Page 94 of These Secret Years

“Look, I’m here, aren’t I? What do you think you can’t tell me? I can’t even fucking admit I know you anymore.”

Fuck that hurts to hear. But he goes on.

“Do you think I’m gonna judge you? Me?”

“Yes,” I say a few tears spilling from my overheated eyes.

“I don’t,” he says, and he sounds almost urgent.

“Because you don’t know anything about me.”

“Does it seem like I don’t want to?”

My erection is long gone, and I imagine his is, too. I don’t feel it on my hip anymore, and the realization causes more tears to fall. I can’t believe this is happening. What did I say to get us here?

I’ve never felt more like a victim than I do right here in this truck. I’ve never truly believed there was nothing I could do to change my circumstances until the thought of telling Knight everything has me seized with terror and fucking crying. My life might be worthless at this point, but his isn’t. Knight might not give much of a shit about me, but on the off chance he does, and he did something to try and get me out of the situation I’m in, Adrian wouldn’t hesitate to go to any length to protect himself from exposure, including destroying any chance Knight might have with the NFL. Knight’s family might be powerful, but Adrian and Quinn are fucking evil, and they’re rich as hell.

I can’t. I just—can’t. I’ve never felt so trapped in my life. There are only two ways out. One of them is hard, and I’d have to be functioning at the highest possible level. The other way…the other way is so simple. I just—go.

“Hey.” His soft voice breaks the night as he shifts onto one elbow so he can put a hand on my face. “Is someone hurting you?”

I nod. I can’t help it. I can’t lie to him when he’s this close, looking at me like he cares.

“Can you tell me who?”

To that, I shake my head, forcing my mouth to stay shut.

“That’s okay.” His thumb rubs over my cheekbone, drying some of the tears. “Am I hurting you?”

I shake my head again. “No,” I whisper.

He brushes a soft kiss against my lips. “Then I’m gonna ask again. How do you want me?”

A silent sob shakes my chest. “I want you to fuck me like you love me.”

Chapter Twenty

SULLIVAN

Knight takes a second to stare at me as he digests the horrible, thoughtless words that just left my mouth. A line forms between his eyes, and I am horrified with myself. Then he says, “Okay.”

“Anything you want,” I blurt to offset the pathetic request.

“Come here.” He rolls onto his side, pulling me with him. Still facing each other, he kisses me, one arm wrapping around my back to press our bodies together fully. My leg slides over his hip, and I feel myself molding to fit every inch of him. The kisses are soft and sweet at first, but once we’re really entwined, his thigh slotted between mine and his other hand in my hair, our tongues come out again, and the kisses get deep, slow, and long.

Desire reignites with a flare in my gut, spreading heat quickly to my groin, my chest, my limbs. Distantly, some part of my mind wonders if he brought any lube because I have some in my car. I cleaned myself well, outside and in, not because I knew I was going to ask for this but because I had no idea what would happen once we got out here. When I saw the blankets and pillows, I pictured a dozen ways to put all his planning to good use because I did wonder—some part of me worried—that he’d walk me into the trees, wait for me to drop to my knees, and whip out his dick for me to suck.

But I should have remembered this is Knight. Of course he’d have a cooler. He probably brought snacks, too. Of course he’d be romantic in some unnamable way that would get to me, and maybe, subconsciously I knew and prepared my body accordingly.

As my dick hardens again, I take his hand from my hair and place it on my ass. Reflexively, he squeezes, and I roll my hips against him. I stop kissing him for a second to say, “Go slow, but don’t stop.”

Gaze still on my mouth, he nods before locking lips with me again. His tongue surges back into my mouth, and I let him in as deep as he wants. His fingertips skim the spread cleft between my ass cheeks, barely grazing my hole. It gives me a full body shudder composed of intense pleasure and revolting trauma. I give myself even more to his kiss as his fingers continue to stroke up and down. I feel for him—for his muscles, his curls, the distinct stubble on his jawline. All the things that differentiate Knight from them. I focus hard on his spicy, soapy scent, even the IPA on his breath. I focus even more intently on the kiss itself. I’ve only ever kissed him and Chelsea, which makes it so much more distinct and keeps me present. With him. Now. I want this so much.

One of his fingers rests gently on my opening. I’m clenched shut so tight, I’m surprised he found it. “Don’t stop,” I remind him, breathless from the endless kiss.

“Is this where you’ve been hurt?” he asks.

Fuck. Did he really just ask me that? Am I that obvious?