The Boy I Grew Up With
Page 39

His grin matched mine. “Exactly.”
“We don’t have problems because you’re in a crew,” I admitted. “I mean…” I imagined a jail cell slamming shut, the sound of an ambulance, that gunshot from inside the warehouse. That could’ve been Channing on the ground.
I would’ve rained hell on whoever was responsible.
I don’t know what took my mom away. She left. It didn’t matter, but a retired RV caravan took my pop to Florida. My oldest brother was married, working a nine-to-five job with two little ones and probably a normal marriage that had its struggles. But Brandon was still with me, and my other family was sitting right next to me.
I had friends. I had good friends, one I even called my best friend, but they weren’t Roussou. There was no one like Roussou except those who came from Roussou.
“I love you,” I told him.
I said it because he was my best friend, my lover, my soulmate, and even sitting on a picnic table, I wouldn’t have been anywhere but by his side.
“I love you too.” There was a gruffness to his voice.
I turned to stare out over the hills surrounding his warehouse, but I knew he was blinking back tears. Hell. I felt them too, but I also felt her.
“You think she’d be standing by now?” I asked.
“Oh, fuck yeah.” A soft laugh from him. “She’d be starting to walk, maybe even be running.”
“You think?”
“Yes. She’s a Monroe and a Jax together. She’d be tearing ass through this warehouse, streaking, showing her naked booty to everyone.”
I laughed, and once I started, I could see her. Chubby legs, chubby arms, chubby cheeks. Peals of laughter. So blond she’d probably have white hair, maybe curly. She’d be running toward her daddy, no doubt.
“She’d already be kicking ass.”
I couldn’t stop laughing, and crying. Goddamn.
I blinked, trying to stop the tears, but he was right. Naly would’ve kicked ass, and I knew a couple more things just then.
It didn’t hurt to talk about her anymore. And I wanted another baby. Fiercely.
Channing was waiting. He likely already knew what was going on inside me, and I only had to catch his eye before he stood and grabbed me—an arm under my legs and another around my back—and threw me over his shoulder.
“Oomph!”
He smacked my ass, softly. “Quiet, woman. You and I need some alone time.” His hand began rubbing in circles, becoming a caress, and I closed my eyes.
I savored that touch.
He ducked around some people in the garage and deposited me in his truck. I sat up as he shut the door and watched him dart around.
“We’re leaving leaving for this?”
He flashed me a grin, starting the engine. “I want complete privacy where no one can find us.”
Channing paused at the gate. “Going out for a bit. I’ll keep my phone on me.”
Moose was standing watch. He frowned, but looked me over and sighed. “Fine.” He hit the switch, and the gate rolled open.
Channing held up two fingers in a small salute and drove through.
31
Heather
Channing was taking me to the springs.
I recognized where we were going about halfway there, and I couldn’t explain what went through me. It was our spot. When we pulled onto the small road that led to our section of the river, I could only stare at him.
He had the window down, and the wind was moving through his hair. He had one hand on the steering wheel and the other between us, palm up and his thumb turned toward me.
I felt an upsurge of love that was different than the others. It was love from knowing the person all your life, yet still feeling that “newness,” that giddy emotion, that excitement pooling in the bottom of my stomach. It was all of those loves, and it was fierce, and protective, and there was a twinge of regret.
I regretted letting him walk away before. I regretted pushing him away. I regretted not talking about Naly, not wanting to hear him talk about Naly. But mostly, I regretted every word I’d said to hurt him, because that was my fault. It wasn’t his. He had his faults—don’t get me wrong. He’d cheated on me, and that was a big deal. It took a year before that wall had come back down, and that was another of the times we never talked about.
But his mistake didn’t outshine Naly. I wouldn’t let it take away the love I felt for him now.
Hope.
Something new was happening. Something new was coming.
I’d made the first move by accepting the crew, but he’d met me every step of the way.
I placed my hand in his and closed my eyes, memorizing the feel of his fingers over mine. It was one tight grip, and when I opened my eyes again, he was watching me. The truck had stalled. He’d stopped it in the middle of the gravel road.
“What’s this?” he asked, his eyebrows dipping down.
I shook my head. I didn’t want him to feel that way. Not now.
Moving over, I straddled him, and he adjusted. He made room for me.
Our lips met and grazed over each other, teasing, tasting, loving.
He groaned in my ear, and I felt it all the way to my pussy. His arms went around me, but he put the truck in gear and drove a little bit farther, then turned off. We were at the springs. I knew every bump in the road, every tree in the ditch, every rock that we passed, and I was turning back into that seventh grader I’d been when we first kissed.
He turned the engine off, his mouth finding mine.
He growled, lifting his hips to grind against me.
He was already hard, but he was usually hard for me.
“Please.” I panted, throwing my head back.
His lips moved down my throat, down my chest. He nuzzled my shirt over and found my nipple. His tongue swirled, teasing it. His teeth grazed it, and I gasped, arching my back. He clamped down again, sucking, his tongue still caressing me.
He growled again and shoved the door open.
Sliding out, he held me firmly to him. As soon as we were clear of the door, my legs wrapped around his waist. He locked the truck, shoving his keys into his pocket, and carried me down the steep embankment to the water.
Resting me on my feet, he slid to his knees, unbuckling my jean shorts.
I gasped, my eyes closed and my head back. I raked my fingers through his hair, and I felt his mouth on my stomach, then lower.
He knew where to taste me, to lick, to kiss, to savor me.
“Channing,” I groaned.
He knew every caress like the back of his hand.
His mouth lingered over my clit, his mouth sucking on me, and I almost came. His hands found my legs, nudging them apart to give him room, and then his tongue slid inside.
I grasped his head, and I held on.
My knees were buckling.
His tongue kept thrusting inside, again and again and again, and I was almost blind. I didn’t know how much more I could handle.
As if knowing my feelings, he sat back on his haunches and looked up at me, his eyes dark with desire and lust. He gave me the widest grin before he said, “Undress, woman.”
I laughed, feeling half drunk, and did just that.
I pulled my top off and my breasts perked up, feeling the air against them. His hand slid up my stomach to grab one of them. I panted as I adjusted, readying myself with a hand to his shoulder, and kicked the rest of my clothes free—sandals, shorts, panties. I was buck naked in front of him now, and he stood, his hands falling to his jeans.
I yanked his shirt off, needing the feel of his shoulders, chest, arms, stomach. I had to touch them, glide my hands over him, caress him in return. As I was lost doing that, he kicked off his shoes and jeans, and then I felt his cock. It was hard, resting flat against his stomach, and my hand found it like it was my anchor.