’s in my bathroom. Naked.
A low groan echoes in my throat as I close my eyes and imagine her stripping off her clothes. Her skin is still pale as ice, just like I remember, but her thighs are shapely, and her ass is ripe and firm. The narrow curves of her waist accentuate the swells of her hips, and her breasts are big and round, bouncing a little when she walks.
She was always hot. But in high school, she was girl-pretty, delicate, not quite grown up. Now, she’s not just pretty—she’s beautiful, stunning. A woman, not a girl.
The sound of the water stops, and my eyes snap open. That can only mean one thing.
She’s getting in the tub.
My mind lingers over images of her stepping over the high edge and slowly sinking into the water. I can see her hands, slick with soap, lathering up white foam across her breasts, sliding a hand across her belly, delving between her legs.
My eyes have closed again, and my mouth has fallen open slightly as I try to draw in as much of her scent as I can from this distance. Along with the tang of soap, I can detect her sweet, rich scent, carried on drifting waves of hot steam as they waft through under the bathroom door.
My fantasies are suddenly shoved aside as I remember the first time I really got to breathe in her scent. I had been tortured by it every day in school, but I’d never gotten close enough to her to really take it in.
I had to be so careful. I could never show attachment to anyone or anything. It would only draw Grandfather’s wrath.
That night in the cabin, when I took her, was the first time I truly knew her power over me. I remember the way her scent engulfed me as I ripped her pants off. How I paused, perfectly still, and tilted my head with my eyes closed and breathed her scent in, letting it fill me.
Then I pounced on her. I plunged my tongue into her pussy and ate her out like a starving man.
Iwasstarving. I had kept my need for her buried under so many layers of control that even I didn’t realize the huge, gaping maw of need that yearned within me. I tried to quench my thirst inside her, drinking up all her sweet juice, making her scream and writhe in my hands, feasting on her soul as well as her body.
Almost panting, I struggle to control myself. I can hear low splashes down the hall, and I’m tortured by images of what she might be doing.
Probably washing her armpits while I’m here fantasizing about her playing with herself.
All of these thoughts come with a heavy dose of pain. I wish I could forget about it, wash it away somehow, but I can’t. My wonderful moments with Lexa are tainted, forever poisoned by my own stupidity.
When I woke and the sky was light, I panicked. Grandfather wouldn’t mind me partying or staying out late, especially for graduation, but he still expected me to return for my usual duties.
There was also the extreme danger of someone seeing who I was with and reporting back to him. The idea of him finding out about me being with Lexa filled me with frantic urgency, so I threw my clothes on and bolted, barely even pausing to enjoy the sight of her spread out on the bed, her lips curved in a small smile of pleasure.
Then she showed up at my house like I’d made some kind of mistake, and she was ready to forgive me for it.
Now the groan that shakes my chest is one of pure pain, not lust. The memories of me laughing in her face are far more vivid than those of her in my arms.
I don’t deserve the pleasure of the good memories. Not after what I did.
