Redeemed (Dirty Air 4)

His hands palm my ass before he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, holding on with dear life as he places me on the hood of his car. My hands search for any kind of purchase.

His lips never leave my body. My neck, my lips, the soft spot right behind my ear all fall victim to his touch. I ache, my lower half throbbing with need.

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nbsp; Nothing can stop him from his relentless torture. He fists the bottom of my shirt and tugs it off my body. His greedy hands explore every inch of my skin while his lips trail their way down my neck. “Tell me not to stop.”

Is he crazy? My neck pulses rapidly, each breath becoming a chore.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, my voice hoarse and desperate.

He pushes my body down against the hood of the car. Metal bends beneath our weight, but I can’t find it in me to care. I can’t find it in me to do anything but feel.

He leans down and presses his erection against my center.

My fingers dig into his shoulders as I moan. “If you’re going any further, then you better have a condom on your person.”

He abandons me for the rolling cart, finding his wallet in the mess of tools. I practically weep at the foil package in his hands.

“Been saving that for when you get lucky?” I smirk.

“I’ve been lucky ever since you stumbled into my life. This is an added bonus.” He smiles. It’s devilish, with a hint of something else in his eyes.

Oh my God. He did not just say that. My pulse quickens as he makes quick work of his sweatpants.

Everything seems promising until he freezes, his pants halfway down his legs. His body tenses as he exhales a deep breath.

That can’t be good. I want to stop him before his brain gets going.

“Hey.” I snap my fingers as I prop myself up on the hood of the car.

His eyes snap in my direction. He remains stoic, his face unreadable.

“Santiago, if you don’t fuck me, I’ll kill you. Leg be damned.”

His forehead scrunches as he contemplates whatever demons threaten to take control of him. He clutches onto the condom with a death-grip. The foil crinkles under the added pressure, but he doesn’t move an inch toward me.

Our moment is lost to whatever thought took over his lust. I release a tense breath as I scoot down the hood of the car. Making quick work of finding my clothes, I grab my shirt off the floor and throw it over my head.

I move toward him, helping lift the band of his sweatpants to cover himself. “It’s okay. You’re not ready yet.”

His shoulders tense. He evades my gaze, his shoulders rising with each agitated breath he takes. “How can you say it’s okay? How can you even want to be with me in the first place? I’m damag—”

I cut him off. “Because you’re worth waiting for. Whether it’s today, or weeks, or even months from now. This isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

He shakes his head, turning away from me. He throws the condom on the cart and exits the garage without looking back.

I want to run after him. To stop him and explain how I see him. But something stops me.

I’m afraid. I’ve spent my entire life being rejected time and time again, and I don’t know if I have it in me to go through it once more.

Darker thoughts threaten to take over, but I shove them away.

No. This isn’t about me. This is about him battling the darkest part of himself and accepting who he is—leg or no leg.

I try my hardest to stay up for Santiago. The living room seems less warm without him, and no show can keep my attention. My efforts fail, and I give into the sleep begging to take hold.

Something jostles me awake. The thud of Santiago’s iWalk pulls me from my sleep.