Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

“I fell for you the first night.”

There goes my heart. He might as well reach into my chest and yank out the miserable thing. It’s his now, and I don’t know how to proceed. I can’t breathe, can’t string together words, can’t make my legs work.

He’s inside me, stretching out and rearranging and taking over. I taste him in my throat, feel him burning in my chest, and hear him whispering in my head. He’s talking, real adult conversation, and his declaration rips me apart.

I replay every word, aching for the truth in his gaze. A truth that has nothing to do with the one that led me here.

“This changes everything.” My chest heaves beneath the tight fold of my arms.

“In the best way.”

“It won’t end well.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He takes another step toward me, pausing a few feet away. “It won’t end. Period.”

“Think about what you’re saying.”

“I don’t need to think.” He pounds a fist against his chest. “I feel it.”

I marvel at his conviction. I’ve heard the words throughout my life, the I love yous muttered after sex, written in birthday cards, and tossed over shoulders on the way out the door. But I’ve never felt them broadcasted from someone with such soul-deep confidence.

He hasn’t even uttered the trite sentiment. Instead, he communicates it with a look, lets it spill from his eyes, his pores, his breaths so profoundly and candidly it decimates me.

Tears rise, unbidden. Fearful tears. Grateful tears. Greedy, hopeful, naive tears.

I turn away and run like a coward, fully aware he’ll catch me. He knows the land. He has longer legs, and he’s determined. So fucking persistent. I don’t stand a chance.

But I run anyway, stealing time to gather my wits. I can fight him, but I won’t win.

Because I don’t want to.

The tread of boots sounds behind me, gaining speed. My blood pressure explodes. Adrenaline floods my system, and my scalp crawls with dread and anticipation. He’s going to capture me, restrain me, force me to bend, and blow my fucking mind.

I pick up my pace, but it’s too late. His arms hook around my waist and lift me from the ground.

“Put me down!” Heart pounding, I kick my legs and gnash my teeth. “You don’t understand—”

“Forget the past.” His chest flexes against my back, his lips brushing my ear. “Move forward.”

“I am moving forward.”

“With me. I’m right here.” He turns me in his arms to face him and coils the fall of my hair around his fist, holding on. “We’ll do this together. Nothing’s stopping us.”

Eventually, my past will catch up, and it will stop us.

But if I leave now, it’ll hurt. Deeply. Permanently. It’ll hurt if I leave a year from now. It’ll hurt no matter what. There’s no avoiding the inevitable devastation.

My heart already decided. It moved in with him, slept in his arms, and surrendered itself in the middle of a thunderstorm.

My damn heart forgot that love sucks, that it scars the soul, tramples trust, and hollows out the body.

Anger flares in my chest. If I’m going to fight him, shaking and naked while considering my demise, it’s only fair that he does the same.

“Remove your clothes.” I take advantage of his shock and wriggle out of his embrace.

He’s hidden in darkness as I step back. But with my next step, his face becomes clearer, lighter. By the time I edge a few feet away, a silver glow illuminates his gorgeous features—thick fringes of lashes, straight nose, sharp jawline, and strong lips that neither smile nor scowl.

I tilt my head back and lock onto the bright white moon. It’s now in full view beside a waning mass of charcoal clouds.

Returning to Jarret, I find him watching me. He hasn’t moved.

Hands at his sides, fly hanging open, bare chest rising and falling in the moonlight, he doesn’t hurry toward our fated moment. He draws it out, as if waiting to see who will break first.

The moon shines a spotlight on his vigilant gaze, exposing the flare of his nostrils, the rigid tension in his stance, and the flex of hands at his sides.

I’m thrilled I can see him now, but it means he can also see me. Every naked flaw, spindly limb, and unattractive blemish.

I bar an arm across my small breasts and lower a hand between my legs.

“Don’t hide from me.” He prowls closer.

“Your clothes.” I circle him, staying out of his reach.

“I prefer to do this in a bed.”

“Like you did with McKenna?” My insides clench. “I thought you’d be more adventurous than that.”

His jaw goes hard.

“I’ve never had sex outside of a bedroom.” I stand taller, wrapped up in my arms. “I’ve never had sex without love.”

Something menacing shifts across his face. “How many lovers?”

“One in high school. One in college.” I swallow. “One after.”

I’ve fallen in love three times. Had sex with three men. Failed three relationships. I swore there wouldn’t be a fourth, and here I am, sucking at life.