*Afterward, Ward slides back over to his side of the car, and I collapse against my seat, too exhausted and too overwhelmed to move.
My body is still trembling, and my skin is burning with heat. I’m damp with sweat—both his and mine—and my hair is plastered to my neck and cheeks. I’m perfectly satisfied—stretched and sore and buzzing with the pleasure he gave me—and I let out a contented sigh.
I know I should be a little more worried about the fact that we forgot the condom, but it’s hard to muster any regret after an experience like that. If I’m being perfectly honest, I wanted to experience him that way—as truly and fully as possible. I can still feel the heat of him between my legs.
I tilt my head and look over at Ward. He’s leaning back against his seat, and his chest is still heaving. His hands are resting on his stomach, and one of his fingers taps a beat against his skin. He’s staring at the roof of the car, probably listening to the rain that still pounds against the dented metal. But there’s a slight furrow in his brow that worries me.
I remember what he said back at that beach restaurant about being more careful, about avoiding a situation where I’d end up like his mother. Does he regret what just happened? Is he beating himself up for losing control? I gave him permission. I wanted this. I’d do it again in a heartbeat if I thought my body had the strength.
He turns his head and meets my gaze. His mouth stretches into a smile, and he reaches out and takes my hand. It’s only then, when his fingers touch mine and something releases inside of me, that I realize how nervous I am. I weave my fingers through his and try to relax.
“Hey,” he says.
I return his smile. “Hey.”
He closes his eyes, and I do, too. I can even feel his pulse hammering through the thin skin at the base of his palm. Thunder rolls overhead, and the rain pounds harder than ever, but I feel safe and warm in here.
For a long time, we just lie like that: completely still and only connected through our locked hands. After a while, when my skin starts to chill, I push my dress back down to cover me. My thighs fall closed. Maybe I’m strange, but I don’t want to lose what little heat and wetness still lingers there.
I think I drift off eventually. It’s not that hard to do when your body’s been used so rigorously, or when the rain and thunder create a rhythmic lullaby above your head. After a while, I become aware of Ward’s hand squeezing mine. Of his soft voice murmuring my name.
I open my eyes. He’s watching me, and he reaches out with his free hand to twist one of my curls around his finger. He never seems to get enough of my hair.
“The storm seems to be letting up,” he says. “I should probably go finish changing the tire.”
I nod. Though I’d love to lie here for a while longer, I know we should probably get on the road.
He turns and looks out the windshield. For a minute, I think he’s just watching the rain—which, as he said, has slowed significantly—but there’s something too serious, too tense about his expression.
“There’s one more thing,” he says without looking at me. “We should probably go find a pharmacy.”
I don’t claim to be an expert at car repairs, but that confuses me. “What else do we need?”
He shifts in his seat. “The morning-after pill.”
Oh. Of course. I’m kind of ashamed I didn’t think of that. And embarrassed that Ward had to be the one to bring it up.
“Yeah,” I say. “A pharmacy. You’re right.” The last thing the two of us need is some sort of complication.
Ward curls his hands around the steering wheel. He’s still looking out the front window.
“I’m sorry,” he says after a moment. “I was reckless.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Getting the condom on is my responsibility. Not yours,” he says. “I should have been more careful.”
“I gave you permission,” I remind him. “I told you I wanted everything you had to give me.” And if I’m being honest, I want it still. Even if it’s reckless and stupid. Even though I know we need to be more responsible.
But he’s shaking his head. “It shouldn’t have happened like that. I shouldn’t have lost control.”
I put my hand on his arm. He flinches away, like he doesn’t even trust himself to be touched by me.
“I wanted it,” I tell him, because that’s the truth. I wanted to feel his pleasure inside of me. I wanted him to fill me. Am I pathetic or just foolish for enjoying it? For wanting that deepest of physical connections?
He doesn’t respond. He just keeps staring out at the rain, and then he says, “I’m going to go get the tire.”
For a moment I stay in my seat. I know this is about far more than the potential risks we took, that he’s still worried about making the same mistakes his father did.
I flatten my hand against my belly. I have no idea what I’d do if I became pregnant. I’m definitely not responsible or stable enough to have a baby. And I have no interest in bringing a child into the mess that is my life.
