Show Me the Way (Fight for Me 1)

And I’d just stumbled into the awareness that their lives were pieced together precariously.

Fragilely.

A tender, loving, imperfect balance.

It would only take one misstep to send everything toppling over.

I reached for the latch when I felt the flurry of intensity slide up behind me, the tension suffocating, the movement stealing the air from the room.

I spun around, my back plastered to the door as he approached.

Coming closer and closer.

He wasn’t touching me.

But he might as well have been.

He rested a hand on the door above my head, his face dipping toward mine, his words a breathy grunt at my ear. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing to me, Rynna?”

Lust and confusion trembled through my bones, this man pushing me away and then drawing me closer.

I thought maybe neither of us could ignore it.

The overpowering attraction.

Because the fever in my veins ignited a fire in my belly.

Torrid.

Blistering.

No words would form on my tongue.

“Tell me, Rynna. What do you want with us?” he murmured, low and rough. “Because I don’t have anything to offer you, and I won’t let you take anything else from us.”

I attempted to process what he said, what he meant.

But I couldn’t focus. Couldn’t see. Could feel nothing but the heat radiating between us.

Wave after blinding wave.

I gasped a breath, and he inched closer, a single knee wedging between my legs. He planted both hands on the door above my head.

Caging me in.

I felt it when he gave, the strangled sound that left him on a groan when he pressed against me.

The man was so hard.

So big.

So overwhelming.

That bottled heat reached a boiling point. Desire throbbed, lighting up between my thighs.

“Oh . . . God.” I whimpered when he rubbed his cock against my hip.

A desperate sound rumbled through the strength of his chest.

A hand was suddenly on my jaw, thumb under my chin, tipping my face up to meet the ferocity in his gaze.

Rage and restraint and desire. I couldn’t decipher what was happening. The push and the pull. The hatred and the need.

I could barely speak. “I . . . I thought maybe you could use a friend.”

“Told you I already have all the friends I need.”

Frustration bled free, my words a quieted plea. “Fine, Rex. You don’t need any more friends, but maybe I do. And maybe, just maybe, I don’t want to ignore this.”

My hand curled in his shirt. The beat of his heart was wild beneath my hold, the energy severe.

A brilliant, neon tether that burned between us.

A live wire.

Electric.

His jaw clenched, and he rocked against my thigh. His fingers sank into my sides, as if he didn’t know whether to pull me closer or force me away. “This is wrong, Rynna. You can’t do this to me.”

“Do what?” I whispered.

“Make me want you.”

“Why?”

Pain wrenched his face.

I struggled for the words, finally forcing them into the dense air. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you. You think I don’t see it? That you’ve been hurt enough?”

His thick throat bobbed. “You don’t know me, Rynna.”

“And that’s why I’m here. Because I want to.”

Regret seized his expression, and he peeled himself away, putting space between us. “I can’t.”

My spirit coiled in rejection, and those old insecurities flared. Vying for dominance. I drove them back, refusing their chains. “Because you’re afraid or because you don’t want me?”

Releasing a jolt of bitter laughter, he raked both hands over his face. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“You can tell me, Rex.”

He shook his head. “You should go home. It’s getting late.”

Disappointment gusted through me. Heavy and oppressive. “Maybe you’re just a coward.”

He flinched, and I turned away and pulled open the door. I started to step out when his voice hit me from behind.

“You know what it feels like to be left behind, Rynna?” There was a plea behind it.

I slowly turned back to look at him.

His hands were in his jean pockets, surrender on his face, begging me to grasp something he wouldn’t allow me to see.

I swallowed down everything I wanted to say and instead gave a slow nod of understanding.

Then I stepped out and quietly latched the door shut behind me.

The second I stepped outside, I was swamped with the clear memories of it. Because all too well, I knew the feeling of being left behind.

Rynna – Five Years Old

Cold gusts of wind whipped through the playground. Laughter floated on its wings from where groups of children ran through the fields, playing in their heavy winter coats.

My head was drooped between my shoulders, my hands close to freezing where I had them wrapped around the metal chains. The tips of my toes barely touched the scooped out dirt, and I dug them in, slowly rocking myself on the swing.

I glanced up as a group of girls raced by.

Laughing.

Giggling.

My chest felt funny and my tummy hurt.