“I was, but the damage was done. The ordeal had ended friendships, dragged my family through the mud, laid so much stress on my father’s shoulders that he had a heart attack a few weeks after I was cleared. My mother apologized for doubting me, something she still regrets. Strangers still recognized me, and some hadn’t followed the story long enough to know I was innocent. Newspapers run your face on the front page when you’re arrested, but they don’t run big front-page pieces when you’re released because you were innocent all along.”
“You ran into people who still thought you were guilty.”
He nodded. “I couldn’t stay in Tempe. Too many bad memories. I couldn’t stand the way people looked at me. So, I transferred to UNC and moved to Colorado.”
“And your girlfriend. You never got to mourn Becca, did you?”
The question sent an unexpected shard of pain lancing through Darius, and his throat went tight. “No, I never got to mourn her. Even remembering her brought all of it back. I pushed her out of my mind—or tried to. If I had stayed that day, if I’d tried to work it out rather than going for that walk…”
His words trailed off as Sasha lowered her footrest, pushed aside her blanket and ice pack, and struggled to her feet, hand against her side.
“Are you okay?” Darius started to get up to help her.
“Stay. I’m fine.” She took the few steps from her chair to the sofa, and he saw tears on her face. “I’m so sorry, Darius.”
She straddled his legs and sat on his lap. “You’re shaking.”
Get it fucking together, man.
Embarrassed, he fought to rein in his emotions. But then she drew his head down to her breast and stroked his hair like a mother comforting a child.
Something in him snapped.
The corners of his eyes stung, his throat too tight to speak.
Was he fucking crying?
He coughed, swallowed, fought to make it stop, but Sasha was there, whispering reassurances in his ear, holding him as if he were precious, comforting him the way no one ever had. For the first time since he was a kid, he wept.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, again and again. “I’m so, so sorry.”
And Darius realized she was crying, too.
He raised his head, looked into her beautiful eyes, kissed salty tears from her cheeks. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I dumped all of this on you when—”
She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Shh.”
Then her mouth claimed his.
He let her shape the kiss, the tumult inside him giving way to a different emotion, a different need. Relentless. Insistent. Demanding. She slid one hand up his bare chest, thumbed his nipple, her lips never leaving his. Then she reached down between them, took hold of his already rigid cock, and stroked him.
Burning for her, Darius cupped one breast, teased its nipple, felt her heartbeat beneath his palm. It was racing, just like his.
At last, she broke the kiss. “I want you inside me.”
She rose up a few inches, guided him to her entrance. Then with a moan, she slowly sank onto him, her body taking him inch by inch.
She was tight and wet and hot.
She started to move, then winced. “I think you’re going to have to take over.”
“I can do that.” She was so small that he could grasp her hips and bring his thumbs together on that sensitive spot just above her clit. “Just enjoy the ride.”
He flexed his abs and bucked into her, fucking her from beneath.
Sasha’s head fell back on a moan, her nails digging into his shoulder.
At some kind of emotional edge, Darius held nothing back but drove into her hard and fast, gratified by the way each thrust made her moan. God, he wanted her, needed her, needed everything she could give him, her touch offering him consolation, absolution, salvation.
