Fighting to Forgive (Fighting, #2)

Slowing the kiss, I suck at her lips before moving down her jawline. The fragrance of her skin concentrated below her ear sends a groan of need from my chest. She arches her neck, opening up to me. The combination of her sweet skin and the salt of her sweat makes me hunger to taste her everywhere. I lazily glide my lips from her collarbone to her ear, trailing the tip of my tongue along her pulse.

I can’t help pulling her earlobe between my teeth. “Fuckin’ hell, Mouse. You’ll be the death of me,” I whisper and rest my forehead against hers.

The room is quiet except for the sound of our heavy breathing. I hold her close, reluctant to let her go, knowing that this is my only chance to have her in this way. I close my eyes and absorb the feel of her body in my arms. She’s so small and breakable, I’m overcome with the need to protect her. But that’s not my job. She doesn’t belong to me and never will.

“Why now?”

Her question brings my head back and my eyes to hers.

“You’ve been avoiding me. So, why now?”

She deserves an answer. A really fucking good answer. Truth is, I’m a *.

I move my hand from her hair and cup her nape. “I want you. But I’m no good for you.”

Her head bobs. “I thought, the other night when I shared all that stuff, I thought I scared you off.”

“No. But the shit I felt when you opened up like that wasn’t right.” How do I explain my unhealthy attraction? The fact is that a woman alone in the world, with a kid, brings out a primal urge to protect. It’s the ugly leftover from my past. Years of taking care of my mom and little brother, and throwing myself up as a barrier between them and the General, made me a slave. And I’m nobody’s bitch. “You, Axelle, you girls deserve steady. I’ll never be that guy.”

“But… that kiss.” She studies the spot where her hands rest unseen beneath my shirt. Her eyebrows pinch together like she’s seeing me for the first time. And she doesn’t look happy about what she sees.

“The kiss was hot, Mouse.” Hottest damn kiss I’ve ever experienced, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Her hands drop from my chest, and she pulls against my hold. “Let me go.”

“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” I flex my fingers at her neck and hip.

“Blake.” She glares at me, and I watch the violent storm build in her eyes. “Let. Me. Go.”

I should, and I will, eventually. But knowing that this is the last time I’ll hold her this close and feel her soft skin beneath my palm, I’ll milk the clock and soak up every second. “Just wanted a taste. Didn’t know how good it’d be.”

She rocks back with a grunt, but I hold her flush to my body. After a second of resistance, she sags in my arms. “Blake…” Her whispered refusal dies on her lips along with her fight. She leans her weight into me and grips the sides of my T-shirt.

My eyes slide shut, and I’m stuck somewhere between What the fuck and There is a God. Holding her like this, feeling her give herself over to me like she did before our kiss—Fuck. If I let myself feel what I’m burying deep, I don’t think I’ll let her go. Ever.

I lean down and bury my nose in her hair, my thumb tracing circles on the bare skin of her lower back. So soft, so fuckin’ sweet, so—oomph!

Sharp pain explodes between my legs. I double over, holding my balls, and drop to my knees. Shiiit.

“Next time a woman tells you to let go? Let. Go.”

Her purple and black Nikes walking away are all I see from my fetal position on the floor. I pinch my eyes shut with a groan and roll as the pain surges from my nuts into my stomach. Motherfuck. I swallow hard, fighting my gut’s attempt to jump out my mouth. My lungs burn and struggle as I suck air through my nose and grind my teeth.

I curl up tight and prepare for the ten minutes of hell that I’ll have to endure before I can chase after her. Or, fuck, at this point it might be better to quit while I’m down.





Twelve


Layla

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I let him kiss me. He doesn’t so much as look at me for almost a week, and I let him kiss me. Even worse, I begged him to. It took him ten seconds to get me right where he wanted me. Ten seconds before he changed my world, had me skating on rainbows and seeing stars, only to knock me down. You girls need steady? I’ll never be that guy?

And where in the hell is the cereal?

The crack of my kitchen cupboard slamming shut gives me little relief. Not as much as seeing Blake squirm on the floor of the weight room like a dying animal. Ass-fucking-hole.

I stomp down the hallway to Elle’s room. “Elle, did you eat all the—?” Her room’s empty. “Elle?”

It’s almost nine on a school night. I wrack my mind, which is slushy from the kiss I still feel in my damn toes. Killian was supposed to bring her home. Or did she tell me she had plans after school, and I forgot? Maybe they went to a movie or had a late study group. No, I specifically remember her telling me she’d be home. If there was a change of plans, she would’ve called.

I tug my phone from the pocket of my sweatshirt. No new calls, no texts. I scroll to her number and press send.

Voicemail. Shit.

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