Buckled

by Pam Godwin

  “My thoughts exactly.” He removes his hand, slowly scraping his fingers through the trimmed hair on my mound. “You can’t be real.”

  “Untie me and I’ll prove I am.”

  I might be the only one warring between right and wrong, but in this moment, wrong is winning. Against all reasoning, I need to see this through.

  He unleashed something inside me, something demanding and overwhelming, and he’s the only one who can satisfy it.

  “We need to get to shelter.” He moves to the rope and loosens the knots, peering through the drenched strands of hair dripping across his brow.

  Good lord, he’s gorgeous. The surrounding darkness writhes around him, clinging to his menacing edges, making him appear bigger, badder, more threatening. He’s a shadowy, lethal pulse of energy and allure.

  The instant the restraints fall away, I attack him. Arms and legs around his formidable frame, I feed on his lips with a fury.

  It’s exactly what McKenna did the night I watched through the window, but this is different. He doesn’t just stand there. He rivals my frenzy and competes with my urgency, battling my teeth and fingernails with fangs and claws.

  Hoisting me up his chest, he stumbles backward through the downpour and dominates the kiss with firm, aggressive lips. “There’s a barn.”

  “Where?” I reach between us, tackling his belt buckle.

  “Quarter mile.” He groans against my mouth, fingers digging against my backside, in my hair, tongue colliding and wrestling with mine.

  I manage to release the belt, then his zipper. The denim is stiff, sopping wet, and unmanageable, but I’m too far gone to let that stop me. I wedge my fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs and slide through his patch of short hair. So close…

  “If you touch my cock,” he growls, “we won’t make it to that barn.”

  We’re soaked to the bone, surrounded by lightning bolts and endless grass, muffled by thunderclaps, and I don’t care about any of it.

  I shove my hand in deeper and grip the thick length of him.

  “Ahhhh, Maybe!” His head falls back, and he thrusts his hips, stroking himself in the clench of my fingers.

  His mouth returns to mine, hungrier, harder, all control gone. The world spins and lifts, and in the next breath, I’m on my back in a bed of watery grass with a rutting, grunting pillar of muscle and testosterone between my legs.

  “I need you.” He thrusts against me, grinding his zipper along my swollen flesh. “Fuck, I don’t have a condom.”

  I have an IUD, but I don’t want to shout over the rain about disease and sexual histories. Instead, I push against his shoulder, rolling him to his back.

  Lying beneath me, he holds an arm over his eyes and squints through the downpour. I can’t make out his expression in the dark, but I feel his need. It vibrates through him, shaking his limbs, tightening his fingers, and hijacking his breaths.

  I wrangle his soaked t-shirt up and off and scoot down his body, splaying my hands across his magnificent chest. I ache to trace every indention along the cut of his abs, but I’ll do that later when I can take my time.

  When I reach his jeans, I yank and wrangle and grunt until his huge, swollen cock lurches free. Sweet mother, he’s gloriously hung. The silhouette alone is intimidating as hell.

  My hands go to it instinctively, fingers wrapping around the base and sliding up with ease, lubricated by the pouring rain.

  His body bows and stiffens as I rub up and down his length.

  “Goddamn, Maybe.” His eyes squeeze shut, and his hands dig into the grass. “Feels so fucking good.”

  The intensity and the volume of the storm increases, but it’s no match for the tumultuous sight of Jarret Holsten on the cusp of climax. His hips kick and jerk. His hands claw the earth. Muscular twitches move his legs, and his boots drag through the grass, as if he’s struggling to hold still, trying to rein himself in.

  Then he snaps. His fist clamps around mine, and he arches his lower body, slamming into the sheath of our hands. Three thrusts later, he roars into the rain, shaking and pumping and spurting across his abs.

  It’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever witnessed.

  I intended to suck him to completion but miscalculated how close he was. I lower my head anyway, attempting to catch a taste of him before the rain washes it away.

