Burn Down the Night (Everything I Left Unsaid #3)- Molly O'Keefe Page 0,72
was pretending I was alone.
His finger was an intrusion—thick and gorgeous between my legs. Hot and hard. Calloused and rough. I gasped, my head falling back on a suddenly weak neck.
He burrowed under the cheap rayon of my thong and found my slit. He gave me no preamble. No foreplay; he just kept going until he found my clit. I jumped. Gasped. Weaved on my knees.
He pushed down hard on my clit and I cried out, lifting my hips in to the touch. Wanting more. Needing more.
And he gave it to me. He pushed my yoga pants down around my thighs and put his whole hand into my orange thong. Fingers pushed inside me, one, then two, and a third.
“Oh God,” I cried out and finally grabbed onto his shoulder. He swore and I remembered—somehow—that he had a sunburn.
“Sorry—”
“No,” he said and grabbed my hand, putting it back on his shoulder. “You touch me.”
We were a strange circuit. His hand in my pussy, my fingernails on his sunburn.
“I’m going to make you come,” he said. “Me. Max. You can go hide out in the other room, but only after I’ve made you come.”
“Don’t—”
But his thumb slipped over my clit and I was too far gone. The orgasm was right on top of me. An avalanche of pleasure I couldn’t stop or push back. I shoved him away, his fingers abandoning my clit, and I came anyway. I collapsed forward on the bed on my hands and knees, my yoga pants pushed down my legs, my thong askew.
I came and I came and I couldn’t stop it.
Finally, I caught my breath. Came back into my body. Was able to feel my face. I sat back on my heels and readjusted my thong so it wasn’t cutting into my pussy and wished I could just teleport into the other room.
“You gonna look at me?”
“No.” But I shook back my hair and made eye contact, as awkward as it was. I even managed to smirk. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, in some quiet, strange way I didn’t like.
I got up off the bed and pulled up my pants. It was so quiet between us, the sound of my clothes over my skin was like thunder.
“I’ll go in the other room.”
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“No, it’s fine.” I was talking to him like we’d been trying to walk through the same door at the same time.
I walked across the room, my body pulsing, still sending out random electrical shocks.
“Joan,” he said when my hand was on the doorknob.
“What?”
I heard him take a deep breath, slowly let it out. Whatever he’d been about to say, he’d swallowed back down.
“Listen,” I whispered, staring at a bright square of carpet in the hallway cast by the kitchen light. And not at him. Definitely not at him. “Don’t trust me. Don’t care about me. Don’t…even like me. And I will do the exact same for you. So when we walk away from each other…” It won’t hurt.
I didn’t say it. In case I was wrong. In case it was only me that cared. That trusted. That liked.
His silence gave me nothing and I left before I could say any more.
I curled up on the love seat with the extra pillow and the blanket from Fern’s condo, and I knew one thing was completely clear.
Sooner, rather than later—I had to leave.
And it was going to hurt anyway.
Chapter 19
Max
Joan was going to leave.
Sooner, rather than later.
I couldn’t sleep, thinking about her sneaking out. Taking my phone and her garbage bag of fake IDs and trying to find her sister alone.
It should be easy not to care. It’s what I was good at. Every single thing in my life that mattered, I shoved away with both hands so I didn’t have to think about them, much less give a shit. My mom and dad. Any woman who would treat me right.
Dylan.
I was so good at it that in the end, all I had left around me were a bunch of men who would rather see me dead than alive. So, honestly, a stripper with intimacy issues who had lied to me, nearly killed me, and I hadn’t even fucked…she shouldn’t matter.
But somehow there I was, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, listening to the faint roar of the waves on the sand, my ears tuned to every shift of her body on that love seat.