Page 81 of Little Bird
Fucking Taryn.
Her door materializes out of the darkness in front of me, and I glance at it, but then shake my head. I don’t turn to take her to her own bed. Instead, I stalk past it, a string of curses running through my mind and drowning out the voice that tells me I’m making a mistake. This isn’t a mistake. The last time I left her alone she stole my fucking bike and went to town, where she was assaulted.
I don’t trust her alone, and I don’t trust the world outside to be careful with her.
I’m not letting her out of my sight for the rest of the fucking night.
I storm to my room, throw open the door, and stalk in, and when I finally throw her on the bed, caveman style, I realize that I don’t actually have a plan, here. She used to spend the night in my room all the time, back when we were kids, but that was always because I was spiraling and needed support.
I don’t need support right now.
And when she looks up at me, her eyes wide with surprise and doubt, her lips parted and her chest heaving like she just ran up here on her own, I have two very quick thoughts.
Taryn Matthews is in my bed in the middle of the night, looking at me like she’s only half sorry to be here.
And we’re not kids anymore.
Not even close to kids. When I was sixteen–—the last time she slept in my bed–—I was halfway between boy and man and had only a vague idea of what I wanted out of life.
Right now, I know exactly what I want, and my cock is rock hard with the thought, straining against my pants like it’s trying to break loose and give me a better reason for having brought Taryn to my bed instead of hers.
Her eyes drop to my crotch like she heard that thought, and when they come back to meet mine, they’re hot enough to tell me she saw exactly how hard I am.
And she’s not running.
I drop to my knees in front of her on the bed and jerk her jacket off, then make quick work of her sweater and blouse until she’s sitting there in only her bra, her skin pink in the dim light and goosebumps racing each other across her belly.
“My God, you’re beautiful,” I breathe, letting my gaze rake down her body for a moment as my hands go to the buckle of my jeans.
And then I’m finished looking. I can’t wait. I want the girl like I need air to breathe, water to drink. Sunshine to warm the cold ache that settled into my bones somewhere around four years ago. I need to pin her to the bed and impale her on my cock, make her swear that she’s mine and that she’ll never leave me. I want to hear her moaning my name again and again, promising that she’ll be here forever and always.
That she’s all in.
Because fucking hell, I’ve never wanted to possess anything like I want to possess her.
I yank her pants down to her ankles, pull them off her feet, and throw them against the wall in one move, then yank my own jeans down. I gasp with relief and pain when my cock springs free, have a split second to notice her big eyes, and then spread her legs and push her back on the bed to make room for me. Looking down, I can already see how wet her pussy is, but I run my thumb up her seam to make sure.
God, she’s soaked and burning up. She wants this just as much as I do.
She jerks at the pressure and lifts her ass up off the bed, and I nearly stop breathing with how badly I want her. I force myself to look up at her and pause, though.
“Yes?” I ask. My voice is hoarse and needy, rougher than I’ve ever heard it before.
“Yes,” she gasps. “Stop asking stupid questions.”
That’s all the reassurance I need.
I spread her legs, pin her gaze down with mine, and sheath myself in her, giving her my full length in one hard, fast move. She gasps and jerks under me, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, her gaze gets hotter and I could swear she’s daring me to do what I really want to.
I don’t ask again.
Instead, I lay down on top of her, my jeans around my ankles and my shirt between her tits and my chest, and give her every inch of me. I thrust again and again, pulling out and pounding into her like my life depends on it, and fuck, she’s so hot and so tight, taking every thrust like she was born for this. She grabs the hem of my shirt and pulls it up so she can dig her nails into my back and I nearly roar in satisfaction. I hope she’s marking my skin the way she marks her own. I hope she’ll leave scars.
I want the world to know she’s been here, and that I’ve had her and she belongs to me.
“Taryn,” I gasp in her ear. I can barely breathe, barely think, but I can’t stop mouthing her name. She’s the world, she’s all that matters, and my tongue will never forget how to call her. “Little Bird. My Little Bird.”
“Oh my God, Gabe,” she moans. “Fuck, please. More.”
