Welcome to Sugartown (9 page)

“
What is
this?” I demand.

“
What’s
what?” Obviously Ana has no idea what I’m talking about. I’m
guessing she has no idea why I’m so fucking mad about it either,
but I don’t care. I want an answer to this question so badly that I
feel it like an anvil on my chest. I’ve never been this tied in
knots over a girl before and I don’t fucking like it. Not one
bit.

“
This shit
between us, what the fuck is going on here?”

She narrows
her eyes at me. “You’re drunk.”

“
Answer me.”
I snap.

A crease
forms between her brows. Fuck she’s hot when she’s mad. “Give me
your keys. I’m not letting you drive home like this.”

“
I’m
fine.”

“
No. You’re
drunk and being an arsehole,” she says, holding out her hand. “Give
them to me, or I’ll go searching for them.”

“
Knock
yourself out,” I say leaning back to allow her to frisk
me.

She’s got
this determined look on her face as she plunges her hand inside my
pocket. I’m not wearing boxers on account of skipping my laundry
tonight and the heat from her fingers on my cock as she skims my
thin pocket lining is so hot I want more. She gasps when she
realises that her hand is on my dick with only a thin piece of
cotton separating us. “See what you do to me, Ana?”

“
Sorry!” she
blurts out, all high and breathy, and yanks her hand away like the
damn thing just bit her. The pink in her cheeks is so delicious it
makes me want to kiss her. So I do. I push her back against the
wall and lean into her, claiming her mouth with my own, my hard on
pressing into the soft flesh of her stomach.

“
Don’t be
sorry, darlin’,” I whisper as I break away and trail kisses down
her neck. “Just don’t stop touching it.”

I run my hand
down the side of her hip and lift her leg until I’m pressed firmly
against her and she has no other choice but to wrap her leg around
my own. The space between our kisses is taken up with Ana’s breathy
moans and my grunts as I thrust between her thighs.

My jeans are
in the way and her dress is all crushed up between us. There’s too
much material between my skin and hers, and yet neither of us seeks
to move it out of the way. I just keep grinding into her as she
moans my name and tilts her neck so my lips have easier access to
her flesh. I know she must be uncomfortable in that position,
thrust up against a brick wall with so much of her back exposed in
that little sundress, my pelvis smashing into her so hard I can
feel the folds of her pussy moulding to my cock, despite the fact
that our clothes are in the way.

I know I must
be hurting her with how hard I’m pushing, but I’m too selfish to
stop. Instead, I run my hand along the back of her thigh and my
fingers slip beneath her dress, beneath the barely there lace
underwear and slide into her wet heat. She inhales sharply and
exhales on a moan.
Fuck
. She’s so hot against me I feel like my skin might catch
fire. I slide the pad of my thumb down into her wetness and circle
it over her clit, smiling as I feel her body tremor. She’s so
responsive to my touch. I flick my thumb back and forth, move my
fingers faster once I hear her breath catch and her hips rock into
the rhythm. She’s trembling and panting, so close to coming. The
need to take her over the edge consumes me. I feel it like a kick
to the gut, this desire to please her, own her, and be good enough
for her.

It scares the
shit outta me.

“
Jesus, Ana,
you’re so damn hot, I wanna bury myself inside you and live there,”
I murmur against her ear and I feel her go instantly still.
Seriously, she went from being seconds away from orgasm to being so
still she’s not even breathing. My hand freezes. I look at her
face. Her eyes are filled with panic. “What’s wrong? Where’d you
go?”

“
Uh … sorry,
I think that beer kinda went to my head a bit.”

“
So then, let
it take you over the edge,” I say as I continue my assault with
both my hands and mouth, but I know the second she puts her palms
against my chest that the moment is gone.

“
Just … give
me a second? I haven’t …” she whispers, and I gently remove my
hands from her body and take a step back.
No fucking way. That’s not possible … Is it?