But if it was Ward’s baby…
I shouldn’t even be thinking about this. I’m just freaking myself out. We’re going to find a pharmacy and I’m going to take the morning-after pill and we can just pretend this never happened.
That thought makes me feel strangely hollow. I sigh and open the car door, letting myself out into the rain.
It’s colder than I anticipated, but I wrap my arms around myself. I should probably go around and see if Ward needs any help with the tire, but I need to be alone right now. I walk away from the highway, down the grassy bank to the line of trees that borders this side of the road.
My chest tightens slightly. I haven’t had any panic attacks since I left Huntington Manor, but that doesn’t mean I’m any better than I was a couple of weeks ago.
What am I doing out here? I ask myself. What the hell am I looking for?
I stop just shy of the first evergreens and close my eyes, forcing myself to breathe in the deep, steady way that seems to help whenever I get overwhelmed. I try to focus on the feeling of the rain beating against my skin.
I hear a footstep behind me, and a moment later, Ward touches me gently on the lower back.
“Are you okay?” he asks in my ear.
I don’t know. I honestly don’t.
“I’m just thinking,” I tell him. That’s true enough.
“I’m sorry if I upset you,” he says.
I turn my head. He’s just behind me, and I find myself looking right into his eyes.
“Getting upset like that, I mean,” he says. “Telling you we were reckless and acting like I regretted what happened.”
“I don’t regret it,” I murmur. “I’ve never had sex like that. Not with anyone.”
“And I’ve never felt closer to you,” he says, his voice low and throaty. “Fuck, Lou, you can’t imagine what that felt like.” He grabs me closer, pulling me back hard against his chest. His lips brush my ear. “I love fucking you bare. And I love coming inside of you even more. Even now, just talking about it makes me want to drag you back to that car and do it again.”
I give a little moan as he presses his hips against me, letting me feel how hard he is already.
“But I shouldn’t be putting you in that position,” he says. “It’s wrong.”
“Maybe that’s why it feels so good.”
He doesn’t have an answer for that. He’s still holding me firmly against him, and he brushes a kiss against my temple. There’s a need in his touch that doesn’t just come from lust.
“You’re not your father,” I remind him. “Not even close.”
For a long moment he doesn’t say anything, and then: “Not yet.”
“Not ever.” I twist in his arms, turning until I can meet his eyes. “You’re nothing like that man. And I know that if… if anything happened, you wouldn’t treat me the way Carolson treated your mother. I think you know it, too. So stop punishing yourself for his bad decisions.”
We stare at each other. The rain continues to come down, and I watch the drops run down his face.
“He’s my father,” he says finally. “Whether I like it or not, that bastard’s in my blood. How much of who we are is a choice, and how much is where we come from?”
“It’s all choice. You can choose to make the decisions your father did, or you can choose to make better ones.”
“Sounds simple.”
I give a small smile. “It is.”
But he doesn’t return my grin. “Then why don’t you believe the same thing when it comes to yourself?”
“What?”
“You’re still defining yourself and blaming yourself based on where you came from.”
I shake my head. “That’s not even close to the same thing.”
“Actually, I think it is. You’re ashamed that your family had money.”
“It’s a lot more complex than that.”
“Only because you’re making it.”
I pull away from him. I’ve already told him that I don’t want to talk about this.
“You can’t blame yourself for the life you were born to,” he says.
“I can blame myself for how I handled that life.”
“Fuck, Lou, you’re only human. You ask any asshole out there if he wants a million dollars and I guarantee not a single person would turn it down. And you probably wouldn’t find them volunteering on the other side of the world, either.”
I cross my arms. “Do you not even remember the things you said to me about my family before you realized who I was?”
“Lou, I didn’t—”
“You criticized us for caring more about possessions and status symbols than meaningful things. You said that even if you’d been born into a family like that, you believed that you had the strength of character to sell everything and actually do something important with your life.”
“Dammit, Lou, I was talking out of my ass. I was pissed at Carolson. And pissed at myself for not having the balls to turn down that fucking job.”
“But now you’ve seen the light?” I ask sarcastically.
“Now I know you.” He steps close to me again. “No one’s perfect, Lou. You know that. But do you think I’d be here if I saw you the way you see yourself?”
I shake my head.
