Down to You (The Bad Boys #1)(51)
Author: M. Leighton

I hear him sigh into the phone and then it clicks off.

A lump of emotion constricts my throat.

What am I supposed to do? He’s a liar. A liar!

Some small voice pipes up to tell me that he had a better-than-average reason to lie and that he did finally come clean, trusting me with things that could literally threaten his life.

Does that matter?

The small voice answers that it does. It matters very much.

I choose another message to listen to.

“Okay, if this is how you’re gonna play it, fine! I’ve done all I can do. I’ve tried to help you, to show you I care about you, but obviously that’s not enough. Maybe you’re right. Maybe you’re right to go. I don’t even know anymore.”

I listen to another and another and another. It’s plain that Cash was going through all manner of reactions to my reaction. For some reason, they make my heart squeeze. The one thing that’s apparent in all of them is that he’s searching desperately for some way to fix things. And that I’m the one making him desperate. I know what that feels like. I know what it’s like to care about someone so much they make you desperate.

But it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.

But it does matter.

I just get more irritated.

When Tad’s finished and he’s ready to lock up, we all leave together. As I approach my car, I see Cash sitting on his motorcycle, right beside the driver’s side. I walk past him, unlock my door, get inside and start the engine. I consider rolling down my window to talk to him, but I decide against it.

As I pull out of the lot and turn toward home, I see a single light, the headlight of Cash’s motorcycle, pull out behind me.

Is he following me home? What’s he gonna do, cause a scene in front of my father? My father with the broken leg?

My irritation rises. But so does that swelling sensation in my chest, like my heart might burst from inside my ribs. Like Alien.

Cash’s messages run through my mind—his words, the sound of his voice, the things he doesn’t say, as well as the things that come across so clear. I look in my rearview mirror again, at the bike’s front light. Following me. Steadily, persistently following me. Like his focus is as bright and singular as the headlight.

As I pass a familiar pull-off that’s hidden in the trees along the road, I swerve into it, coming to a crunchy stop in the gravel. Impulsively, angrily, I throw the gearshift into park, shut off the lights and get out, slamming the door behind me. Within seconds, Cash is pulling to a stop behind me and cutting his engine, too.

I stomp over to where he’s taking off his helmet and getting off the bike. “What the hell do you want from me?” I scream, anger suddenly finding its way back to the forefront. I lash out, putting my palms in the center of his broad chest and pushing with all my might. He barely moves. “What are you trying to do to me?”

When I feel tears threaten, I turn and walk quickly back to my car. As I’m rounding the hood, I feel fingers like steel bands wrap around my upper arms and bring me to a stop. Cash whirls me to face him. In the silvery light of the full moon, I can see the livid set to his features, the flash of temper in his eyes.

“Stop! Just stop!” he spits.

“Why? What else needs to be said? I think you’ve told me enough lies for a lifetime.”

“No more lies,” he says angrily. “I don’t even want to talk to you anymore. I just want to hear you tell me that you don’t feel anything for me. That you want me to leave you alone and never come back. Then I’ll go. If that’s what you really want, I’ll go.”

I know this is my opportunity. In my gut, I believe that he’ll do exactly what he says—he’ll be gone from my life forever if I tell him to go.

I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. I hear him gasp, as if he’s waiting for me to banish him from my life.

Rage drains from his face. It’s replaced by something close to a silent plea. Then he whispers.

“Don’t. Please don’t say it.”

I search his eyes. For what, I don’t know. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you to. I need you to come back to me. Not to help me. Or to help my father. I’m done with that. I don’t want your help. It all boils down to you. I just want you.”

My heart is beating wildly inside my chest. I hear nothing, feel nothing, see nothing but Cash. And even so, I barely hear him whisper again, “I just want you.”

Before I can give it another second’s thought, before I can overthink it and torture myself with what I should do rather than what I want to do, I answer him quietly. “Okay.”

I see several emotions flicker across his face, but then I see nothing. I’m in his arms.

His lips crash down on mine and the world disappears. My fingers are in his hair, holding him to me. His hands are roaming my back and hips.

And then he’s lifting me onto the hood of the car. Kissing my neck, untucking my shirt, touching my br**sts.

I wrap my legs around his slim hips and pull him into the V of my thighs. He grinds against the place I need him most.

His fingers loosen the button and zipper to my shorts. I’m only vaguely aware of being thankful we are so hidden from the road.

With his palm, he pushes me back onto the hood and pulls my shorts and panties down over my feet. He tosses them onto the car beside me and lifts my bent legs onto his shoulders, burying his face between them.

I can’t hold in the moans of pleasure his tongue elicits. I feel it making hot circles over my clitoris. I feel it lick down and slide inside me, pushing in as deep as it will go. I feel him rub his face against me. And then I feel the world explode around him, showering him with the fireworks of my orgasm.

He moves and then I hear his zipper. He enters me and my spasms continue. He grabs my hips and pulls me tighter against him, my back still pressed to the warm metal of my car.

I look up through half-lidded eyes and I see him watching me, so serious, so sensual. He moves his hand between us and I jump when his thumb grazes my sensitive clitoris. But he’s gentle and, soon enough, I feel the tension building again. I close my eyes and just feel.

The waves of one orgasm run seamlessly into the next. As my body squeezes Cash, I feel him pulse within me. He spreads through me as he fills me up, as he comes deep inside me.

I open my eyes again and see his back arched and his head thrown back. It’s so hot to watch him come, I feel my body reacting, milking him, demanding everything he has to give. I want it all. I want everything he has to offer. I want it pouring out inside me.