Until You
Page 28

Our lips came back together again, and my hand dipped slowly between her legs, losing myself in the moment I wanted. The story behind my eyes that I didn’t want anyone else to see.
“Jared?”
I hear her whisper in my ear, and want to crawl up inside of her voice.
“Jared?” She takes my hand and guides it up her thighs to her heat. “Do you feel me?”
God, her whisper is desperate. She’s raspy and breathless, as if she’s lost all control and will spill over the edge. Like the tiniest thread holding desire and tears at bay, because at any moment she will break and beg for what she wants. The ache is torture.
I open my eyes and see the blue ones I was hoping for, wanting me. Her lip trembles and a light sheen of sweat makes her face glow. She is fire and need in the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.
“Tate?” My voice cracks, not believing she’s letting me touch her like this.
“Do you feel how much I want you? You. Always you, baby,” she pleads and rests her forehead on my chin, and I close my eyes, my blood boiling violently with the need to live in this moment forever.
My skin feels electrified as her hand rests on my jeans, over my dick that I can’t seem to get to stay down around her.
“You want me, too,” she moans, the tip of her tongue leaving a wet, hot trail over my jaw. “I can feel it. Don’t ruin us, baby. I love you.”
My eyes snap open, and I thread my fingers through her hair and hold her head up to face me. “You love me?” I ask wildly.
She doesn’t love me. She can’t.
“Always you. Always yours. Now, take it,” she orders.
I can’t stand the hunger anymore, and I seize what’s mine. I eat up her sweet lips, and we melt in sweat and heat and want nothing except to dive into this dangerous urgency for each other.
I want it all. All of her.
“Are you okay?” a voice, strong and clear, broke through.
I blinked and found myself still in the bathroom, forehead resting on the shoulder of another girl. My eyelashes felt thick, and there was a blur.
What the f**k?
Was I crying?
Jesus Christ. Motherfucker!
“Are you okay?” she asked again.
Standing up straight, I looked down at the girl I’d been about to have sex with. Brown eyes stared back at me.
Nausea rolled viciously through my stomach, the alcohol shifting my body from a pleasant fog to agony.
“No, I’m not okay,” I muttered and turned to grip the sink ledge. “Just go on out. I feel sick.”
“Do you want me to get someone?”
“Just go!” I shouted, and she slipped out the door quickly, while I closed my eyes and hardened every muscle in my body, willing the sickness to disappear.
But after a few seconds, I was f**king done. Here I was, holed up in the bathroom, practically in f**king tears. And why?
Out of control. That’s what I was. Always out of control.
Picking my toothbrush out of the holder, I jammed it down my throat and emptied everything I’d eaten today into the toilet. Most of it was the alcohol of the last four hours, and it burned like hell as I gripped the sink to the side and leaned over, wrenching.
“Jared, you okay?” someone burst in.
“Goddammit!” I yelled. “Can’t people just leave me the f**k alone?” I spit up the rest of what was coming up from my stomach and looked over at whoever was at the door.
Shit.
“Jax,” I started but couldn’t finish. He was shrinking away.
He didn’t speak again. Only looked away and backed out of the bathroom, closing the door.
And in that moment, I was no better than our f**king father.
I knew the look on his face. I’d seen it before. Hell, I’d even worn it myself. Too scared to meet my eyes. Leaving as quietly as you came. Trying to remain off the radar of the drunk lunatic.
I gargled some mouthwash, yanked off my T-shirt, and collapsed against the bathroom wall to rest. I needed to calm down before I apologized to him. He couldn’t see me like that again.
I stayed there a minute or two, trying to get my head straight and my stomach to settle.
But as I stood up to leave the room, the entire house went dead. Lights out, music off, and all I heard were the loud barks of pissed off partiers.
“What the hell?” I felt my way out the bathroom door and to my bedroom.
Stumbling over the shit on my floor, I found a flashlight in the bedside table and switched it on.
It wasn’t storming out, and we paid our bills on time. Why the hell was the electricity out?
Walking over to the window, I saw the Brandt’s porch light on, so I knew it wasn’t the neighborhood.
And then I saw Tate.
No. I zoned in on her like a bullet.
Her silhouette was behind her curtain, and I knew. I f**king knew what she did.
Powering down the stairs and through the drunken ass**les falling and laughing around my house and yard, I darted out the backdoor, hopped on the AC unit and jumped over the fence.
The key her father left me to watch over the house was still on my key ring, so I dug it out of my pants and charged through the back door, not caring if she heard me.
She’d find out soon enough that I was in the house, anyway.
God! I can’t believe she cut the f**king electricity to my house.
My blood swirled like a cyclonic wind inside of me, but believe it or not, it felt easy. This was where I was strong.
Was I supposed to be in here? No. What would I do or say when I got to her? I had no idea. But I wanted this fight.