Page 37 of Forget Me Not

He pulls out and flips me over so that I’m on my knees, my head and shoulder flat against the mattress, and my ass in the air. He pushes back into me and I feel the air leave my lungs at how deep he is from this position.

“There you go, pretty girl.” He moves slowly, letting me adjust to him again, and the pace soon becomes torturous. I feel my arousal grow each time he enters me. “Let me feel that sweet pussy of yours drip all over my cock while I fuck you from behind.” I moan, pushing my ass farther into him. “Touch yourself, baby girl.”

I do as he says, my fingers reaching under me to rub circles around my clit as he grips my hips tightly, picking up his pace. The sound of him slamming into me, among the grunts and moans coming from both of us, fills the room.

The pressure builds inside me for the third time since we stepped foot inside this loft and I slam back against Kade, chasing that feeling.

“Fuck, Lo. I need you to come again for me, baby girl. Come all over my cock and suck me dry like the good girl you are.”

“Kade.” His name falls from my lips as I fall over the edge.

He continues to thrust into me, his own release only seconds behind as he pulses inside of me, filling me with his cum.

Both of us collapse against the bed in a mess of tangled limbs as we catch our breath and regain our grips on reality. Kade grabs me, pulling me into him. My head falls against his chest, and he runs his fingers through my hair, splayed messily all over his chest and shoulder.

We lie there in silence, the sounds of our breathing filling the room. It feels like everything that needed to be said was alreadyspoken through what we just did. I don’t know if it’s minutes or hours that pass before Kade breaks the silence.

“I meant what I said before, Logan.” His fingers still stroke through my hair, and his heart beats steadily from under me. “You’re mine now. I don’t care about anyone or anything else except this. You. Us.” He gently pulls my head back, forcing me to look into his eyes and I see the truth in them. “Tell me you’re mine, baby girl.”

I stare up at him, the man who makes me feel more than I ever knew I wanted to. The man who makes me feel whole again. The man who I think I might be falling in love with. I say the two words that I’m finally starting to understand the depth behind.

“Only yours.”

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Kaden

Happiness. I don’t know that I’ve ever felt it like this. With her bright-green eyes searching every inch of my skin, her golden-blonde hair splayed across my chest, her fingers intertwined with mine, it’s like the feeling is consuming me.

“What about this one?” Her fingers brush over the scorpion tattoo covering my forearm. She runs them over the mishmash of designs surrounding it, flipping my arm over to follow the design all the way around.

She’s been doing this for the past half an hour, finding a piece of ink on my body and asking the meaning behind it. Most of them I give her an honest response, others I don’t. A lot of the ink on my body I got simply because it’s art and I like it, making it an easy explanation. There are a select few that mean more than what is shown on the surface though. Luckily, she hasn’t gone near any of the ones I refuse to talk about just yet. Her eyes meet mine, awaiting a response.

“I got that one when I was nineteen.” I smile at the memory of that specific piece. “I had been working with King for over a year at this point. Jillian, his ex-wife, had gone into labor with Willow at two o’clock in the morning, two weeks early, sonobody, especially him, was prepared. He called me completely flustered and asked if I could come watch Ellie, who was asleep in bed. I’d only been around Ellie a few times and she wasn’t totally comfortable with me, but that was the most uncomposed I’d ever seen him, and it seemed like I was his only option.”

“I can’t picture King being uncomposed,” she says, looking like the thought of it is comical.

“Before that, neither could I. He is the most together person I know, but in that moment, he was a mess. Anyway, Ellie ended up waking up not long after they left and was hysterically crying, asking for her parents. I was a barely twenty-year-old kid with no clue about what to do, so I tried to explain it all to her. When that didn’t work, I told her I’d get her anything she wanted if she just stopped crying.” I pause, laughing at the memory. “The little shit’s response was that she wanted a scorpion. Obviously, I had no clue what to do with that, so I compromised by telling her we could draw one and I’d have her dad tattoo it on me. Surprisingly, she agreed to that.”

“Wait, so four-year-old Ellie drew that?” She looks back and forth from me to the tattoo, her eyes comically wide. She looks cute when she’s shocked.

“No, the one Ellie drew is somewhere in the box on top of my closet. I redrew this one before I had King ink it onto me. Ellie didn’t know the difference and thought she was the artist behind it.” I chuckle. “She’s probably figured it out by now, but we don’t discuss it.”

“So, you tattooed a scorpion on yourself to make a four-year-old stop crying?” She smiles up at me, disbelief in her eyes.

“Yeah. Pretty genius, if you ask me.” I smile at her, and she throws her head back laughing.

“You’re insane, you know that, right?” She smiles up at me.

“I’ve been told a time or two.” I watch as she moves her attention back to the ink covering my chest. I see her attentiongo to the tattoo over where my heart is, and I know that I’m not in a place to discuss that with her now or possibly ever. I grab her hand, intertwining her fingers with mine before they reach the piece they were heading to.

“So, what about you?” I ask, redirecting the conversation. “You’ve never wanted any tattoos?”

She lays her head back onto my chest as she quietly contemplates before answering. It’s something I’ve noticed she does. Thinking before she speaks. She treats every word that exits her mouth as though it’s meaningful.

“It may sound like a stupid answer, but I haven’t found something meaningful enough to tattoo onto my skin for eternity.” She pauses like she’s debating whether to let the next words leave her mouth. “When I was seventeen, I was in a school shooting. A lot of people died and a lot of those who lived got tattoos to commemorate them, or the classroom, or just the event itself. But it always felt weird to me.” She turns onto her back. Her head still rests on my chest, but now her gaze stares at the ceiling above us. I watch as she chews her lip, uncomfortable with the conversation but pushing through to get the words out. I stay silent, giving her all the time that she needs.

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