“From the moment I met you,” he says, “you’ve carried this weight, tortured yourself for reasons I couldn’t understand. Reasons I still don’t understand.” He cups my face. “You have all of this self-loathing and guilt. I can see it in your eyes, but I can’t fight it, and for the life of me, I don’t know how someone like you could ever get such twisted ideas about herself.”
I try to pull away, but he keeps my face firmly between his hands.
“You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met,” he says. “You’re wild and spontaneous and just when I think I have you figured out, you say or do something that completely surprises me. You’re not afraid to take risks, or to fight passionately for the things you believe. Fuck, Lou, most people wouldn’t have made it through some of the things you’ve experienced.” He strokes my cheek with his thumb. “And I hate to see you in pain. You have no idea how much I hate it.”
I think I might be crying, and though the rain is doing its best to wash away the tears, I know Ward can tell. He holds me tighter against him.
“It takes time,” he says into my ear. “But I want you to know what I see. I know I said things back at Huntington Manor. But you’ve changed the way I look at everything.”
It’s hard to believe those words when I’ve spent so long telling myself I don’t deserve that sort of affection, that sort of faith. But Ward has me, and I know he’s not going to let me go. I want to stay in his arms forever. I don’t care if the rain is drenching us.
I take a shuddering breath.
“All right,” I tell him. “Let’s do it.”
He squeezes me. “Do what?”
“Let’s stop punishing ourselves for everything.”
He leans his cheek against my hair. “Deal.”
It’s easier said than done, of course. Words are simple, even if your stomach seizes up as you say them. But I want to believe the things Ward said to me. I want to believe that I can forgive myself.
I wrap my arms around him and press my face against his chest. His nose is in my hair. And we hold each other like that while the rain slows and finally stops.
“We should go,” he says finally. “The new tire’s on there.”
And as much as I hate the idea of pulling away from him, he’s right. We have a goal to meet.
“I don’t think we’ll hit New York today,” he says, taking my hand and helping me back up the bank to the road. “But we might be able to hit Pennsylvania.”
He holds my door open for me, but right before I slide inside the car, he grabs me and pulls me toward him, kissing me one last time.
When he releases me, he doesn’t say a word. He just smiles and then walks around to his side of the car.
We can do this, he and I, I think. We can start here. Truly leave our old selves behind. Maybe I was self-absorbed before. Maybe I was a fraud. Or maybe I wasn’t. Either way, I don’t have to be that girl anymore.
I won’t be that girl anymore.
Something swells in my chest—something joyous. I can start over. I can be the girl that Ward believes I am.
As soon as Ward is in the car, I lean over and grab him by the collar of his T-shirt, yanking him toward me. I kiss him with everything I have, with all the hope and light and possibility he’s shown me.
When I break away, he’s grinning.
“What was that for?”
I smile back as I blink the tears out of my eyes. “For my life.”
*
We’ve lost a good part of the day, so our plan for the afternoon is pretty ambitious. In Delaware, since we’re pressed for time—and still recovering from our earlier encounter—we decide to switch things up a little bit. Ward pulls over into an empty parking lot, and I tug down his zipper and give him a blowjob he won’t forget anytime soon. He pulls my hair so hard that my scalp aches for an hour afterward.
In New Jersey, he decides to return the favor. He finds an empty stretch of road and pulls off onto the shoulder, then leads me down into the woods. I’m terrified that someone will see us—especially considering how many times I can’t help but cry out as he pleasures me with his tongue—but our naughty act seems to go unnoticed.
I’m in a remarkably bright mood by the time we cross into Pennsylvania. That blown tire was the best thing that could have happened to us. We got so many things out into the open, and my heart feels so much lighter. I almost don’t know what to do with myself.
We eat peanut butter sandwiches again for dinner. The left half of my face is the color of an eggplant, and I’d rather not have an entire restaurant full of people—strangers though they may be—believing that Ward is capable of hurting me. By evening, though, I’m starting to get restless, so when Ward stops to get gas, I decide to step into the convenience store for a few minutes. I keep my sunglasses on, even though it’s dark outside.
I spend a few minutes walking around, stretching my legs and browsing the snack aisle. Inevitably, though, I find myself drawn to the racks where they keep the newspapers and magazines.
