I keep struggling with the door while hottearsfall from my eyes.
Tears? Really? Over this guy?!
Yeah, well. I guess a lifetime of rejection will do that to you.
I’ve been dumped by every guy I’ve ever dated. Rejected by every guy I sent a friendly flipper to on that stupid Fishies-in-the-Sea matchmaking website.
All my friends have moved on with their lives, found careers, love, and even started families. Sure, Romy is separating from her husband, but at least she fucking had one! I’ve been working at the same place for the last ten years with a dumb dream to buy back an old diner, sitting around waiting for some knight in shining armor to save me.
As if it was going to be fucking Knox! As if I was going to find love with a guy like him!
But his kiss! The way it felt as though our souls melted into each other. The way his hands felt like starlight in my hair, weaving strands of light, love, and lust through me. I think of the way his huge hands felt on my ass, like he couldn’t fucking get enough.
And then when he ripped my panties off and shoved his hand between my legs —fuck! His fingers felt like electric flames dancing over and into my pussy as he checked if I was ready to take him.
I was so fucking ready. I was so fucking wet for him.
I still am!
He could fuck me out here in the snow if he wanted, I’d let him. I’d beg for it. Wouldn’t care about the snow, the damp, the cold.
Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK!
“Clara! Stop!” He shoves a hand against the car door to stop me fighting it.
“I want to go! I don’t want to be here!” I sob.
“Clara, I’m sorry!” He pulls me into him — into his huge, warm arms and wood smoke and pine scented chest. All I can do is cry into him. “It’s okay, baby. Everything is okay,” he murmurs while I just cry on him and let it all out. “It’s not because I didn’t want to fuck you. Clara, I want to fuck you more than anything.”
I look up at him, and he wipes underneath my eyes with his thumbs. I don’t understand why his fingers feel so warm, so electric, or why his tongue pulses on mine when he kisses me. All I know is that I never want him to stop touching me, never stop kissing me.
“Then why don’t you?” I ask.
“It’s… complicated.”
“You’re married,” I say with a nod. Well, fuck. That would suck, but at least it would make sense.
“No.”
“Gay?”
“Did I kiss you like I was gay?”
I shrug.
“Did I shove my finger into your pussy like I was gay?”
I shake my head. “I guess not.”
“I’m not gay,” he says. “Or married.”
“So, if it’s not one of those two, what is it then?”
He lets out a long, slow exhale. “A very strange third thing.”
CHAPTER 8
Clara
