Page 54 of Creeping Beautiful

If I thought I could get away with it, I’d pick her up, take her down to my truck, drive away, and never look back.

But I know better.

“Sure,” I say, leaning in to kiss her.

It starts soft. Gentle, feathery kisses with no tongue. Because I just want to be soft with her. But I can’t control it. The urges inside me take over. I want to claim her and possess her. I want to take her away from here. Take her away from Donovan and Adam and hold her next to me forever.

We weren’t like this before. We weren’t a couple. We weren’t a foursome, either. Except for that one time, that’s not how it was. But if she stays… now that she’s older… I don’t understand how any of this will ever work.

“Maybe we shouldn’t?”

“Stop it, McKay. You want this more than I do.”

“Donovan—”

“He’s not here yet. Just relax.” She pushes herself on top of me, spreading her legs open and pushing both hands down on my chest as she moves her hips and rubs her pussy against my now fully-hard cock.

But I don’t want to relax. I grab her hips, flip her over, knee her legs back open, and then slide between them. My chest presses down on hers so hard as I hike her arms up above her head, grab both wrists in one hand, and then squeeze them, she gasps for breath.

“Ow. That hurts. I can’t breathe!”

“It’s supposed to hurt,” I growl back. “I’m fucking sick of this shit, Indie.”

“What shit?”

And she’s laughing. Like this is still just some fantastic joke. Like her disappearing for four years after what went down at Old Home was nothing. Meant nothing.

I want to slap her. Hard. Right in the fucking face and scream, Wake the fuck up!

But I’m too angry. And too sad. And I don’t like to yell. Not at her. Not anyone, really.

“Fuck me, McKay,” she whispers. “Do it hard. Make me scream. Make me cry.”

I want to make her cry. Because she didn’t cry that day. She did everything but cry that day.

I keep a hold of her wrists, but my other hand creeps up to her throat. Almost like it’s not a part of me. Like it’s on a mission of its own making. My palm lies flat against the soft cartilage of her neck and I can feel her pulse beating under my thumb. Thumping. Hard. Then harder. My thumb presses down and she gasps, blinking.

It’s so easy to suffocate someone. So easy to cut off the blood flow to the brain and make them pass out.

I ease up and she sucks in a deep breath. Her eyes are closed now and I know what this feels like. I know she is seeing twinkling stars against a black background. That her head is swirling with the threat of unconsciousness.

“Yeah. Like that,” she croaks.

But she doesn’t get to tell me how to do this. She doesn’t get to make any decisions at all. Not after what she did.

I don’t think I fully understood it until right now. I was there. I saw every bit of it. I watched it all in real time. And I never fully comprehended what actually happened.

And it wasn’t even about that day.

It was about all the days that came before it. All the days that led up to that one moment when the sweet, secret world we were living in came crashing down all around us and she… disappeared.

I kiss her again. Hard, this time. I punish her with my mouth as I hike one knee up to her chest and slip my cock inside her.

She gasps, not laughing now. She struggles underneath me, wriggling her wrists in my still-firm grip as I press them into the headboard of the bed like she wants me to let go.

But I won’t let go. I won’t.

I thrust my cock deep inside and she cries out.