It’s only been a day—though it feels a heck of a lot longer—since I picked up that paper at the barbecue restaurant. I’m not surprised to see today’s issue of the same publication continuing the story, nor am I shocked to see several of the other smaller, culture-based papers featuring articles about the event. I don’t let myself read any of them.
I’m fine until I move past the newspapers and my eyes fall on the rack of magazines. Most of the celebrity weeklies feature pictures of supermodels or famous actors, but one cover jumps out from the rest. Sure enough, one of the gossip rags has already picked up the story of my breakdown. But that’s not what makes my stomach sink.
On the cover of the magazine, next to the huge picture of me, is an even larger picture of Ward.
“SECRETS AND ROMANCE!” the cover says. And beneath that: “Is Louisa Cunningham’s new lover more than he seems?”
My eyes flick up to the title of the magazine. Celebrity Spark Magazine. I know that name. I know that name too well. My fingers shake as I flip open to the article. Sure enough, I recognize the author listed in the byline.
Asher Julian.
Mr. Julian was the only reporter to recognize me back at Huntington Manor. But I wasn’t the story he was after. He tried to blackmail me into feeding him information about Ward—specifically, the truth about his connection to Edward Carolson.
“WHO IS WARD BRANNON?” the magazine asks in large letters across the top of the page. Below, there’s a picture of Ward in his normal work wear—white T-shirt, jeans, tool belt—working on some moldings at Huntington Manor. Mr. Julian must have been keeping a very close eye on him.
I skim the article. The first part is exactly what I expected to read—a rehash of my entire escapade. But Mr. Julian goes on to talk about my “close relationship” with one of Huntington Manor’s other employees. And that’s when I really start to feel ill.
He writes about his behind-the-scenes investigations into Ward’s past—the extent of which he only hinted at to me. Here, he lays out his entire case, all but proving that Ward is Edward Carolson’s biological son.
No. Not now. Not yet.
I throw the magazine back on the rack and grab one of the others. Then another. I flip through all of them, read through every article, looking for any sign that this is more than just a single rumor in a single tabloid. None of the other magazines have picked up the story yet, but I know it’s only a matter of time. This information is too juicy, and Asher Julian’s laid out his case too completely. Right now it’s one magazine, but tomorrow or next week it will be all of them. It’s probably all over the internet already, and God knows that’s where the real damage is done.
Ward’s life is about to get a whole lot harder.
I drop the magazines back on the rack. I can’t bear to think of him going through what my family’s been through—the constant rumors, the paparazzi, the magazine covers. It’s impossible to escape it.
Not to mention the fact that it’s going to make his chance of reconciling with his father that much harder. If there was any chance that Edward Carolson didn’t know about his son and me, it’s gone now. If I was hoping for any sympathy from the man, that ship has sailed. If I ever see that man again, he’ll probably have me arrested on sight.
The blare of a police siren outside makes me jump.
They’re just passing by, I tell myself. They’re not here for me. But I’m drawn back to the front of the store anyway. I need to look out the window and see for myself.
The police cruiser is just out front, its lights flashing. As I watch, the officer climbs out of the car.
For a moment I think it’s all over. That they’ve found us and I’m about to be dragged away. But the cop doesn’t look at the convenience store, or even at Ward, who’s still at the pump. Instead, he walks around to the other side of his vehicle, where I finally spot the car of the poor guy he must have just pulled over.
Get it together, Lou, I think. You can’t just freak out every time you hear a siren.
Still, I want to get out of here. I walk quickly out of the store and back to the car.
“You okay?” Ward asks when he sees my face.
“For a minute I just thought…” I throw a look over my shoulder at the cop. “I think I’m just jumpy.”
Ward nods, and even he looks a little nervous.
“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go find somewhere to sleep tonight.”
I’m glad he seems as eager to leave as I do. It makes me feel less paranoid. I even catch him watching the cop in his rear-view mirror as we pull out of the lot.
It’ll only get worse when the reporters and paparazzi start coming after him, I think. Or when his face begins to appear in so many places that even strangers start to recognize him. I escaped a lot of scrutiny when I was in Thailand, but I’ve had plenty of experience with that sort of thing. It doesn’t matter where you go—you feel like someone’s following you. Like someone’s watching you.
Everything is about to change.
*
I need to tell him.
