“Your little sounds drive me crazy.” He inserts a second finger, and when he hits the spot he knows I love, I clamp my mouth shut, trying my damnedest to be quiet.
His lips skim down my neck. “You like that?”
“Mm-hm.”
He bites my shoulder and I’m dimly aware of the way his hips pulse up and down.
“I wish” —it’s hard to talk with his fingers inside me, but I swallow and force the sounds out— “you’d let me touch you.”
“I’d get us arrested.” He circles my clit insistently now. Tingles blaze up my spine. “When we can be together in private again, I won’t say no.”
His fingers drive into me. A keening sound starts to climb out of my throat but he molds his lips to mine just in time to hold it between us.
He brings his mouth back to my ear, talking low as he goes back to rubbing my clit, more urgently now. “God, Brie, I love this” —he licks the shell of my ear— “love being the reason you feel good.”
There’s no hope for me anymore. My chest heaves like a Victorian harlot as concentrated pleasure winds me tighter and tighter. His arm anchors me to him as my body bucks against him. I grip his free hand, dig my nails into his other forearm.
“I’ve got you.” Sawyer’s breath is hot on my neck. “Come for me right here. Let go.”
And then I do. Just as the deep pulse of pleasure blasts through me, Sawyer’s mouth is on mine, swallowing my moans. He holds me to him, steady and strong. When I start clenching around nothing, I urge his hand down. He getsthe message and drives two fingers into me, chasing my orgasm, extending it to the last drop.
Then, when I’m a satisfied lump resting against him, he eases his fingers out, brings them to his mouth, and licks them clean. The sight sends another rippling shudder through me.
After a few minutes of satisfied bliss, I turn to kiss him, tasting myself on his tongue. He releases my hand, and I automatically reach for him. His thick erection has my need blooming all over again.
“Let’s leave,” I whisper.
“The movie’s not living up to your expectations?” he asks, voice ragged.
“What movie?”
CHAPTER 41
SAWYER
I tossthe blankets and pillows into the back of the cab while Brie throws away the popcorn and sodas. Then I hightail it out of there . . . at the posted speed limit of five miles per hour.
“Woah, tiger,” Brie deadpans. “Take it easy.”
“I’m scared of the security here,” I say, matching her tone and nodding my head at the geriatric guard dozing off in a chair by the concessions booth.
“You get in trouble for changing the radio station one too many times?” she teases.
“I wish. Rich smuggled beer in once, and I got the blame since we were in my truck. Got banned” —I look over and widen my eyes exaggeratedly— “for life.”
She snorts. “Is that the real reason you got a new truck? Hiding from the fuzz?”
Smiling, I say, “Worth it so I could bring you.”
I can’t stop thinking about it. She used to come all the way here just to sit outside the fence. I have so many questions, most of them trivial just to paint a picture. I want to ask how she got here in thefirst place, a good twenty minutes outside of town. What movies she saw. If she brought snacks.
But just like every time Brie drops a breadcrumb, I get the feeling it was accidental. If I push for more—and god, I want so much more—it’ll end like it did at Valley View Provisions when she hid by the to go boxes for ten minutes. I’m not sure how Brie went from telling me to go fuck myself as she walks home in the freezing rain to hiding behind my back, but I hate it. If my goal was to make Brie feel safe with me, I’m failing.
I thought when she told me why she left Everett, that she was opening up to me. But the more time I spend with her, the more it feels like she’s retreating into herself.
It’s killing me, trying to rack my brain for ways to make things better. I wouldask, except she won’t let me in. The most mundane questions—what’s more mundane than soda flavors?—has her changing the subject or shutting down.
Is this because of how I tormented her when we were kids? I’d get it if it were, but then why be with me at all?
