“Andrew,” she whimpered, arching to him. “Please, please.”
He scraped his teeth over her neck, pressing torso against hers as he tugged down his own pants and underwear. Feeling him move against her—undress against her—made her squirm and moan.
“Hurry, please,” she whined, rubbing against him to create what little friction she could. She had never felt hotter or more desperate in her life. She was on the verge of coming already, and he hadn’t even touched her where she needed him to. “Andrew.”
Melinda gasped when she felt him begin to push his way inside her wet folds. Once he had the tip of his member inside her, he shoved and gyrated the rest of himself deeper and deeper. It sent stabs of pain and pleasure through her entire body, and a wet cry burst from her throat. There was no rhythm to his movement as he pumped himself in and out of her—hitting her at all kinds of angles.
She clawed into his clothed back and moved with him as best as she could. It was a twisting kind of heat, one she wanted more of and one she had had enough of. Tears poured from her eyes, and her cries turned into breathy moans the longer Andrew continued.
“So close,” she gasped out. Her senses were overloaded, yet she wanted more. “Andrew, so close.”
He grunted, then went completely stiff.
Hot seed shot inside of her, and it finally pushed her over the edge. She released a primal scream, her vision going white and her heart stopping for one glorious second.
Melinda went limp against the tree. Barely able to breathe, she shuddered as the aftershocks continued to crash upon her. She would have slid to the ground if Andrew hadn’t been holding her up, his entire form shaking as hard as hers was.
Sated, she smiled wide. “If you were trying to get rid of me, this was a terrible way to do it.”
He huffed against her throat. Then, with a surprising amount of gentleness, he raised his head and kissed her jaw.
Chapter Four
She wasn’t quite sure if what they were doing was dating exactly. They basically lived together, so she saw Andrew every day. And they did things like share dinner, watch TV, fix her sink that one time—it was all so domestic rather than romantic, but she still managed to find herself feeling good around him. Andrew made life better somehow—made her better somehow, and she wanted to revel in it for as long as he would let her.
“You really need to eat some more vegetables,” Melinda told him as she pushed a cart through the town’s only market. Her gaze swept over the items that were already in the cart. “All I see here are fish, beef, and canned berries.” Her face twisting with disgust, she glanced at him. “Berries taste better fresh, you know.”
“They’re expensive,” Andrew said, glaring a little. “And there’s nothing wrong with my diet.”
She led them down the vegetable aisle anyway. And when she threw in a bag of carrots in the cart, he merely grumbled his protest.
“We could make a stew,” Melinda said, smirking at his childish behavior. “A stew is basically a soup that is so meaty, you can’t even taste the vegetables.”
Andrew stopped frowning, a look of consent softening his features. He shrugged, and Melinda knew that that was as much of a “yes” as she was going to get.
“Great,” she said. “I haven’t made stew in a long while, but you don’t seem like the kind of guy who is a picky eater.”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Thought so. Must have made your parents’ lives easier.”
His expression hardened, his gaze snapping away from her. The fact that he was trying to hide his face—his anger and discomfort—sent warning signals to Melinda’s brain. Concerned and confused, she frowned at him.
“You never talk about your parents,” she said cautiously. She had never pushed for information from him before, but now that it was obvious that a small comment about his parents bothered him so much…well, it bothered her. “What were they like? Are they still…?”
“No,” Andrew snapped. “Let’s just drop it now, okay?”
She stopped the cart. Defensive anger and flashed inside her chest, as well as a little bit of fear. “I’ve told you about my family, and I hate them.”
“You don’t hate them,” he said, crossing his arms. “And just because you blab on about your past doesn’t mean I want to.”
“Your past? I was just talking about your mom and dad.”
“They are a part of my past.”
“Why don’t you want to talk about them? Or anything about you?” Eeriness was settling upon her, and she did not like it. She wanted to trust Andrew, but when he acted this way—