“It’s not your fault,” she whispers again.
My knees give out, and I drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes, the sharp gravel digging into my knees. My arms circle her thighs, my cheek pressed against her stomach. Her hand runs through my hair, over and over, trying to comfort me.
“I hate him.” The words feel like razor blades in my throat. “He beats my mom, but she’s so small. I have to protect her.” Hot tears run down my cheek and soak into her shirt. “He’s a mean drunk, and he hates me for being able to play football when he can’t.”
Her words are strained with emotion when she says, “I’m so sorry.”
“I wish he was dead.”
Mary slides down to sit with me and pulls me into a hug. I let her. I hate that she knows the truth, and it hurts her. I hate it. I should have been able to keep my mouth shut and protect her from this. I guess Dad is right. I am weak, worthless.
It takes a while, but I wrap my walls around me and slide my normal persona on. Wiping my face, I clean the tears from hers, give her a soft kiss, then stand and offer her a hand up.
Grabbing a blanket from the cab, I spread it out in the bed of the truck and help Mary up. I stretch out and she lays next to me, her head on my arm and our fingers laced together on her chest.
The sun is setting, the heat of the day is lessening, and the moon is bright in the sky.
“You can’t say anything.” My words are quiet.
“I won’t.” She squeezes my hand.
We lie there until the sun is gone and the stars are bright, neither of us speaking.
“It’s getting cold. I’ll drive you home.”
Mary smiles at me and kisses my cheek. “Thanks.”
I grab her bike and put it into the bed of the truck, then open the passenger door for her. Climbing in, I start the engine and pull out onto the main road. The music on the radio is low enough that I can’t understand the words; it’s just background noise to drown out my vulnerability.
Mary lays her hand, palm up, on the center console. Without hesitating, I lay mine on top of hers and she threads our fingers. She’s comfortable. Easy to be around. It’s easy to show her affection because she’s so damn sweet. I hope she doesn’t get attached to me. The more I’m around her and Jonah, the clearer it becomes to me that I won’t ever be what she needs.
The Cohen house is bright with lights shining through the windows. From here on the street, it looks warm, welcoming. Sure, her parents are strict, but she and Jonah are loved.
“Want to come in?”
“Nah. I need to head home, check on Momma.”
Mary gives me a sad smile before leaning in to kiss my cheek. I get out of the truck and walk around, opening her door and helping her down.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
When I cock my head, she continues.
“For tonight. For trusting me.”
A knot clogs my throat and I nod at her with a tight-lipped smile. I hate this feeling. This vulnerability.
I grab her bike from the back of my truck and set it on the sidewalk for her. She smiles at me, her hand brushing mine when she takes the bike. I watch her walk away, up to the porch where she stores her bike and heads inside with a wave to me before she closes the door.
Chapter Fourteen
Jonah
Math homework and notes are spread out over my bed with my textbook open in my lap. Pre-Calculus is kicking my butt. I drop my face into my hands, defeated by these damn equations.
A tap on my window startles me, making me jump, my head spinning to see what it was. Roman is standing on the other side of the window, hands braced on either side and leaning in.
What the hell does he want?
Closing my book, I move my papers and walk to the window to open it for him. The window opens from the bottom and lifts, giving him plenty of room to climb in.
“What the hell—”
My words are cut off with his hand over my mouth. He’s standing too close.
“Just shut up,” he hisses at me.
Anger is rolling off him in waves. My instinct is to back up, get away from him, but he gets me pressed against my desk, and I didn’t even notice I was moving.
With a hand to my chest, he pushes me to sit on the desktop, then steps between my legs, forcing me to spread my thighs wider to accommodate him. The intimacy of the position he’s put me in isn’t lost on me. He’s forced me to be smaller than him; I have no choice but to look up at him. Blood pumps through me as I wait for his next move. Roman reaches for the back of my neck and my jaw as he crushes his lips to mine.
I can’t stop the whimper of need at the contact. My hands reach for him, pulling on the fabric of his jeans to bring him closer. His dick thickens against my stomach, and I whimper again. No one has ever touched me like this and in a matter of seconds, I’m desperate for more.
Lust licks at me, lighting my veins on fire.
The hand on my jaw moves to squeeze my throat, his fingers digging into my skin, controlling every aspect of the kiss.
It’s hard, demanding. He’s not asking for permission, but forcing me to submit to his onslaught. It’s delicious.
My body is strung tight, my cock straining in my pants and aching for release. Letting go of my head, Roman grips the belt loops of my pants, jerking my hips up toward him. He grinds his dick against mine, using his hold on my hips and ass to increase the friction. My hips thrust involuntarily, chasing the pressure, the pleasure. I want to touch him, feel his ass in my hand, his skin against my fingers, but I don’t know if I can. What if I try and he stops me? It’s not fair that he can touch me, but I don’t know if I can touch him.
His lips turn up against mine; he’s laughing at me, but I don’t care as long as he doesn’t stop. My cock throbs and pre-cum is leaking. It’s too much, but not enough.
My lips follow his as he pulls back, standing up taller to look down at me. There’s no wall to protect myself from him in this moment. I’m sure my face is an open book for him to read. I’m vulnerable to him and it’s terrifying.
I hate him.
I hate what he makes me feel. If only it didn’t feel so damn good. I need to know how everything feels when he touches me.
His bright blue eyes are dark with lust and my stomach clenches. He wants me just as bad, but he doesn’t like it. In a town like this, you can’t be gay. We may fool around in the dark, but we can’t hold hands in the light of day.
No one can know.
No. One.
The pure sex in his gaze is more than I can take. I will be a victim of his passion. I just hope he’s careful, or we’re both dead. The people around here will not hesitate to take us out. Not just blacklist us, or run us out of town, but actually murder us.
My eyes move to his lips, sucking my bottom lip into my mouth as I do. Roman groans and thrusts against me, forcing a shudder to rock my body.
His hand presses against my throat, just enough to make me wheeze a bit, while he lowers his face to mine. “You keep your mouth shut, understand?”
I answer on a shallow breath. “Yes.”
The word has hardly left my lips when he’s taking my mouth again. He bites the lip I was just sucking on, pulling on it and licking the sting.
Using the leverage of my hands on his shirt, I force him to move, pushing him against the wall. His hands slip under my shirt. The calloused skin of his fingers is rough against my untouched skin. I gasp when his palm flattens on my stomach and starts moving, his fingers exploring all the ridges and valleys of my abdomen.