“And what about you? What made you think the Atlantic City Chapter was a fresh start?” She shakes her head, and the tears reflect off the glow of the fire beside us. One falls, then another, and I’m trying to catch them and wipe them away, but I’m not quick enough.
“I’m from a very religious family,” she whispers, cutting her eyes to me. “My dad is a preacher.”
“I know,” I say, thinking back to when Reaper called for Church and Badge gave an update on the girls we rescued. Mary St. James was a preacher’s daughter, a famous preacher who makes a ton of money, but Mary doesn’t seem like the religious type to me. Now that I’m getting to know her, I’m starting to realize her rebellion isn’t new but hidden.
“You knew? And all the times we fought, you didn’t try taking a dig at me?”
“I’m an asshole, but that was your family; I wasn’t going to slap that in your face. Especially since you’re so adamant about not going back to them, so I kept quiet. As did everyone else. Pretty funny though, the Preacher’s daughter hanging out with bikers. I bet your dad would have a heart attack.”
“I doubt it,” she says, a flat, monotone grip to her throat. “He isn’t very religious either. He’s a fake. He’s horrible.” Her fingers dig into my chest, her nails pinching my skin like she wishes he were in front of her so she could rip his heart out. “He’s the reason why Atlantic City wasn’t so bad.” Her gaze meets mine, and hatred, holy hell, hatred unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, flashes in her eyes.
I thought she didn’t like me, but that wasn’t the case at all. Now that I see what her hate looks like, it is safe to say I’m on her good side.
“For twelve years, he molested me. Twelve. Long. Torturous. Years.”
And just like that, the peace I felt disappears. I lift her off me because somehow, she found her way to my lap. I start to pace, feeling the need for blood pumping through my veins. I pop my neck, grab the sides of my head, and snarl.
I’m breaking.
“Knives?”
“He did what? For how long? I’m going to kill him. I’m going to fucking kill him!” I yell so loud, someone up above must hear me, because thunder grumbles the ground and lightning booms overhead. I’m fucking pissed.
Twelve years of being caged.
Twelve years of being in her own prison.
Twelve years of being silent.
Twelve years of acting normal.
No wonder she is how she is.
She’s free now. It’s no wonder she’s a fucking hellraiser when praying got her nowhere.
And then I’ve been kissing her, throwing my lips on her because I couldn’t wait another second. Did she even want it? “I’m sorry, Mary. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have… I would have respected your space and not kissed you.”
“Don’t do that; don’t take that away from me. I’m not someone who is ruined by her past. The only thing I don’t want is to go home. I never want to go there again, but I want to move on with my life. I want more than what I had. That’s why I was okay with Atlantic City; at least there would have been variety—”
Hearing her talk like that, about being raped and abused by different men, has a possessive beast swelling inside me that I’ve never felt before. Barely breathing, I cup her face and hope she can see the cold in my eyes as I make a promise, “I swear, I promise, I’ll kill him. He won’t even have to be in the back of your mind anymore. I’ll hunt him down. I’ll—”
She hushes me by kissing me this time, and her lips are lava soaking into my veins, warming me from head to toe in the middle of this desert winter. My hands go from soft to hard along her jaw as I take control, slipping my tongue between her lips. This isn’t good. We’re nearly naked, her breasts are rubbing against my chest, my cock is hard and leaking, but I know the last thing I want to do is have sex with her here.
Mary deserves more than some haystack fuck.
No, she doesn’t even deserve to get fucked; she deserves better than that.
How the hell do I give it to her? I’ve never experienced anything like that before. I’ve never felt like this for anyone before. It’s consuming me.
Her hands slide down my chest as mine drift down her back; the smooth lines and the curve of her delicate spine have me growling low in my gut. Her fingers tease the waistband of my briefs, but they don’t slip under, so I take her lead.
I don’t grip her ass, I don’t cup her tits like I really want, because I want her to be able to call the shots.
And I’m not going to lie, having her fingers tease me like this is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced. My stomach clenches, and the touch feels… intimate. My brows pinch together, trying to understand what intimacy is.
I don’t love.
I break people.
I’m not a person someone takes a chance, on because I don’t let them.
I suck her lip into my mouth and groan as her nails sink into my hip bones. This is a bad idea. Just because we are getting along now doesn’t mean we always will. What if we aren’t constructed to love the way other people do?
Then I’ll deconstruct myself and find a way to build the foundation of who I am again. She deserves the effort for me to try.
“Knives,” she gasps, saying the only name that I’ve ever really felt like matched my soul. My cock jerks from how wispy my name sounds, falling off her lips. I lay us down on the blanket, fall to the side, so I’m not nestled between her legs like I want to be and keep my hands on her waist.
My balls pull against my body when she sucks my tongue into her mouth and strokes me like I’d imagined she would my cock. My eyes roll to the back of my head and a dollop of precum slides down my shaft.
“Mary,” I rumble her name, laying my forehead against hers as I try to bring this to a stop. “You have no idea what I want to do to you.” I slap my hands on either side of her head and grip the blanket in my fists, trying to squeeze out all the desire into the hay under us. My entire body shakes from roping in the control, nearly smothering me.
“I…we can…” she tries to find the words, but I interrupt her.
“I don’t want us to be here in this barn for the first time, Mary. I’m a fucking asshole, and I’ve done a lot of questionable things, but I won’t take you and claim you before you’re ready.”
“Claim me?” She lifts a curved brow at me, a questioning and challenging tone. She doesn’t like the idea of being owned.
That’s too fucking bad.
“Claim you,” I lower my voice. “Fucking show you who owns you and this body, show you that the only fight you’re going to give me from now on is the one you relent when I’m ten inches deep.”
Her mouth drops open, and the flames allow me to see the blush staining her cheeks. “Knives… I—”
“—Not now, or tomorrow, but when you’re ready. You can act like the cut sluts all you want, Mary, but I know better. You aren’t the kind of woman to give yourself up like that.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be claimed. Or owned. Ever think about that?”
Her sudden reversal has me defensive.