I’ve been putting it off, trying to figure out what I might say to prepare him for what’s to come. I need to just drag him into a supermarket and show him the magazine—or at the very least, get over myself and spit it out already—but every time I open my mouth to say something, he’ll grin or laugh and look so happy that I can’t bear to take that away from him.
I could watch him for hours. Study every little movement in his face. Count the times he bites down slightly on his lower lip as he hums along to a song on the radio. Admire the variations of color in the stubble on his cheeks and jaw.
Soon, that face will be everywhere. All over the gossip sites on the internet. All over the tabloids in every supermarket.
I only saw the magazine last night. Maybe he can live in ignorance for another few days. But if the situation were reversed…I’d want to know. And if he’s going to hear it sooner or later, it’s better that he hears it from me. Before things really explode.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who enjoys staring at me so much,” he says sometime mid-afternoon. “Not that I blame you.”
“There’s something you need to know,” I say. “Something… well, it’s going to complicate things.”
His brows rise slightly. “What is it?”
Even though he’s still wearing a smile, I can tell by the way that he shifts his grip on the steering wheel that he knows something big is coming.
Just spit it out, Lou, I tell myself. He needs to be prepared.
“Last night,” I say, “when I went inside that gas station, I ended up looking at the magazines.”
He shoots a glance at me. “Are you okay? What idiotic thing are they saying about you now?”
“It’s not about me. I mean, it is, but there’s more to it than that.”
He frowns in confusion.
Just say it, Lou. You coward.
“It’s about you,” I blurt. “There was a magazine with your face on the cover. They’ve figured out who you are.”
His face goes blank as he tries to process this information.
“Well, this’ll be interesting,” he says finally.
I can tell by his tone that he’s not fully comprehending.
“Ward,” I say softly, “they know why you worked at Huntington Manor. They know that Carolson is your father.”
His hands tighten on the wheel.
“My father,” he repeats.
“Obviously they’re just speculating,” I say. “And we’re talking about a gossip magazine. Half the people who pick it up won’t believe it anyway.”
“It’s not just speculation. It’s the truth.” He stares at the highway ahead of us. “This isn’t going to just fade away, isn’t it?”
Considering all the fuel we’ve given them recently?
“It’s just one magazine,” I say carefully. “Maybe tomorrow some A-list Hollywood couple will announce their divorce and no one will care about anything else. Our story might be dead by next week.”
“Do you think it’s going to die?” he asks.
I look out the window. “No.” I’ve seen it too many times. Lived it. Carolson’s decision to renovate the estate put him and the project in the public eye. My actions during Huntington Manor’s official press week made sure everyone was talking about it. This story has everything: the elaborate manor, the crazy ex-heiress, the secret son of one of the wealthiest men in the country. We’re the stars of our very own soap opera, and any tabloid worth its salt will be printing every sordid detail.
Ward drives in silence for a while. I try to focus on the scenery passing outside my window, but it’s impossible. My eyes keep drifting back to Ward.
I don’t like the quiet, not from Ward. He’s the sort of guy who’s used to action, to attacking his problems—or the people causing them—head on. But there’s nothing he can do in this situation, nothing for him to fight. If he had money or influence like his father, maybe he could use his connections to keep the story from spreading.
“I know that look,” Ward says without even glancing at me. “What is it?”
I already know how he’s going to respond to my suggestion, but I decide to suck it up and tell him anyway.
“Maybe you should call him.”
“Who?”
“Carolson.”
He looks at me like I’ve just suggested he sat his car on fire.
“Maybe he can stop this,” I say.
“No doubt he’s already trying. The last thing he wants is for this entire country to know about me.”
“I’m sure he wants to protect you, too.”
“Jesus, Louisa, have you forgotten who my father is? He doesn’t give a fuck about anyone but himself.”
I wish I had an argument for that, but I don’t.
“Maybe you should still talk to him,” I say softly. “It’s only going to get harder from here. If you can’t hide your involvement with me from your father, wouldn’t you rather he heard your side of the story before the press blows everything out of proportion?”
But Ward’s not hearing it. “I don’t give a shit about what he thinks about any of this. I don’t owe that asshole anything.”
“I’m not saying you owe him anything. I’m just saying it might be good for your peace of mind.”
