It grounded me.
Because I remembered those bruises. I rememberedwhyhe had them.
He hadn’t stopped looking for me. Not for a second.
I stepped toward him. He met me halfway.
Our mouths crashed together, not soft or careful or sweet, but desperate in a way that felt like breathing again after being underwater too long. His hands cupped my jaw, holding mesteady while mine slid up his chest, fingertips tracing the path of his scars like they were sacred.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.
“Are you sure?”
I didn’t even hesitate.
“I’m sure.”
His hands dropped to my waist and then lower gripping my thighs, lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around him like muscle memory. He walked us backward until my shoulders hit the cabin wall, wood creaking behind me.
My sweatshirt hit the floor. His hands were everywhere. Palming, sliding, worshipping like he couldn’t decide what part of me he needed most.
And for the first time since the warehouse, I didn’t feel helpless.
I feltwanted. I feltmine.
I kissed him hard, letting him feel it in his bones.
He groaned into my mouth, and I felt it everywhere. Low in my belly, tight in my chest, hot between my thighs.
When he set me down, I thought he was pulling away, but he didn’t let go. His hands slid to my hips, tugging me close as he dropped to his knees in the dirt.
The air felt cooler without his body pressed to mine, but it didn’t matter. His gaze had me burning.
“I need this,” I whispered, breath shallow. “I need you.”
“I know, baby.” He looked up at me like I was something sacred. “Let me take care of you.”
Fingers shaking, I shoved down my leggings and underwear in one messy push. The second I was bare, his hands curled around the backs of my thighs and he pulled me forward until I was flush against his mouth.
The first swipe of his tongue was slow. Intentional. Like he wanted to savor the taste of me.
Then he groaned.
“Fuck, Amanda.”
My knees buckled. I gripped the edge of the bike seat behind me for balance, one hand threading into his hair as his mouth sealed over my clit.
He didn’t rush.
Didn’t tease.
He ate me like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He made deep, hungry strokes of his tongue, his nose bumping against me with every pass, his grip on my thighs flexing every time I moaned.
I couldn’t hold back.
My hips rocked against his face, chasing the rhythm, chasing the high.
“Wrecker,” I gasped, my voice already shaking.