  The flared head of his cock pulsates between my lips as I suck him clean. Then I move to the carved terrain of his stomach and swipe my tongue along the bumpy grooves, lapping at the salty blend of come and rainwater.

  “Killing me.” He groans and pets my hair, shifting restlessly beneath me. “Come here.”

  He hauls me up his chest and takes my mouth, plunging his tongue past my lips and licking my depths.

  Having just found release, we should be sated. We should be slow and purposeful and thinking about getting out of the rain. But we’re not. If anything, we’re even more worked up, grunting wildly and grinding together.

  His cock bounces and strains against my pussy, nudging forcibly, intending entry. How is he still hard?

  He rolls me to my back and hovers over me, lips swollen, eyes black, and the heavy, engorged length of him hanging between us.

  I no longer feel the pelt of rain, hear the clap of thunder, or see the violent illumination in the sky. The storm has suddenly passed.

  But something else churns the air.

  Anticipation.

  Hunger.

  Inevitability.

  He grips his shaft and rubs the head along the seam of my pussy. “Let me.”

  “We don’t have protection.” A swallow sticks in my throat.

  “I’m clean.”

  “But—”

  “I want children with you.”

  “What?” My heart stops.

  “You heard me.”

  “Children? Have you lost your mind?” I scramble out from beneath him.

  “I don’t mean right now.” He stands and tucks himself into his jeans. “I just… With you, I want marriage and kids and all of it. You’re it for me. Today, tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after.”

  I feel like my eyes are going to pop out of the sockets.

  “Stop looking at me like that, dammit.” He stabs a finger in my direction. “I’m fucking serious. If you’re not ready, I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

  “You’ll wait for what?” I hug my bare chest, trembling and soaked.

  “For you to accept this.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” I thrust my arms out to the sides, agitated and baffled. “I’m naked, in the middle of nowhere, and you’re discussing marriage and kids!”

  He remains motionless, blanketed in shadows, but I feel him glaring.

  “I assume women have proposed to you? Cozied up beside you in bed, drunk on sex and musing about having your babies? I bet you thought they were crazy.”

  “Now I know how they feel.”

  “When did you have this epiphany? Before or after I jerked you off?”

  “Don’t do that.” Blackness bleeds from his expression, his anger palpable, shuddering the air around him. “I fucking know you feel this, too.”

  Where are my clothes? I spin around, searching the stillness, covered head to toe in grass and mud and rain and confusion.

  “You belong to me.” He prowls closer. “I’ll piss a circle around you if I have to. I’ll move mountains and rearrange my entire existence. I’m not giving you up.”

  “You don’t even know me.” I spot the fence behind him. My dress won’t be far from there.

  “Bullshit!” He advances, forcing me backward. “I know how your mind works. You’re brilliant and genuine. You’re passionate about what you believe in, and you’re not afraid to fight. I know your expressions, your smiles, the octaves of your laughter, the loneliness behind your frown. You store your soul in your eyes. You fidget with your hair when you’re nervous, let the ice melt in your soda before you drink it, and you hate
to be alone. You’ve never had a one-night-stand.”

  “How do you—?”

  “I know, Maybe. I listen when you speak, and I hear everything you don’t say.” He closes in, his strides long and determined. “I know you wear high-heels to feel professional, but you’re not a news reporter.”

  “What?” My face chills, and my stomach bottoms out.

  “I know you’re not here for a job.”

  I stagger back, my boots squelching with each wobbly footfall. I’m naked and exposed, bereft and lost in the consuming glow of Jarret’s eyes. “If you believe I lied—”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  He moves with me, shifting direction when I try to dart past him, blocking me from sprinting toward my clothes. But nudity isn’t my biggest vulnerability.

  He knows.

  I’m not sure exactly what he’s figured out, but he knows I’m not here to write a news story.

  Why is he circling me like it doesn’t matter? Why hasn’t he kicked me out? Why is he staring at me like he wants to…? I grip my hair at the roots. Marriage? Children? I can’t even.

  “I’m a fashion journalist.” I stumble away from him, maintaining several feet between us. “I write about clothing and makeup.”

