Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
The wet ground seeps through my knee-high tights, but I don’t care. I push through, running as fast as I can. My hair whips in the wind, and I don’t realize I’m crying until the cold air hits my tear-streaked cheeks. Raindrops fall slowly at first, but by the time I get to the old barn, my clothes and hair are more than a little damp. When I see that the barn door is slightly ajar, I slow my steps and breathe a sigh of relief, knowing he’s here.
“Thayer?” I say softly, pushing on the old weathered wood. The door opens with a creak, like something out of a horror movie, but this barn could never scare me. This barn is my sanctuary, in all its leaky-roof, spider-having glory.
It’s dark, but the sliver of daylight remaining allows me to see his shadowed form on the couch, bottle of liquor in his left hand. I bend down, reaching for the lantern we left here last night, and turn it on, closing the distance between us. I don’t ask if he’s okay. I’m not even okay. I set the lantern down at his feet, then climb onto the couch next to him, tucking my legs underneath me as I lace my fingers with his. Our arms rest between us, but his hand is limp, not squeezing back.
“Go.” His voice is flat—lifeless—and he stares straight ahead, avoiding eye contact.
“No.” I’m not leaving him. Not like this.
He takes a swig straight from the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean it, Shayne. Give me some fucking space. I need to be alone.”
His brusque tone makes me flinch, but I take the bottle from him anyway, tears welling in my eyes. “Then let’s be alone together.” I bring it to my lips, letting the liquid burn my throat, unable to keep from sputtering and coughing on the bitter taste.
His jaw locks, and I can tell he’s holding back unshed tears. He didn’t cry at the funeral either. Setting the bottle down, I pull his head into my chest, his wet hair chilling my already icy skin. I kiss the top of his head, my fingers curving around the nape of his neck, holding him close. He takes a shuddering breath, sagging into me, and I swallow hard, trying to keep it together. I’ve never seen Thayer Ames show emotion. Before now, I wasn’t sure he was capable of it. Seeing him like this is enough to break me.
After long seconds, his hands find my hips and his lips find my chest when he turns into me, pressing a kiss to my bare skin. A shiver rolls through me, and he does it again, this time a little lower. Dark eyes look up at me as he peels the low-cut fabric of my dress away from my body and kisses the swell of my breast. My eyes fall shut, heart pounding, and then he’s gripping my waist and pulling me onto his lap.
I cradle his cheeks in the palms of my hands and lean in, pressing my lips to his jaw. Hands squeeze my hips enough to leave a mark as I do it again, this time on each of his closed eyelids, then finally, his lips. As soon as my mouth brushes his, he snaps into motion. His tongue slips into my mouth as one of his hands snakes up my spine and grips the nape of my neck. He shifts his hips upward, causing a moan to slip free, and then he’s unbuckling his belt, lifting his hips to shove his dress pants down just far enough. Rough hands bunch my dress up my thighs, and then he’s flipping me over, settling between my legs.
My body’s buzzing with barely contained lust in record time, and when he grinds into me, I lose all rational thought. I lock my legs around his waist, and he dips his head down, kissing me again. I flick my tongue across the two lip rings curved around his full bottom lip, and he groans, yanking the top of my dress open. I arch up into him as he swipes his tongue across my nipple. My clumsy fingers fumble to the buttons of his dress shirt, pushing them through, one by one. Thayer pulls back just long enough to tear his shirt off, and then he’s back between my legs.
“Touch me,” I beg, wanting more.
He snakes his hand between our bodies, using his fingers to rub the damp spot on my underwear. “I need you.”
My legs fall open, drunk on the feeling. We haven’t ever gone this far—never been this desperate for each other—and somewhere beyond the haze of lust, I know this is wrong. Not the fact that we’re together, but it shouldn’t happen like this. Not when we’re sad and he’s drunk and we’re on the verge of catching fucking pneumonia in this cold, wet barn. Most people would frown upon losing your virginity this way. Most people would also frown upon losing it to your stepbrother.