Page 81 of Villainous Summer

After fumbling with the front of his pants and shifting my underwear to the side, he thrust into me in one long stroke.

I cried out, taking him to the hilt. My head flung back and hit the tree with a thunk before he stepped back two paces and held me up, still pumping with nothing but himself to set the rhythm.

For each beat, his forearms flexed, his raw strength taking over. This primal heat between us spurred us to go faster, come together, harder.

Anger for what happened only minutes before gave me strength, and I funneled it into riding him.

This was punishing, his thrusts in a frenzy as he pounded into me over and over again.

Raking his back, I hooked my ankles together to keep me upright as he squeezed my ass, pushing me up and down his cock.

My gasps and cries were too loud for the public place, but I couldn’t stop myself. As my climax built, I sank my teeth into his shoulder, muffling my cry into the fabric of his shirt. My muscles tensed, and I shuddered in his arms, the light behind my eyes blinding and white hot.

His sounds, guttural and animal-like, even, deepened as his whole body tensed. He took one hand off my ass but left him inside me as he leaned against the tree, our foreheads touching.

His kiss was reverent.

“You’re fucking me up, Sunshine. I’m not supposed to feel this way.”

His words were a whisper, so soft and tinged with emotion.

“I know,” I murmured.

I did. It wasn’t supposed to be this explosive, to hold this much longing. But it did.

Pulling back, he looked down at me. “What are we going to do?”

I pulled free from him, standing on shaky legs.

I knew what I wanted. To fall into him, to allow him to cover me with his body, and to stay in the safety of his arms for the rest of my days. I wanted to trust that he could feel the same.

But the only person I could trust was myself.

Time and time again, the world has proven that. It didn’t matter if I was falling for this man. It wasn’t enough.

Before he could stop me, I made my way onto the path. “Go home.”

I hadn’t realized until I made the trek back how close we were to both the restaurant and the parking lot, where there would, likely, be people.

With his long legs, he was able to catch up with me in a matter of seconds.

“So, you gonna tell me who that was?”

“No one. An asshole. It’s fine.” I rubbed my elbow, easing away from the spot where Cory had tugged me.

Van inspected the red print on my arm, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Anger rolled under his skin, and I could see the effort it took for him to keep it in check as his finger brushed the four red crescent marks.

His touch was light, feather-soft, and cool on the swollen wounds.

“It’s obviously not. Who was he, Summer?”

Pulling my arm from his grip, I gave him a shaky smile. “No one. I swear, he’s not imp—”

“Don’t you finish that lie.” His features hardened as he glared at the restaurant door as if considering going back and finishing what he started.

“Trust me, you don’t want to get involved in my mess.”

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