Page 75 of The Retaliation You Deliver
Reaching up, I wrap my hand around the back of his neck and drag his lips down to mine.
I need him. All of him.
His tongue licks into my mouth as his hips pick up speed once more.
“Come for me, baby. Come all over my cock. Show me how much you love it.”
His growled dirty words finally tip me over the edge and I cry out into the night as my body clamps down on him, wave after wave of intense pleasure making my muscles weak and making lights spark behind my eyes.
“Macie. Fuck. Fuck,” he grunts, his movements becoming erratic as he also finds his release.
His fingers dig into my ass as his cock jerks inside me, filling me.
Folding his body over mine, he tucks his face into the crook of my neck and sucks in a shuddering breath.
Long silent seconds pass as we just hold each other, both of us coming down from the epic high of being together as the rain begins to slow around us.
A shiver works its way down my body and he holds me tighter, seemingly not ready to let me go quite yet.
When he finally speaks, it forces a messy ball of emotion so huge into my throat that I have no chance of responding.
“T-that was a goodbye, wasn’t it?”
My eyes burn with tears and I just manage to catch the sob that wants to erupt from my throat.
“I-I think… Please can you take me home?” I whisper.
Pain lashes at my chest knowing that I just hurt him. But it’s the right thing to do.
Whatever this was tonight… it wasn’t the start of something, I know that for sure.
After a beat, he lifts his weight from me and unwraps my legs from around his waist.
Without looking at me, he turns away to give me some privacy and takes a few steps away.
His shoulders are pulled tight with tension.
I desperately want to help, but I can’t.
I need to stay strong and think of myself, not him and his pain.
Sliding from the hood of the car, I right my underwear, feeling the evidence of what just happened between us slipping from my body, before starting to button up my shirt.
His loud roar stops me, my fingers stilling in front of me, my eyes flying to where he’s standing in front of the tree with his fist implanted in the trunk.
Oh God.
“L-Leon?” I breathe, not even sure if I say it loud enough for him to hear me.
“Don’t. Just… don’t.” He spins away from the trunk, picks up our wet discarded shoes and marches toward his car, shaking his bloody fist out as he moves. “Get in. We need to get out of here.”
“O-okay,” I whisper, rushing to finish my shirt and to race around to the passenger door.
The tension that radiates from him when I slam the door behind me is almost unbearable.
My fists curl on my lap, my nails digging into my palms until I swear I start to draw blood.
I want to reach for him, to tell him that everything will work out, that it will be okay, but I can’t.
