Fighting for Rain - BB Easton Page 0,19
what?” His face is unreadable, but the air around him is charged.
“Any runaways living up there?”
“Nope.” Wes props his elbow on the ladder and leans over me, causing me to tilt my head back to make eye contact. “It’s all yours.”
“You mean, ours,” I whisper, frozen to the spot by his icy stare.
Wes shakes his head. Slowly.
Panic shoots through my veins as I realize what he’s saying.
“Don’t go.” I shake my own head, much faster, as sudden, uncontrollable tears blur my vision. “Please. Please stay here with me. I can’t do this without you, Wes.”
“Yes, you can.”
“I don’t want to!”
I step up onto the bottom rung of the ladder and place my hands on Wes’s shoulders, so that we’re eye-to-eye. “Remember yesterday? We were just like this. I was on the ladder of my tree house, and you were on the ground, and the sun was setting over there”—I point one hand in the direction of the hazy, sunlit entrance—“and I told you I loved you, and you said you loved me too.”
“You thought the world was about to end.” Wes’s tone is condescending and doubtful, but his hands on my waist are begging me to make him believe.
“So did you.”
“I meant what I said.”
“So did I, Wes. I still do.”
Seconds go by as I let that sink in. Wes doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t move a muscle, but his heart is beating so hard that I can feel the air vibrating off his chest in sonic waves. His hands tighten around my middle, and his nostrils flare as he sucks in silent breaths.
I can almost hear the sound of cracking ice.
I force a smile even though I’m terrified and bring one hand up to stroke his rough cheek. “Hey … if I’m not allowed to freak out, then you’re not allowed to either.”
Wes nods his head maybe a fraction of an inch. It’s so subtle that I almost miss it, but in that whisper of movement, he lets me see the real him. The one who is panicking just as badly as I am.
“Look around, baby. It’s still just you and me … and a tree house.” I smile and gesture above my head. “Carter being here doesn’t change anything. I don’t want to stay because of him. I know that’s what you think, but you’re wrong. I want you. I love you. Don’t you see that?”
Wes swallows the distance between us in a single step and crashes his lips against mine. When he presses my back against the ladder and invades my mouth with his tongue, I taste his relief. When he lifts my thigh over his hip and rocks against me, I feel his desperation. And when his hand slides up the back of my head and fists my hair, I feel his need.
This isn’t a goodbye kiss.
It can’t be.
I raise my arms and gasp for air as Wes pulls my hoodie and tank top off over my head in one motion. Then, I dive for his mouth again. The only time I feel truly alive is when I’m kissing this man. He’s like a live wire—calm and quiet on the outside but a raging electrical storm within. One touch, and I’m rooted to the spot, lit up and blazing hot as his power surges through me. It scrambles my thoughts, blasts through all my fears, and leaves me humming and vibrating and yearning for more.
Wes strips himself of his shirt, holster, and tank top. Then, as soon as his hands are free, they reach for me. Rough palms caress my exposed skin and tear at the clothes preventing them from touching more. Wes yanks my lacy bra down around my waist and feasts on the curve of my neck as he kneads my aching breasts. I arch my back and cling to the ladder rung above my head as his soft, warm mouth trails wet kisses down my chest. All I can do is hold on, paralyzed by the current of pleasure flowing through me, as Wes swirls and sucks and drags his tongue over each of my tight, tender nipples.
He places one of my feet on his thigh and makes quick work of my bootlaces. In a few seconds, both of my hiking boots join the growing pile of clothes on the ground, and Wes’s hands move straight to my zipper. I go to reach for him, but he places my hand back on the wooden slat above me.
“Don’t move,” he growls, yanking my