  “I want you, Maybelline.”

  My breath stutters at the sound of my name on his lips. This is too much, too big. I have to push him away. “I don’t want kids. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

  “I still want you.” His boots squish in the mud as he chases, his arms stiff at his sides, his chest glistening with residual rain.

  “I can’t marry you.” I hug my ribs, shivering in a curtain of cold, drippy hair.

  “I’ll change your mind.”

  My mind isn’t the problem. Marrying him is a tangled, complicated impossibility. “I’ve only known you for nine days.”

  “I fell for you the first night.”

  There goes my heart. He might as well reach into my chest and yank out the miserable thing. It’s his now, and I don’t know how to proceed. I can’t breathe, can’t string together words, can’t make my legs work.

  He’s inside me, stretching out and rearranging and taking over. I taste him in my throat, feel him burning in my chest, and hear him whispering in my head. He’s talking, real adult conversation, and his declaration rips me apart.

  I replay every word, aching for the truth in his gaze. A truth that has nothing to do with the one that led me here.

  “This changes everything.” My chest heaves beneath the tight fold of my arms.

  “In the best way.”

  “It won’t end well.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” He takes another step toward me, pausing a few feet away. “It won’t end. Period.”

  “Think about what you’re saying.”

  “I don’t need to think.” He pounds a fist against his chest. “I feel it.”

  I marvel at his conviction. I’ve heard the words throughout my life, the I love yous muttered after sex, written in birthday cards, and tossed over shoulders on the way out the door. But I’ve never felt them broadcasted from someone with such soul-deep confidence.

  He hasn’t even uttered the trite sentiment. Instead, he communicates it with a look, lets it spill from his eyes, his pores, his breaths so profoundly and candidly it decimates me.

  Tears rise, unbidden. Fearful tears. Grateful tears. Greedy, hopeful, naive tears.

  I turn away and run like a coward, fully aware he’ll catch me. He knows the land. He has longer legs, and he’s determined. So fucking persistent. I don’t stand a chance.

  But I run anyway, stealing time to gather my wits. I can fight him, but I won’t win.

  Because I don’t want to.

  The tread of boots sounds behind me, gaining speed. My blood pressure explodes. Adrenaline floods my system, and my scalp crawls with dread and anticipation. He’s going to capture me, restrain me, force me to bend, and blow my fucking mind.

  I pick up my pace, but it’s too late. His arms hook around my waist and lift me from the ground.

  “Put me down!” Heart pounding, I kick my legs and gnash my teeth. “You don’t understand—”

  “Forget the past.” His chest flexes against my back, his lips brushing my ear. “Move forward.”

  “I am moving forward.”

  “With me. I’m right here.” He turns me in his arms to face him and coils the fall of my hair around his fist, holding on. “We’ll do this together. Nothing’s stopping us.”

  Eventually, my past will catch up, and it will stop us.

  But if I leave now, it’ll hurt. Deeply. Permanently. It’ll hurt if I leave a year from now. It’ll hurt no matter what. There’s no avoiding the inevitable devastation.

  My heart already decided. It moved in with him, slept in his arms, and surrendered itself in the middle of a thunderstorm.

  My damn heart forgot that love sucks, that it scars the soul, tramples trust, and hollows out the body.

  Anger flares in my chest. If I’m going to fight him, shaking and naked while considering my demise, it’s only fair that he does the same.

  “Remove your clothes.” I take advantage of his shock and wriggle out of his embrace.

  He’s hidden in darkness as I step back. But with my next step, his face becomes clearer, lighter. By the time I edge a few feet away, a silver glow illuminates his gorgeous features—thick fringes of lashes, straight nose, sharp jawline, and strong lips that neither smile nor scowl.

  I tilt my head back and lock onto the bright white moon. It’s now in full view beside a waning mass of charcoal clouds.

  Returning to Jarret, I find him watching me. He hasn’t moved.

  Hands at his sides, fly hanging open, bare chest rising and falling in the moonlight, he doesn’t hurry toward our fated moment. He draws it out, as if waiting to see who will break first.

