Page 20 of Run for Us

“I’m going to come,”the man beneath me warns a few seconds before salty liquid hits the back of my throat.

He slides out from beneath me and squats in front of me, taking my face between his hands while the masked man behind me fucks me with a rhythm that is slowly drawing out another orgasm.

“I have to go, but mark my words, this isn’t over yet.”

With that, he stands to his full height and leaves. I don’t have time to respond because the man behind me wraps my hair in his fist and pulls me up, straightening my body against his. With one hand twisted in my hair, he uses the other to explore my body—from my hip, up the curve of my waist, and to my breast. A hot trail of electricity flickers in his wake, and it settles low in my belly. He slides his hand down to my stomach and around my waist, his thumb pressing into my hipbone, drawing out a soft gasp.

My pulse drums in my ears, and every inch of me feels alive. The pull on my hair, the hand exploring my body, the heat of him on my skin, and the slow thrusts build until I topple over, clamping around him with a gasp. His hand wraps around my stomach as I feel his length pulsate.

“You’re perfection.”

My sweat-coated body slumps to the blanket when he lets go of me, and I catch my breath. My eyes fall closed for just a moment. When the blanket is wrapped around me and mybody lifted, I feel like nothing matters. I’m going to hate leaving Bluebell Bay, and not because of the masked men—even though they have been amazing—but because this is where I feel like I finally belong. Maybe staying here wouldn’t be a bad thing after all. Here, I feel free, and for the first time in my adult life, I feel like myself.

Chapter Eleven

Ripley

Is it possible to spiral because I’m not spiraling? I don’t know what came over me, but I couldn’t handle all the emotions I felt at once, so I freaked out and left. What makes her different? Why can I touch her and fuck her? Why does she make all the noise in my head quiet? I want to talk to her, unlike with anyone other than Shore. How can a stranger make me feel this way?

I didn’t want to pull Shore away from her. It’s not fair that he has to follow me around when I get like this. I know he will be pissed that I didn’t tell him where I went, but I need to clear my head, and this is one of the best ways I know how to do it. I need to get lost in my music; it clears my head and helps me think clearly again.

Swimming over to the lighthouse isn’t the smartest idea, especially at night, but that asshole Jason would love to have a reason to stop us from moving in.

I’m soaking by the time I pull myself up onto the shore. We have left the trees overgrown and have tried to keep it as naturalas possible, so at dusk it looks magical. There are multiple levels to the lighthouse. The ground level is the living area and kitchen, then floor one is Kasen’s room and floor two is Shore’s. They opted for the bigger spaces, while I got floor three and four. My studio is at the top, surrounded by windows overlooking the ocean and Bluebell Bay. It’s the perfect space.

Stripping off my clothes at the front door, I wring them out. We have a space out the back that has been converted into a laundry room. I walk around and dump my clothes in the washer and turn it on.

After a dash in my birthday suit back to the front of the building, I open the large red doors. We don’t even lock them, which is probably stupid, considering the guitars I have stored in the studio. I head straight for my bedroom where I know I left a pair of sweats when we were here painting last.

The stairs in this place are killer, but it is one hell of a workout. My bedroom still smells of fresh paint, and the sweats are right where I left them at the end of the bed. I pull them on and pick up the guitar I keep in my bedroom. It’s older than me and the one thing that links me to my past. The only thing I couldn’t bear to leave behind. My father gave it to me before he died, and it belonged to his brother—my uncle. I don’t know what happened to him, as my mom never spoke of my father or his family after he was gone. I’m still surprised she didn’t sell it. It is my most prized possession. My haven through the abuse, whether it was verbal, physical, or sexual.

I strum the guitar softly, humming a tune that hasn’t left my head since the day Kinsley walked into my shop.

Tears fall down my cheeks. Why is she so different? The tears are from mixed emotions: happiness and frustration. I have become used to the fact that no one can touch me without an unsettling feeling crawling under my skin. Even Shore, at times, has experienced my adverse reaction to touch.

I pour my soul into the music.

It could be five minutes or five hours after I arrive when the doors to the lighthouse slam shut. I know it’s Shore, and that he is furious I didn’t tell him where I was going.

Getting to my feet, I place my guitar back into its stand, then my bedroom door flies open, smashing against the wall. Shore is dripping wet and water pools around his feet, dampening the carpet. His hazel eyes lock with mine as anger and fear radiate off his skin. I can feel it in spades. His shoulders relax once he gives me a once-over and sees I’m okay.

“I just needed a minute,” I reassure him.

“You just needed a minute?!” He scoffs. “And what about what I need, Rip? You ran off after fucking Kinsley and I freaked out. You could have texted me and let me know where you were going,” he whisper-shouts. He is always good about not raising his voice. I don’t like fights involving yelling. My body checks out as my trauma response kicks in, and Shore is the only one who can bring me back.

“I left my phone at home.”

He steps further into the room. “Then you should have waited. It’s not fair you ran away. We had a deal. You use your safe word and go to the shop so I would know where to find you. Do you know how it made me feel when you weren’t there?”

Closing the distance between us, I swipe his wet blonde hair from his face and cup his jaw.

“I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so confused. Why doesn’t it hurt when she touches me, or when I fuck her? I don’t understand. Then thinking about the why makes me remember all the awful shit that happened. I thought I had control over it.”

“Maybe your soul knows her on a deeper level, and you know she is no threat to you. And you have control, Rip. You are the strongest person I know.”

I slam my lips against his, hard enough to steal his breath. He’s the one who steadies me when everything else is unraveling. My hands twist into his soaking-wet shirt, yanking him flush against me as I taste the salt on his tongue. Shore’s frame is solid beneath my palms, and I relax. He is my rock, my anchor, and once again I need him to feel steady.

He doesn’t believe in soul-deep feelings. Shore hasn’t had to experience the things I have, and I’m fucking grateful. As he wraps his arms around my waist, I feel the slight tremor in his chest and his fingers dig in, not to control me, but to hold himself together. I know I fucked up.

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