“Reed, please.”
He licks lower, taking away that exquisite pressure to give a different kind of kiss—one that drives me mad with need until I’m splintering into a thousand different pieces. Then he surges to his knees and grabs a condom from the nightstand. In my dazed state, I hadn’t even been thinking about that, but he is. Reed’s not the destroyer. He’s never destroyed anything in his life; he’s always been the protector, even at this moment when he battles his own lust for control.
I reach between us and guide him between my legs. The broad head pierces my body, but there’s no pain this time. Sweat dots his brow as his body shakes with the effort to let me set the pace. Slowly, tenderly, desperately, he pushes into me over and over until the friction builds into a bomb of pleasure that explodes once again.
Afterward, he buries his head in my neck. “I love you, baby. I love you so damn much.”
“I love you, too.” I’m glad he’s not looking at me, because I can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes. I clutch him to me, wrapping myself around him as if I can keep him there, safe with me forever.
He wakes me up twice more during the night to tell me with his mouth and hands and body how much he loves me, how desperately he needs me, how he can’t live without me. I say the same things right back, until we’re both too exhausted to keep our eyes open.
But I don’t know if either of us believes anything we’re saying at this point. We’re just a tangle of wild, hopeless emotions trying to find peace with our bodies. No matter how hard we try to forget, we can’t.
Because Reed’s going to prison and it feels like death.
* * *
In the morning, Reed and Easton take me to school. I run through dance practice listlessly, because most of my attention is pinned on the other side of the gym, where the football players are lifting weights. I stare at Reed’s back until Jordan finally snaps at me.
“I know your felon boyfriend is over there, but can you try to keep your attention on the team for one measly second?”
“Why am I even here?” I snap back. “Layla isn’t injured anymore.” I point to the senior, who’s taping her ankle.
Jordan purses her lips and places her hands on her tiny waist. “Because you agreed to join the team, not hang out for a weekend on an away game.”
“I don’t give two shits about your team!”
A group of girls behind me gasp, and I instantly regret losing my temper. Truth is, I do care about the team. It might have started off as a deal with Satan, but I loved every second of performing at the away game. I’m even willing to put up with Jordan if it means getting to do what I love the most.
But it’s too late. My outburst causes Jordan’s eyes to blaze.
“Then get out,” she orders, jerking her arm in the direction of the locker rooms. “You’re officially off the team.”
“Fine by me.” The lie burns my throat on the way out, but there’s no way I’m letting Jordan see how devastated I am. So I just pick up my water bottle and march across the gym.
Only when I enter the locker room do I allow my emotions to surface. Tears sting my eyes. I want to punch myself for lashing out at Jordan. She deserves a good lashing, usually, but not when it comes to the dance team. She’s actually not a bad captain, and from what I’ve seen, she only ever does what’s best for the team. Yelling at her was such a mistake. Now there’s no way she’ll let me come back.
Reed catches me at my locker before class, his heated gaze searching my face. “What was that all about at practice? Jordan say something to you?” He’s all worked up, ready to defend me.
I give his biceps a weak pat of assurance. “No, it was all me,” I admit. “I snapped at her, and she kicked me off the team.”
Reed sighs. “Aw, baby. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever,” I lie again. “It’s no biggie. It was just supposed to be a one-time thing anyway.”
I grab my books and slam the locker shut.
“All right then.” He slides a hand under my hair until his fingers curl around my neck. “See you at lunch?”
“Yup. I’ll save you a seat. Or we can share one—I’ll just sit on your lap.”
Reed’s response is to bend down and kiss me so thoroughly that I forget my spat with Jordan, that we’re not supposed to have any physical contact at school, and my worries about the future. I might even forget my name for a few seconds.
When he finally lifts his mouth from mine, I’m glassy-eyed and shaken. Then I realize that the bells ringing in my head are the school alerts. Classes are about to start.
“You look gorgeous right now.” He leans forward and whispers in my ear. “I hear conjugal visits are real hot.”
Immediately, my gooey mood hardens to displeasure. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
His expression goes serious. “I’m sorry, but—”
“You should be.”