Is that why
Holly warned me away? Because this walking wet dream of a woman is
still a virgin? And here I am, dry humping her up against the side
of her father’s house.
Fuck!
Ten minutes ago I was walking away from Ana Belle
because I’m no good for her; now, that’s even truer than before,
and yet I’d willingly give my left nut to be balls deep inside
her.

“
I gotta
go.”
I gotta get outta here before I fuck
this up worse than I already have.

“
Just like
that?”

“
Yeah, Ana,
just like that.” I take off toward the alley again.

“
Elijah.” I
can hear the hurt in her voice but I block it out. She doesn’t
follow me and I’m glad. I don’t know how many times I can stand to
walk away from this girl before I crack.

Chapter Seven

Ana

“
To being
single.” Holly taps her plastic cup off of mine in a toast and
downs the rest of her peach-flavoured wine cooler. I sit my cup
back on the table without tasting it and sigh. Her toast would have
been much more effectual if she didn’t immediately turn around and
suck face with Red Hot Rob.

I’m not even
sure why we call him that. I mean, his body is kinda nice to look
at, but he has this long greasy hair that falls below his shoulder
blades and the colouring of a ginger on an emo kick. Now that I
think about it, it’s like Alice Cooper and Bon Jovi had a love
child. Either that or some terrible nineties rock clip threw up on
him.

Wow, when did
I turn into such a judgemental bitch?

The truth is,
I know why I’m cataloguing all Red Hot Rob’s faults and staring
daggers at my best friend, who is so drunk she’s having a hard time
keeping Rob’s tongue in her mouth. The two are swapping spit
outside their mouths and I think I may have just vomited a little
bit in mine.

I mean, who
does that?

And while I’m
thinking of things that people don’t usually do—who the hell throws
you up against a brick wall and kisses you senseless, not to
mention the things he did with his hands, and then just walks away
like it never happened? I should show up on his doorstep and demand
he tell me what the hell he thought he was doing.

I’m so mad I
don’t realise I’m even moving until I hear Holly shout, “Where are
you going?”

I wave her
off like it’s no big deal and stalk toward the garage. Two of Dad’s
friends try to pull me aside, no doubt to lecture me on my sex
life, but I shrug them off with a half-hearted line about needing
to help the dragon with something inside. Once I clear the front of
the house I dive into the garage, strap on my helmet and walk Bespa
quietly out to the alley.

I don’t hop
on and start the engine until I’m on Main Street. The truth is, I
shouldn’t be driving. I’m pretty sure that first cup of wine cooler
after Elijah left put me over the edge, but that was a good two
hours ago and I haven’t touched a drop since.

I’m not
drunk, I’m just angry
, I tell myself, as I
coast along Main Street toward the motel on the outskirts of town.
I really didn’t think this thing through, I realise, as the wind
batters my bare arms and legs and skates down my back. It’s late
and oddly freezing for this time of year, but I chalk it up to the
fact that I didn’t think to grab a jacket before I made my great
escape, and wind-chill is a bitch. As if that’s not enough, I feel
a fat drop of rain hit my back and I almost drive off the
road.

I can see the
motel looming up ahead, but it starts to pour down long before I
pull Bespa into the gravel parking lot. It doesn’t matter that I
have no idea which room Elijah is in. The Sugartown Motel has been
here for years—almost as long as the Sugartown Mill. They built it
for the single men who travelled to the mill for work but it mostly
sits here with all the rooms unoccupied, unless the odd tourist
spends the night instead of travelling through. Personally, I’d
rather take my risks on the road, but that’s just me.

All of the
rooms sit in darkness bar one, right at the end on the second
floor. I duck beneath the awning and shake myself like a dog to rid
my waterlogged dress from the rain, and then I take the steps two
at a time until I’m standing before a green door with peeling paint
and a number seven that’s been nailed on crooked.

