***
After my own shower, I head straight to my room, drop on the bed and look up at the ceiling, scorning myself. Why can’t I get some control of myself? Why can’t I resist him? My mind is emotionally confused, my body is sexually frustrated and my soul is dying piece by piece. I’m beyond broken and lonely. I roll over and huff, my eyes landing on the guitar in the corner of my room. It makes me think of my brother, of how much I miss him. My eyes burn with sadness, and a sob hiccups through my throat. Sorrow fills my chest, and tears start to fall in earnest. I miss Tyler, and I miss Piper. I want my family.
I clench the blankets and bury my face into the pillow. I want my daughter badly, but every time I get close to her, I’m nearly killed. I need to accept that I won’t see Piper again, but a piece of me just won’t allow myself to move forward, even if I know it’s good for me. Eric. Fucking. McCormick. Why did I have to be so stupid and stuck on high school bullshit? I grab the pillow and shove it into my face again, screaming into it with rage. My knuckles burn from the death grip on the pillow, and my lungs gasp for air.
The door to the room creaks open, and the unmistakable shadow of Lip looms into the room. I wipe at my tears and open my mouth to explain my outburst but hands slide underneath me, picking me up before a word leaves my mouth. Hugging me into his chest, he brushes my hair away from my ear. A feeling of comfort, of ease creeps up my spine.
“I got you,” he whispers, the simple words stifling my pain. I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face into him. My chest warms at the affection he displays toward me. I need this, need to feel protected and safe. To feel like my life is worth living, and fighting is not a waste of time.
He takes us into his room and tucks us into his bed, pulling me into his strong frame. I don’t fight him; I need this, as much as I may think I don’t want it. I need something to cure my broken heart, to help get me over this damaged path I’m on.
His arms are strong and gilded, and my body sags into him for solace. There is something about Lip that has me feeling tranquil. I don’t have to defend myself and build a wall, ‘cause Lip just tears that wall down. He stands there in his tattooed glory and controlling way, ready to show me the path of depending on another. He pulls me closer, nearly spooning me.
“I like to snuggle,” he growls into the back of my neck. A smile pushes through my sorrow. Big bad biker with piercings and tattoos likes to snuggle.
Closing my eyes, I take in the smell of him. Fresh, minty, and spicy. It’s odd; ever since I’ve laid eyes on Lip my heart has seemed to beat off-rhythm, but lying here next to him, our hearts beat in sync, a rhythm of their own that I have yet to understand.
***
Thunder strikes and I jump awake. Sweeping my eyes across the way, I notice it’s still dark outside, and I’m in Lip’s bed. He doesn’t look so…hard, when he’s asleep. He looks gentle. I cup his cheek, the scruff of it scratching against my palm. Is it so bad that I want to be with him, that I don’t want to be alone and surf in a tide of loneliness anymore? His eyes flutter open and pin me in their gaze. I hold my breath as he lifts his hand, his index and middle fingers brushing across both my lips. My body tingles everywhere, and my sex throbs with an intensity so strong I feel my hips trying to rock in rhythm to it.
I hitch my leg over his hips, and his cock instantly begins to harden against my thigh. My hands trail up his hard chest as his dick rubs against me just right. His hands grip my hips, and I literally hear his teeth clench together.
“Cherry,” he warns. My eyes dart to his, my heart beating a mile a minute that he’s rejecting me.
Thunder booms from above us.
“I’m afraid if I do this, I’ll never be able to let you go,” he whispers, his brows knitted together. My eyes widen, and a sly smirk fits my face. Playboy Lip wants me to himself.
“Who says you have to?”
Like a match finding its flame, he rolls over on top of me, his knees spreading mine apart. My fingers anchor themselves into his hair. I have to latch onto something because this man, the things he says, and the way I feel when his fingers barely graze my skin… it all feels too good to be true. Like this is a dream and I may float away at any moment and drop face-first into my reality of misery.
“I’m sure there is a rule somewhere that says I shouldn’t sleep with a man I barely know, but I just don’t care,” I mutter, curling his hair around my finger. I know I’m being reckless; the nerves in my chest can prove that. But the urge to feel desired, to feel Lip’s hands claim my skin is a stronger, more prominent craving.