“Cutting myself off completely from that jackass would be better.”
“But that’s exactly my point. You can’t cut yourself off. Not now that the truth is out.”
His jaw tightens.
“If you call him, at least it will be on your terms,” I say. “You think he’s just going to let this go?”
“No.”
“No?”
“I’m not giving that asshole another minute of my time.”
“If you—”
He whips his head to look at me. “Whose side are you on?”
His words silence me.
But only for a second. The next second, anger rises in my chest. Is he really accusing me of siding with Carolson? After everything? My nails dig into the cushion of my seat.
“If that’s what you think, then fine,” I say. “Deal with it on your own.”
He lets out a heavy sigh.
“Look,” he says, “I know you’re only trying to help me, but trust me—I know what I’m doing.”
I want to believe him, but I don’t buy for a minute that it doesn’t hurt him to be estranged from his father.
“I’ve been through this,” I say softly. “It’s going to get harder, not easier. You need to stick with your family.”
“So why are we out here? Where’s your family?”
I feel like I’ve been hit in the gut. But Ward’s not done.
“If we’re supposed to stick with our families,” he says, “then why are you running from your brother? This isn’t any different. You’re just trying to fix your own problems through me.”
Silence hangs in the air between us.
“Pull over,” I say, my voice no more than a whisper.
“Lou—”
“Pull over.”
My stomach is a ball of nausea and rage. I need to get out of this car.
“Lou—”
“Dammit, Ward, just pull over or I’m going to jump out of this car whether you’ve stopped or not.”
It’s a little dramatic, but I’m too ticked off to care. And either way, it works. There’s a rest stop just ahead, and Ward pulls into it without saying another word. I’m out of the car before he’s even shifted it into park.
I didn’t mean to start an argument. I just wanted to help him, to show him that it wasn’t too late. How did this get twisted around on me?
I march across the asphalt toward the convenience station, trying to put as much distance between me and Ward as possible.
The worst part, I find myself thinking, is that he’s right. How is his response to this issue any different than mine has been all along?
“Lou!” Ward calls after me.
I stop halfway across the parking lot, but I don’t turn around. I force myself to take a couple of deep breaths.
Ward’s footsteps come up behind me.
“Lou, I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m a fucking idiot. I shouldn’t have said those things.” He catches me gently by the arm and spins me around to face him. His eyes are full of regret and shame.
“I never should have said that,” he repeats gently. “And I didn’t mean it, I just—”
“You did mean it. But that’s okay, because it’s true.”
“I don’t think—”
“No. You were right.”
His gaze burns into mine for a long moment.
“Right or not,” he says finally, “that doesn’t give me an excuse to be an asshole.”
“You were upset. I’ve said far worse things to you in the past.”
“Still not an excuse. And I disagree that you’ve said anything worse.” He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. “You were just trying to help, and I didn’t want to hear it.”
“I was trying to protect you, that’s all. I know how hard all this… this crap can be.” I reach up and press my hand against his cheek. “But I understand. Honestly, I do.”
He’s silent a moment. And then, “I can’t think of anyone who would understand more.” He kisses me gently. “No one.” The corner of his mouth curls up. “I only take issue with one thing. I’m supposed to be protecting you, not the other way around.”
I roll my eyes in exasperation, and he laughs and holds me against him.
“I mean it, though,” he says. “Nothing else matters. Not what they say about me. Not what Carolson thinks about me. I don’t give a shit about any of it. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about anything but you.”
He pulls my face closer.
“I love you, Lou,” he says. “You’re all that matters.”
I don’t even have a chance to register his words before he kisses me.
My whole body floods with heat. He loves me. He loves me!
I throw my arms around his neck and open my mouth beneath his, deepening the kiss. He groans and slips his arms around my waist.
He loves me. I can’t get enough of that thought. And I know I told myself that I’d hide my true feelings, that I wouldn’t let him see how much I want him and need him, but I don’t have the strength to let his words go unanswered.
I tear my mouth away from his. “I love you, too. And I’m here for you, whatever you decide to do about your father.”
“Good. Because I’m nowhere near done with you yet.”
He crushes his mouth against mine again and yanks me hard to his chest. He grinds against me, and I can feel exactly how much he wants me.