Now that I’m
staring at his door I think this probably wasn’t such a good idea.
I’m freezing, my nipples are probably high-beaming through my dress
and I more than likely have panda eyes. Okay, so no part of this
plan was a good idea, but I raise my fist and pound on the door
anyway. Several chips of paint flake off and fall onto the ragged
looking welcome mat.

Elijah yanks
back the door and takes me in with a bemused expression. He’s
dressed in a pair of jeans. No shirt. No shoes. And, sweet baby
Jesus, the tattoos are even more beautiful up close. God damn it!
I’m supposed to be mad at him.

“
Ana, what
are you doing here?” He pokes his head through the door and checks
the parking lot, probably worried I brought my dad and his biker
friends along for an old-fashioned town pummelling. “Are you wet?
Holy shit, did you ride here in the rain?”

“
No. I
freaking swam, Cade,” I hiss back. “Are you going to invite me
in?”

He steps
aside when he sees my angry, crazy panda eyes and I push past into
the warmth of his motel room. The door slams behind me. “What are
you doing here, Ana?”

“
You left.” I
accuse.

He squares
his jaw and narrows those pretty chocolate eyes at me. “Yeah. I
did.”

“
You usually
kiss girls and leave them without another word?”

“
Sometimes.”

“
So it’s not
just me, then? Good to know.”

“
What do you
want, Ana?”

“
A towel
might be nice. And an explanation as to why you just left me there
and ran.” Elijah clenches his jaw and saunters into the adjoining
bathroom, then hands me a clean towel like he’s afraid he might
catch something.

I begin
patting myself down. When I finally reach my hair I glance in his
direction, sort of like a prompt for him to answer my question. He
scowls at me.

“
Look, Ana,
you’re a real sweet girl, but I’m working for your dad. I know he
doesn’t like the thought of someone like me dating someone like
you—”

“
Who the hell
cares what my Dad thinks?”

“
I need this
job.”

“
What’s he
gonna do, fire you?” I snap back incredulously.

“
You’re a
distraction. One I can’t afford.” A look passes over his face. It’s
like he almost can’t believe he just admitted that. He doesn’t say
anything else and that simple sentence stings more than I care to
admit, and so when I realise there’s no budging him I put on my big
girl knickers –metaphorically speaking, of course– and yank them up
so he can no longer read the hurt that I’m certain is written all
over my face.

“
It was just
a kiss, Elijah.”

He narrows
his gaze, cants his head to the side and I know he doesn’t believe
me. “Just a kiss? That so?”

I fold my
arms over my chest and try to look indignant. “So.”

One corner of
his mouth tilts up at the side and his certain gaze locks on my
wavering one.

Crap, I think
he was testing me.

Double crap,
I’m pretty sure I just failed.

Elijah stalks
closer. I take a nervous step back into the closed front door.
Anyone else would be conscious of invading the delicate boundaries
of acceptable personal space, but knowing that he has me cornered
seems to make him really, very happy. He grins and pens me in with
his arms pressed against the door.

What is with
this guy and his blatant disregard for personal space?

“
You wanna
know what I think, Ana Belle?”

“
Not really,
but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” I
squeak.

He leans
forward, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. This small,
insignificant touch sends warmth flooding between my thighs and a
shiver down my spine. He whispers, “I think you’re
lying.”

“
You can
think whatever you like, but you’re wrong.”

“
Am I?” He
leans in until our lips are inches apart and the moment stretches
out in front of us like the beginning of a warm summer day on the
road. I breathe his breath, he breathes mine. Our eyes are locked,
our bodies move into one another, and then, when his mouth meets
mine, it’s like we both just come apart. I taste whiskey on his
breath. Whiskey and need.

I don’t know
if it’s the same for him, but for me, the whole world could slip
away and I won’t care as long as Elijah never stops kissing me. His
hands are no longer penning me in; they no longer have to. One digs
into my hip through the thin, wet cotton of my dress, the other is
tangled in the hair at the back of my head. His grip is strong; his
frenzied mouth works at mine, so hard it almost hurts, but I kinda
like that, too.