The Bad Boys of Summer Anthology(30)

I turn down the radio volume, canceling out the bittersweet grittiness of “By the Way,” my favorite Theory of a Deadman song. I can’t listen to a song about being ripped apart and saying good-bye to the one you love when Wyatt’s sitting right next to me, telling me all these things.

“I can’t let you go,” he continues. “Not when you’re the only goddamn thing on my mind. It’s impossible.”

I rub my hands back and forth over my face, letting his words seep in. He glances over at me, waiting, and I take a deep breath. “I can’t promise you anything, but I know how I feel about you.”

I know that I’ll hate it if he’s with anyone else. I know that if I walk away from him without trying, I’ll spend the rest of my life hating myself, regretting what could have been.

I know that despite it all, I love Wyatt too much for things to be as simple as a good-bye.

I should have realized this all along.

“Come here,” he growls.

“You’re driving,” I point out.

He’s silent for a couple of minutes, but then he eases the Suburban down a narrow dirt road shrouded by pine trees. He cuts the ignition and the lights. “Come here.” This time, his tone is far more demanding, and it makes my pulse race.

I crawl across the center console, and my breath catches when he jerks me into his lap. It’s a tight fit, especially between the seat and the door, but I manage to place my legs on each side of his body.

“I can’t be in the same room as you without wanting you close to me,” he murmurs against my chin. He traces his lips down the column of my throat, the labret tickling my skin, and I shiver. “I can’t even be in the same car without keeping my hands off you.” His mouth touches the top of my left breast. He runs his tongue along it, and I arch my back until the steering wheel digs into my skin.

“We’re probably in someone’s driveway.” Yet, I’m moaning and already moving my hips against his, heat pooling in the pit of my belly, as his cock grows hard beneath me.

“If I can’t do anything without wanting you near me…” He reaches between my legs, ripping my leggings at the spot between my thighs. “Then, why the fuck do you think I’ll ever stop trying?”

“You won’t.” I gasp when his fingers find my clit. He touches me through the outside of my panties, grinding the pad of his thumb against my sensitive flesh. “Unless I’m happy. If I were happy with someone else, something else, you’d stop wanting me.”

He kisses me greedily, skimming his fingers inside my panties, as he digs his other hand into the small of my back. I move my hips in time with his every movement, sucking on his bottom lip after he’s done the same to mine.

Finally, I grasp his cock through his jeans. “You’d stop wanting me then, wouldn’t you?” I repeat what I said before he distracted me.

He drops his eyes to my hand on his dick. “Don’t start shit you’re not going to finish,” he whispers. “But to answer your question, I’ll never stop wanting you, even if you are happy. I’d just know when to leave well enough alone.”

His words make my head spin, and I drop my forehead to his shoulder. He continues to touch me as he whispers unintelligible things into my ear. I’m on the verge of climaxing when he pulls my hand away from the outside of his jeans. His fingers wrap around mine, and, carefully, he helps me guide his zipper down.

“You’re not going to come unless I’m fucking you,” he says as I reach inside his boxers to stroke his cock. He touches me between my legs again, and I pull in a deep breath when I hear my panties rip apart between his strong fingers. “I want to feel everything, beautiful.”

“I want you inside me, Wyatt,” I whisper.

I lift my hips a little, so he can dig into his back pocket for the condom in his wallet. Once he’s ready, he motions me forward. Gripping his shoulder with one hand, I guide his cock between my legs with the other, but he stops me before I can push him inside me.

He holds my hips tightly. “You’re mine. No matter what you decide or who the fuck you end up with, you always will be.

“Is that right?” I tease.

A self-assured laugh comes from the back of his throat. “You’ll always be mine.”

“Show me.”

Releasing a rough sound, he thrusts his cock deep inside me, and I dig my knees into the sides of his body. “I want to fuck you harder, Ky.”

I cry out as he grasps my hips, rocking them fast and hard up his length and back down again. I hold on to his shoulders, not caring when pain streaks up my ring finger or when my back slams into the horn behind me. It beeps loudly, and it’s the only sound other than our heavy breathing and the rhythm our bodies make with each other.

