32. Claire
32
CLAIRE
I can’t wait for Daddy to fall asleep.
As if he knows I’m getting up to trouble, he seems to spend forever in his office. I leave my door cracked open, straining to listen, until I finally hear him shuffle out of his office, cross the hall, and go to his bedroom. His door clicks shut and?—
It’s time to move.
Quietly, I slip out of my room, tiptoe downstairs, and very gently open and shut the front door behind me.
It’s a warm, balmy Kentucky night.
I let my flats hang from my fingertips at the heels. I like the way the sharp gravel feels under my feet as I cross the parking lot and walk quickly towards the black, iron gate.
Each step sends a rush through me. This is the opposite of an out-of-body experience—it’s an in-body experience. For the first time, I enjoy being anchored to my bones. The gravel bits cling between my toes. The air kisses the bare skin of my arms. My flesh feels like it’s been stripped to the last layer; I can feel everything so clearly now.
There’s a new, skin-tingling freedom in everything I do.
I want to run. I want to say yes to everything. I’m greedy for the experiences I’ve denied myself. I want to gorge myself on life.
I’m ravenous.
I punch in my code and, as the mechanical gears take their time whirling the gate open, I slip out between the crack. Sure enough, there’s Ransom’s truck. It’s engine gurgles lowly as it waits patiently for me.
The driver door opens. Ransom hops out. He comes around to my side, takes his Stetson hat off his head, and opens the door.
He gives me a wide smile.
“Your chariot, Ms. Preacher.”
Fuck, he’s cute .
I approach. I slide my fingers across his chest. I play along: “Your steed sounds sickly, monsieur.”
“That noise you hear is called well loved .”
I grin. “Should I start rumbling, then?”
He grips my hip, his thumb rubbing up the curve of my waist. “Rumbling. Purring. Shaking. The whole nine.”
He scoops me in close and envelops my mouth with his. There’s a new intensity in our kisses. An urgency. We’ve waited this long, but now, the ache suddenly seems unbearable.
If we don’t stop kissing, I’m going to make him take my virginity right here, against the gate.
I tear my lips away from his. I rest my palm at his chest. “Okay, cowboy. Steal me away.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I hop into his truck and together, we drive off, leaving the Preacher Ranch in the dust.
We take the winding road towards the mountains that cradle Belleflower in their blue-tipped fingers. Ransom puts on music and I roll down the window to let the wind tease my hair.
Ransom pulls off the smoothly paved asphalt road and takes a detour down a dirt road. Every time the truck rolls over a bump, something clinks in the truck bed. We come to a stop in a corn field.
Here, in the middle of nowhere, Ransom kills the engine.
You know, the place serial killers take their victims.
I side-eye him. “We’re stopping here?”
He looks too pleased with himself. There’s nothing but trouble in that smug smile. “Just trust me. Think you can do that?”
“I think I don’t have a choice, but?—”
He unsnaps my seatbelt. “No. You don’t.”
He says it so definitively, I feel my body giving in. I like the take-charge version of Ransom. Even if his version of take charge is: you’re going to try something new, woman, and you’re going to enjoy it.
We both get out of the truck. We’re in a small clearing but, for the most part, we’re hedged in by tall, stiff rows of corn stalks. They hiss and rustle in the wind.
Ransom walks behind the truck, so I follow him. The back rattles as he tugs the frame down and shows me what he has in store for us.
He’s covered his truck bed with blankets and pillows. He’s expects me to have sex. In a truck. In the open. Worst of all, he looks thrilled by it.
“What d’you think?” he asks.
Claire thirty seconds ago would have said yes to anything.
Claire right now suddenly has limitations.
I cross my arms. “I’m not losing my virginity in the back of a truck.”
Ransom hops up. He flashes me his dumb, Ransom grin. “No. You’re not. We are.” He pats the place beside him. “Room for one more.”
I relent. He gives me his hand and I let him help me up into the truck bed. I brush the back of my dress down and settle on a cushion.
He’s tried to make it cozy. There’s a picnic basket in the back of the truck. Blankets all around. A soft lantern to set the mood. But I can’t help but think…
What would Mr. Darcy do?
Certainly not this.
But then Ransom gets onto his back. Trying not to sour the mood, I follow suit, laying down beside him.
I’m grateful we’re both looking up at the dying sunset. I’m grateful it’s getting dim. This way, I don’t have to crush him when he sees the disappointment on my face.
“You see that?” he says suddenly.
“See what?”
“You know, any time I feel trapped or lost or just…hell, I’m gonna die in Belleflower…I just look up. We’re lucky to live here. It’s one of the last places in the world you can feel the wild in your bones.”
And suddenly, I stop seeing the truck as a dirty, unromantic, low-life sort of thing.
Instead, I see it the way Ransom sees it: wide open skies. Endless terrain. The whole world spread out before us, stars so bright we could reach out and pluck them. We can take whatever we want here.
Is that how he sees me?
Endless. Wild. Free.
I want to be that woman.
I want to be his woman.
He catches me staring at him. He must mistake my contemplative look for second guessing, because he starts to hesitate. “You know,” he says, “we don’t have to?—”
I silence his questioning with a kiss. I throw myself at him, giving him all. Giving him everything.
He takes it. His strong hand cradles me, providing a pillow for the back of my head as he rolls over on top of me. Despite all of his blankets, the truck bed is hard under my back. But with the way Ransom kisses me, I don’t feel it at all. I don’t feel anything but the slow swirl of his tongue and the warmth of his lips.
I moan into his mouth. I rip at his shirt, tugging it free from the buttons. We test each other—hands roaming, fumbling, lips clashing and crashing together. I grasp his belt buckle—the same buckle I rescued for him all those years ago—and tug it free.
