Chapter 20
CHAPTER
TWENTY
LOOT
My cock presses against the zipper of my jeans. Shifting closer to her, I touch my mouth to hers. I feel her breath hitch against my lips. When I slip my tongue inside her mouth, lightning bolts zip through my body at her taste.
Yeah, I knew it would be good, but I didn’t know she would feel this great. I shift my head back slightly, nibbling her bottom lip to break the kiss. I don’t move too far away from her. I don’t want to give her too much breathing room.
There’s something about keeping her dizzy and wanting, craving, needing… me.
Juliette sucks in a breath, her eyes finding mine. Her cheeks are flushed, her gaze searching mine as if she is trying to figure something out. The hand next to her head falls as I take a step backward.
She doesn’t move, though. I would fuck her against this door if I thought she’d be into that kind of thing. Judging by how pink her cheeks are, she is not into that sort of thing at all. I don’t even know if she’d be into doing it with the lights on. She’s bright fucking red. It’s adorable.
“Juliette, you good?” I ask.
She blinks a couple of times, but she doesn’t say anything immediately. Then she reaches behind her, and I hear the sound of the door opening. She takes a step backward, and another. I don’t move, though.
I want her to invite me in.
I don’t know her past, the reason she looks over her shoulder, the reason she holds herself the way she does. But I know that it comes with years of trauma, and I don’t want to add to that just because my dick is begging to get wet.
So I wait.
She backs into the motel room, stopping in the middle, her gaze never leaving mine. I stay in the doorway, careful not to pass the threshold. Even though I ache to do that. Juliette stares at me for a moment, her eyes searching mine.
“I don’t know if I’m being reckless or just plain stupid,” she whispers. “Maybe I’m inviting in danger, but I’m thinking of inviting you into my room, Slade.”
A thrill of desire slides down my spine at the way she says my name, my real name. I don’t know why I didn’t give her my road name, but it felt wrong. I want her to know me, and I don’t even know why.
“It’s probably a bit of both, but it’s not dangerous, at least not physically.”
She inhales a deep breath, holds it for a moment, closes her eyes, then lets it out slowly and opens them to meet mine. She gives me a small smile, never looking away from my gaze.
“Okay,” she exhales. “Come in, Slade.”
I take one step inside, then another, but only enough so I can close the door behind me. Flipping the lock into place, I keep my focus on her and only her.
Connected.
That’s what this is, a pull that I can’t quite explain. I don’t know her, yet I feel like I’ve known her my entire life. Comfort and peace. That’s what I feel when I look at her. I couldn’t put my finger on it yesterday, but I feel it now.
And it’s ridiculous as fuck.
This feeling, these feelings, they don’t happen for men like me. I’m fifty fucking years old. How in the fuck I feel this way is beyond me. I keep my distance, too afraid that I’ll attack her and scare the shit out of her.
“I’ve never done this before.”
My lips twitch into a smirk. “We haven’t done anything yet.”
Her own mouth curves up at the corners as she watches me for a moment.
She stays where she is, unmoving, and I can see her trembling.
I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t close the distance between us.
I should turn around and walk out of this motel room and head straight for the school to pick Cade up.
“Just tell me one thing, and then we can talk more about the past and whatever later,” I begin.
Her eyes widen, and she dips her chin in a single nod. She doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to ask my one question. I wish I could forgo questions and we could just fuck, but I’m not a punk-ass kid anymore, and I’m not going to just fuck her and walk away like it means nothing.
It’s going to mean something. It has to with the way I’m feeling about just being this close to her. She tilts her head to the side, her teeth sinking into the corner of her bottom lip as she watches me, waiting.
“Whatever it is, are you too fucked up to feel this?”
She doesn’t speak immediately, and I think that maybe she’s not understanding exactly what I’m putting out there, but then she takes a step toward me, and another, until she’s directly in front of me—so close that all I have to do is lift my arm and I can touch her. But I don’t.
I wait.
I wait for her.
Then she lifts her hand, her palm pressing against the center of my chest before it slowly slides up my body, stopping at the collar of my shirt, dangerously close to touching my skin, and I have never wanted anything as badly as I do her fingers on my skin.
I’m a man who takes. I don’t wait for permission. I never have. But I can tell that she needs to give that to me. Taking from her would be a mistake, at least right now. This is taking all of my self-control.
Every fucking ounce of it.