His growl rumbles through me, his fingers tightening until I’m pinned to him. “Good. Because it’s the truth, Little Red. You. Are. Mine.” Each word is punctuated with his hips grinding forward, the hard ridge of him pressing against me.
I gasp, clutching his shirt, my body sparking everywhere we connect. My thighs part instinctively, and he takes advantage, shifting me against him until I’m straddling his thigh. The friction of his thick cock is right where I need it most.
“Nick,” I breathe, my voice breaking as he rocks me harder against him. My panties are already damp, sliding against denim, and every move makes me ache more.
He grabs my ass, dragging me over him like he can’t stand the thought of space between us. “Feel that, sweetheart? That pussy’s mine too. So is every sound you make. Every gasp. Every fucking shiver. All mine.”
I moan into his mouth when he kisses me, my hips grinding helplessly against him. The friction is brutal, delicious, and the orgasm builds fast. My body tenses, clinging to him as if he’s the only thing holding me together.
His teeth graze my lip. His breath is hot against me. “Come for me. Right here. Ruin those panties for me.”
The command tears through me, my body obeying before my brain catches up. I break apart against him, muffling my cry in his shoulder as heat floods me, soaking through the thin fabric. He holds me tight, grinding me through the final pulses, rocking me until I come down from my high.
I collapse against his chest, my breath ragged. His fingers comb through my hair as his lips brush my temple, so soft that it undoes me all over again.
“That’s how I want you to forget him, Jules,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “Not by erasing what he did. By making new memories. This”—his hand squeezes my hip possessively—“will be one of my favorites.”
A shaky laugh slips out of me, half breathless, half disbelieving, while I try to recover from the aftershocks of that mind-blowing orgasm. “I don’t deserve you.”
His smile curves against my skin before he kisses me. “I think that’s my line.”
28
NICK
The knock at the door comes just after breakfast. Julie freezes mid-sip of her coffee, and I see the flash of panic in her eyes before she masks it. I’m so sad that she’s still jumpy, but I understand how much of a paranoid kid she was. Craig just plays into her worst fear of the unknown.
“I’ll get it,” I say, already moving toward the door.
I open it and am confused when I see a plain cardboard box sitting on the porch with no return label. Julie’s name is scribbled in Sharpie across the top. As soon as I see it, every muscle in my body tenses. Julie steps closer, squeezing in beside me so she can look.
“Don’t touch it,” I warn.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know yet,” I say, crouching to tear the tape and peel the flaps back.
The disgusting smell hits me first.
Inside is a bouquet of wilted, blackened roses, stems slimy with decay. Tucked between them is a card, smeared with something like dirt.
“What th—” Julie clampsa hand over her mouth.
I slide the card out with two fingers, and there are just three words written in sloppy handwriting.
I’m always watching.
The meaning is clear.
My vision goes red. “Motherfucker.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and take a picture of it, then text it to Brody.
Nick
Did you see anything?
Brody
