Show Me the Way (Fight for Me 1)

“Tell me, Little Thief. Tell me you’re going to make me all the pies.” He kept on with his sweet, sublime attack until we were a laughing mess of prodding, tingling fingers, hysterical, shrieking laughter, and wild, pounding hearts.

It tapered off when he pinned my hands to the bed above me, those piercing sage eyes holding me firmer than the hold he had on my wrists.

That awareness spun. Fierce and intense.

“You belong here, Rynna. You’ll make it work. I have faith in you.”

And then he was kissing me as if he didn’t ever want to stop.

22

Rex

Fear tumbled through his veins and clanged in the hollow of his chest. Frantic, he stumbled through the brushy undergrowth, the world buried by soaring trees. Branches lashed at the exposed skin of his arms and thorns latched onto the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to hold him back.

It propelled him harder.

Faster.

He screamed her name. “Sydney.”

Sydney. Sydney. Sydney.

The howl of wind answered back.

Sydney.

I panted and thrashed. My head spun, fumbling through my thoughts to make sense of where I was. Warmth surged through my body when hands smoothed across my face, the softest voice cutting through the darkness. “Shh . . . I’m right here, Rex. I’m right here.”

Relief gushed out on a shattered breath, and I grabbed her and pulled her against my body.

I buried my face in her hair.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“I am now,” I told her. Because it was the truth.

Rynna.

Fucking Rynna.

Little Thief.

She was making me pie.

Fuck, she was making me pie.

She fluttered around her kitchen, this amazing girl spinning me up more with every swish and sway of her hips.

She had pulled on a pair of lace underwear and had slipped on a long-sleeved, red-and-black plaid button down that she’d rolled up her forearms. The bottom hem of the shirt just barely covered that glorious, round ass, and those sexy legs were bare. Long and sleek and driving me wild.

Obviously, she was right when she said this was exactly where she belonged.

I wasn’t talking some bullshit chauvinist crap like that fucker who’d thought he could take whatever he wanted from her, either. Her body. His vengeance.

I was talking about her ease and grace. The joy that was so apparent in her eyes, and the pride that poured from her every time she glanced at the recipe she’d clearly memorized. But still, she kept peeking at it with an outpouring of love. Like she felt her grandma right there with every step.

I shifted on the wooden chair, trying to rein it in. Ideas barreled out ahead of me. Everything I was so fucking stupid for wanting calling out for me like it just might be within my grasp. Of course, all the reasons I couldn’t have them taunted me just in the periphery. Threatening to reach in and pluck me straight out of this moment.

Problem was, that asshole piece of shit who had shown up at her door earlier this evening had stolen something from me, too.

My damned sanity. After what went down, there wasn’t a whole lot of it left anymore.

Proof of it? I was sitting at the small table beneath the kitchen window that faced my house.

At two in the morning.

After I’d woken from that same fucked-up nightmare. After I’d let this amazing girl see that part of me.

She’d comforted me, whispered her belief when she had no idea where my panic was bred. When she had no clue there was a part of me that was screaming out in grief. Terrified. Feeling guilty for letting her soothe me when that part of me was condemned to agony for all my life.

I’d rolled over her, taken her, soft and slow while she’d gazed up at me through the shadows of the night.

We’d showered and then fallen back into her bed where we’d slept for a few hours. I woke to her sweet body wrapped around me, and we were right back at it again.

It seemed once we got started, neither of us could get enough. Afterward, she’d tugged at my hand and hauled me downstairs. There was a knowing grin on her stunning face, turning me inside out when she’d plopped me right here and told me to stay.

Like I was going anywhere.

I’d already had her three times tonight. It shouldn’t have been possible, but there it was.

Lust. Curling in my guts. My dick way too eager for another round as I watched her light footsteps as she crossed the floor, the way her hair fell across the silky skin of her neck as she leaned over to pull the piping hot cherry pie from the oven.

A pie that smelled like its own kind of miracle.

Night pressed against the drawn drapes, and the simple globe light on the ceiling cast a pool of golden warmth over her. While she’d worked for the last forty minutes, we’d been chatting