A car honks right behind us, and I almost jump out of my skin. But then again, we are still in the middle of the parking lot.
Ward pulls back and flicks off the driver. I laugh.
“We’re the ones in the wrong,” I say.
“Doesn’t matter.” Ward grins. “Anyone who tries to keep me from kissing you is automatically on my shit list.”
Still, he guides me toward the curb. I expect him to lead me back to the car, but instead he continues in the direction of the convenience station.
And right toward the facility’s only family-style bathroom.
The minute the door closes behind us, he has me up against the wall. My mouth searches for his, but he’s trying to kiss me everywhere, moving his lips across my neck and jaw and cheeks. This time he’s more careful around my bruise, but I feel a tremor go through his body as he kisses it, and there’s something so intoxicating about his obvious restraint that I pull his face against mine. I don’t care about the pain. I just want to be closer to him.
He growls and grabs the straps of my dress, pushing them down until he can free my breasts. He pinches my nipples, drawing them into points even as I go for his pants. The throbbing between my legs is already unbearable.
He kisses me and kisses me again, still rolling my nipples between his fingers, and just when I think I can’t take anymore he reaches down and grabs my dress. He bunches the fabric around my waist as I push his jeans down to the floor.
I’m so sensitive right now that the first touch of his fingers against my clit sends stars across my vision. He slides his hand along the length of me, caressing and teasing with his usual skill. I whimper and reach for his cock.
I don’t even hear the door rattle. But Ward does, because he pulls back and grabs the handle just in time to keep it from flying open.
“Occupied!” he calls to whatever poor, unsuspecting soul nearly walked in on us. And then he flicks the lock and grabs me again in one motion, pushing me back up against the wall.
My fingers drop to his cock again, and my hand slides up and down the velvety skin. His mouth makes a path down my throat. He nips at me as I stroke him, and when I give him a particularly aggressive squeeze, he bites down hard enough to make me gasp.
He only pauses once, to reach down to the floor and scrabble for the pocket of his jeans. To get a condom.
The pill, I remember suddenly. We forgot to stop for the morning-after pill. But before I can work out whether or not we still have time, his tongue is invading my mouth again, and I push the thought aside. What harm could another hour do?
As soon as the condom is on, he grabs me and lifts me off the floor.
“Legs around me,” he orders.
I obey.
He shoves my back up against the wall. His hand moves down my belly, and then he slips his thumb between us, right where we’re pressed together. When he finds my clit, I cry out—then bite down on my bottom lip.
“Don’t go shy on me now,” he breathes. “Go crazy. Let everyone out there hear.” He begins to move his thumb in small circles, and I throw back my head and moan.
When I let out a particularly loud sound of pleasure, he abruptly pulls back his hand. He shifts himself so that his cock presses against my entrance.
His eyes lock on mine. I hold his gaze as he slowly slides into me.
“I love you,” I tell him when he’s all the way inside of me. “I love you, Ward.” I want to tell him over and over and over again.
He kisses me, and when he pulls back again, his eyes are full of fire.
“I love you, too,” he says. “And I intend to show you just how much.”
He rocks against me. Slowly. And he continues to look at me with a desire that burns deep into me, all the way down to that place where I’m most exposed, where all of the intense, tumultuous emotions I’ve been feeling since we fled Huntington Manor bleed together into something beautiful and raw.
“I knew from the beginning,” he says breathlessly as he slowly increases the speed of his thrusts. “I knew you’d undo me.”
I cling to him, my gaze never wavering from his.
“I knew it,” he continues to growl. He rocks into me again and again, and he’s pushing me so roughly up against the wall that I’m afraid we’re going to crack the tile.
But nothing—nothing—could make me stop him right now. He’s mine, and I’m his. Completely. I want him to have all of me, in any way he wants.
When I can feel myself building to my peak, I lean forward and capture his lips with mine. I want to be linked to him in every way possible when I explode.
And I am. He knows my body too well, because his tongue slips into my mouth at the exact moment I fall over the edge. I gasp against his lips and give myself over to the ecstasy as it ripples through my body.
He loses it, too, nearly dropping me as his own climax comes. I let my legs fall back to the ground, and we both stand there against the wall, holding each other and panting.
“You’re everything,” he rasps into my ear. “Fuck everything else. Fuck it all.”