When I feel myself on the verge of an orgasm, I clench my pussy around him, and he buries his mouth on my shoulder. He murmurs something against the fabric of my black shirt as I come, and a moment later, he releases a groan, shuddering and driving himself into me until he reaches his climax.

As we catch our breath, I realize that he’s right.

I am his.





Chapter Fifteen

The sound of my phone ringing on the floor beside the bed wakes me up the following morning. I roll over to grab it, groaning when I see that it’s another unknown caller. Even though I’m still livid with Lucas, I answer it immediately, almost expecting it to be his bank with another overdose of horrible news.

Instead, it’s an officer from Louisiana, a female this time, calling with a status report on my case against Shiner Bock. I can’t help but be impressed that someone is contacting me on a Saturday morning, even if her call did drag me out of bed an hour earlier than I intended.

According to the officer, Finn and his grope-happy friend, James, have been caught. I let my shoulders slump forward in relief. “So, are they in custody?” I ask.

“As of yesterday afternoon, yes.”

Even though I’m sure there’s a slim chance in hell, I can’t resist asking her whether or not any of my stuff was recovered.

“One moment, please,” she says. I can hear her leafing through a stack of paperwork. Using the silence to my advantage, I mute my phone and dash into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I have a mouthful of toothpaste when she speaks again, surprising me. “Based on the report you filed, a few of your belongings were found on Finn Graham’s person.”

Rinsing out my mouth quickly, I take my phone off of mute. “Can you tell me what all you found of ours?”

“Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to give you details about the belongings Ms. Wright’s reported missing due to our privacy policy, but I’d be happy to tell you which of your items were found.”

“Thanks, that would be great.”

I listen carefully as the officer reads through the list, which turns out to be a total of four things, about a quarter of my belongings that I reported stolen. The canceled credit cards and my driver’s license were nowhere to be found, but I didn’t exactly expect to get those back. I’m pretty sure they’re all in a dumpster somewhere by now, and I make a mental note to put some type of alert on my credit report.

“Are you going to call Heidi? Or should I tell her to get in contact with you?” I ask as I wipe my mouth with a warm washcloth.

“We’ve already contacted Ms. Wright, and she’s aware of the procedure to pick up her belongings.”

I examine my smile in the mirror before I flip off the light switch and return to bed. “So, how exactly do we go about doing that?” I ask. “Is there any way I can get it shipped to my home address?”

“Do you have something to write with?”

“Just a second.” Leaning over, I find the hotel’s complimentary stationery set, which is just a stack of promotional sticky notes and a pen, inside the nightstand drawer. I grab a phone book and place one of the Post-its on it. “Okay, I’m ready.”

As she speaks, I jot down a few things, but the gist of the whole recovery process is pretty simple. My belongings are in New Orleans, and they can’t be mailed to me in California, meaning I’ll have to physically go into their station with my ID—which I don’t currently have—and sign a form. Since going back to Louisiana isn’t in my plans for the near future, I ball up the note and toss it in the wastebasket as soon as the call ends. “Guess I won’t be getting that crap back for a few months,” I say under my breath.

“What crap?” Wyatt asks drowsily from beside me.

Placing the phone book back inside the nightstand drawer, I lean against the headboard and pull my knees to my chest. “The cops picked up the assholes who robbed my room.”

“Assholes?” He stares at me incredulously. “I thought there was only one guy.”

When I shake my head, holding up two fingers, he continues, “And I’m guessing they found your stuff?”

Massaging my temples, I shrug. “Some of it—a pair of shoes, a handbag, and my camera and its bag. Maybe they’ll find some of the other things in pawnshops, but I seriously doubt it.”

Wyatt yawns into his palm and then scratches his head. “At least they found the shitheads who did it,” he says, and I nod my head in agreement. He stretches his arms over his head but then winces and glances down at the bandage over the right side of his muscular chest. “God, this hurts.”