Lane opened his mouth, but I cut him off.
“Don’t say it.” I reached for his hand, and he laced our fingers together, holding tightly. “I’m just happy you’re okay.”
He gave me a small smile. “Me too.”
One of the other boys awkwardly cleared their throat, shifting the conversation to the upcoming NFL games. Though their brother had played for the Detroit Mustangs for a decade, the family remained diehard Denver fans.
Though he joined in on the conversation, discussing Denver’s young quarterback who was making a strong argument for earning Offensive Rookie of the Year honors, his hand remained in mine.
The closer tomidnight we got—and the drunker the Lawless boys got—the rowdier the crowd turned. In honor of the occasion, Benny had foregone the usual live band that performed rock and country hits in favor of a DJ who played more club music. Bodies writhed to the steady beat, and I watched, mesmerized, wondering how it’d feel to be so carefree.
The buzz from my beer had long since worn off, leaving me anxious as time continued to fly off the clock on the year. Ticking closer to my birthday—and the anniversary of my rape.
Lane must’ve sensed the change in me, because with about ten minutes left in the year, he did the last thing I ever expected from the big, broody county sheriff.
He got up, extended his hand, and said, “Dance with me.”
Aspen and Reagan had long since dragged Crew and Finn away from the table, and West and Trey sat on one side, heads bent together, engaged in a seemingly serious discussion.
I raised a brow at the demand in his tone. “Do I get a choice?”
“You always have a choice with me, sunny. But I’d really like to dance with you.”
When he said things like that, I wanted to melt into a damn puddle at his feet. Instead, I took his hand and let him lead me into the throng.
It’d been a long time since I’d been dancing to this kind of music, and even longer since I’d done so sober. In fact, the last time had been thelast time—this exact night all those years ago.
The songs blended seamlessly together, most of them ones I’d never heard, but then t.A.T.u.’s “All the Things She Said” came on, and I couldn’t help smiling. It brought me back to middle school, discovering new music onNOW!CDs that my parents got me for Christmas and my birthday. I’d worn a groove inNOW 12listening to this one over and over.
Lane surprised me again by dragging my back to his front, his hands settled on my waist.
It was impossible to miss the hard length of his cock pressing into my lower back—or the groan that rumbled against me when I wiggled my ass against him.
“Sunny,” he warned against my ear in a low growl.
I angled my head back to look at him, putting us close enough that his mouth was now a breath away from mine. “What?” I asked innocently.
“You knowwhat, you little brat.”
With a giggle, I turned away from him, lacing my fingers with his over my hips and leading him into a rhythm synced to the beat of the music.
As the bass thumped on, and the DJ smoothly transitioned into a new song, my inhibitions melted away.
My arms came up to cradle Lane’s head, fingers slipping into the short hairs at his nape. His hands blazed an endless circuit up and down my sides along my ribs. The contact was far too seductive to be on display like this, but I was disconnected enough from the constant whirlwind of anxieties in my head to not care.
For a long time, I couldn’t bear physical contact. Anytime someone came within a few feet of me, I reared back and shrank in on myself. I was more content to lock myself in the solitude of my room, losing myself in books.
Aside from therapy, books saved me. They reminded me of my strength, gave me something to root for, showed me all relationships weren’t doomed to fail.
But for nearly half my life, I wasn’t interested in a real relationship unless my partner was Lane. In truth, I’d been content to go my whole life without it, knowing there would never be anyone who could fill the void inside me while also soothing the sharpest of my jagged edges like he could.
To have him now, holding me, ducking his head to press a kiss to the side of my neck, broad palms splayed across my pelvis and abdomen, was the most surreal thing I’d ever experienced.
“Come home with me,” he whispered, lips brushing against the shell of my ear. Shivers coursed down my spine.
I flipped around to face him, placing my hands on his chest. I’d never get used to the sensation, his warmth, his vitality beneath my palms. Not when, not too long ago, I’d had to use these very same hands in a very different manner to prevent too much of his blood from spilling. To keep him here with me.
“We live together,” I reminded him.