“I want to feel it,” I tell him.
I’m nothing if not a cautious adventurer. I need to know what I’m getting into before I dive in.
Ransom gives me permission, his breath shaky against the side of my face. “Go on.”
I slip my hand underneath the band of his boxers. I feel the wiry curls of hair at his pelvis. That hard, secret length brushes against the back of my hand.
Oh. Hello .
I explore freely. I take it in my hand. It’s thick to wrap my fingers around, and strong. A hot, living thing. I find the base of it and slowly pull my fingers upward. I like the dichotomy—velvety soft skin and that steel hardness underneath.
Is this what makes a man?
Maybe. Maybe not. But by the way Ransom’s breath catches and his gaze goes hazy… it can certainly be used to break a man.
I bite back a smile.
“Riley Ransom, you’re perfect.”
Clarity returns to his eyes. They fix on me—brown and bright.
I release him from my grip. I shift to pull my underwear off my legs and toss them aside. Now, we’re even. Both of us bare under the night sky.
“I want it inside of me.”
He presses his fingers between my legs. It sends a sharp lash of heat through me, but—I’ve waited too long for this. I can’t stand his teasing.
I don’t want a part of Riley Ransom.
I want all of him.
I grab him by the shirt, pull him against me, and crush my mouth against his. “Need you,” I tell him.
Finally, he adjusts. He reaches between us and I feel the thickness of his cock press against my sex.
I gasp, wanting it. But he holds me here, teetering on the edge of pleasure.
“Ready?” he asks.
His body trembles over mine. And I realize…
He’s nervous.
It’s sweet. I can’t help the grin that climbs my lips. “Are you?” I stroke his hair back, comforting. “You’re shaking.”
“Chills,” he answers, but it’s an obvious lie. “It’s cold.”
Let’s lead this horse to water.
“Let me warm you up.” I give him a tiny lick at his chest, and I run the tip of my tongue up his throat. I hit the bump of his Adam’s apple, slide it over his chin, and taste his mouth. I suck his bottom lip, ravenous as a mountain lion.
Who the hell is this filthy version of Claire?
I don’t know, but I like her.
“Yes,” I tell him. Full, enthusiastic consent. “I’m ready.”
His eyes meet mine. He shifts between us and his erection nudges between my legs. I feel the head of him glide against my slit, coating me in my own slick. Then he starts to slide it inside and?—
Oh God. I choke on a whimper. My fingers ball up and my body goes tense.
Ransom stops moving.
“You okay?” he asks.
My throat is tight. I almost can’t speak. I was so confident, but that was before , and now my confidence is replaced by this feeling of being so fucking full . It’s so big, and so thick inside of me, stretching me, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand again, not after this.
I swallow. I don’t want to sound weak. “It hurts.”
“Just a couple more inches, princess. You’re doing so good.”
A gasp catches in my throat. “There’s more?”
He chuckles. “Put that on my gravestone.”
I give him a quick smack, the way a cat bats away an offending hand. “Don’t be funny right now.”
“Okay. Sorry. Here.” He takes my hand. He pushes his fingers against my palm, uncurling my fist, and fixes my hand over his shoulder instead. “Dig your nails in when it hurts,” he tells me. “Real hard. Don’t be shy. If you hurt, I hurt.”
If you hurt, I hurt . I don’t know why, but that’s exactly what I need to hear right now. Maybe because I don’t want to be alone in this, I take him up on it. I curl my fingers in, digging my sharp nails into his skin.
He shivers. “That’s good,” he tells me. His voice goes hoarse. “Keep going.”
I scrape my nails up his shoulder, over the soft skin of his neck. I dig in so hard, I see the pink trails my nails leave. And… it’s helping . I don’t know why, but it helps to scratch him. My body relaxes somehow, accepting him in as he pushes deeper. It still hurts, and when he thrusts inside of me fully, I rake my nails across his back and cry out. There’s a burst of pain and pleasure, all at once. He starts rolling his hips against me, the truck bed clicking in our passion, and the pain turns to ache, which turns to this burning, feral need. I suddenly need all of him, more of him, harder, deeper, just like that ?—
We roll together, him thrusting, me clawing, ours mouths colliding. I bite into his skin, sucking it, wanting to devour him. He groans in my ear. “Fuck, princess, you feel so good.”
“So do you.” We’re slick together, coated in each other’s sweat.
“I’ll never be inside another woman,” he says suddenly.
It catches me off guard. My chest goes tight. “You promise?”
“I promise.” Those brown eyes connect with mine, and he says with a sincere intensity: “It’s you. Only you.”
That does it .
I explode. I cry out as I cling to him with tight, aching pulses. Ransom moans into my shoulder and I feel him—hot and wet inside of me.
We tremble together, jerking, out of sync, messy, lost in each other. Lost in pleasure and want and this incompressible desire to bind the two and form a new, singular being.
As I come down, I hear myself laughing. I can taste the nighttime in the air.
“I ruined your back,” I murmur. Even holding him, I can feel him—the heat of his ripped skin, the warmth.
“I ruined your hymen.” He grunts. “We’re even.”
His eyes meet mine. I feel like I’m seeing them for the first time.
Beautiful, Ransom eyes.
The eyes of the man I love.
Love .
I love him. It’s there, right there , so clear, so sudden.
I love him so much, it fills my entire body.
But when I open my mouth to tell him, the only words that come out are: “I hate you.”
And Ransom…
He smiles .
Because he knows. He knows me.
He presses his palm against mine. I thread my fingers through his. Connecting.
One body. One soul. One heart.
He kisses me, with nothing but black sky and bright stars behind him, and suddenly I understand what he was talking about before?—
I can taste the wild in his kiss.