  The moon shines a spotlight on his vigilant gaze, exposing the flare of his nostrils, the rigid tension in his stance, and the flex of hands at his sides.

  I’m thrilled I can see him now, but it means he can also see me. Every naked flaw, spindly limb, and unattractive blemish.

  I bar an arm across my small breasts and lower a hand between my legs.

  “Don’t hide from me.” He prowls closer.

  “Your clothes.” I circle him, staying out of his reach.

  “I prefer to do this in a bed.”

  “Like you did with McKenna?” My insides clench. “I thought you’d be more adventurous than that.”

  His jaw goes hard.

  “I’ve never had sex outside of a bedroom.” I stand taller, wrapped up in my arms. “I’ve never had sex without love.”

  Something menacing shifts across his face. “How many lovers?”

  “One in high school. One in college.” I swallow. “One after.”

  I’ve fallen in love three times. Had sex with three men. Failed three relationships. I swore there wouldn’t be a fourth, and here I am, sucking at life.

  With a nod, he wrestles off a boot. Then the other, followed by his socks.

  His hands fall to his fly as he straightens and meets my eyes. “Be sure, Maybe.”

  I shake my head. “I’m not saying yes.”

  He searches my expression, inspecting and evaluating. When his eyes land on mine, the corner of his mouth crooks up.

  He knows what I want. The illusion. The belief that he’s taking and forcing, that I have no choice or power.

  In reality, the word stop is my power. It’s also the only power that matters, and we both know it.

  In a fluid slide of motion, he strips the last of his clothes and stands at his full height, feet braced apart, chin lowered, and eyes tilted upward and fastened on mine.

  Sculpted and chiseled from his hair to his feet, he unabashedly grips the base of his impressive erection and strokes. “Lie on your back.”

  “No.” I won’t make this easy. “If you want boring—”

  He lau
nches, and I swerve. His hand catches a fistful of curls, and my heart rate skyrockets. I can’t untangle his grip without losing strands, so I do the only thing I can. I spin toward him and grab his hair.

  It’s thick and wet and so damn silky, but I manage to clutch a good hunk and pull with all my might.

  “Fuck!” He releases a pained laugh, and the hand in my hair lets go.

  With a squeal, I take off. Blood pumping, boots sloshing, I race through the night with a veracious wolf on my trail.

  He sprints after me, groaning loudly. “You should see the way your ass moves.”

  My buttocks flexes instinctively, and I cringe. And stumble.

  He grabs my arm and swings me around. Midnight lashes mantle the golden flames in his eyes as they blaze down upon me. The predatory beauty and ruthlessness in that gaze seizes my breath and gallops my pulse.

  I press a hand against his chest, his skin rippling beneath my palm. I suck in air, panting and filling my lungs with his scent. He smells like rain and electricity, earth and grass, and something else, a quintessential toughness that’s unique only to him—sweat and lust and vibrating life. It’s all there, emanating from his skin.

  He’s the strongest, most potent creature I’ve ever encountered, a powerhouse of force and drive who lures as much as he terrifies.

  And he wants me.

  I shove at his massive chest. He doesn’t budge. I yank on my arm in his grasp, both of us still slippery from the rain. I slide free, staggering with surprise.

  Then I’m running again, veering left and right while staying in the vicinity of our clothes.

  He swipes at me and growls, lunges and grunts, playing with me, letting me slip away long enough to resume the chase.

  Surrounded by a dark field of nothingness, with his muscular body backlit by the moon and his cock standing proud, he’s wild and ferocious. A gorgeous, majestic beast on the hunt.

  His hair hangs over his brow, sticking to wet lashes. Whiskers darken his jaw. Tension stiffens the razored edges of his face as he stalks me like an animal would its mate.

  Possessive and hungry, he grabs at me, missing and losing patience. “When I catch you—”

  “I know.”

  Saliva rushes over my tongue, and my pussy throbs for the hard, thick rock of flesh between his legs.