Your Dad Will Do (A Touch of Taboo 1) - Page 22

I make a noise around his length, but even I don’t know if it’s a sound of protest or encouragement. Apparently he doesn’t know either because he drags me off his cock and up to his mouth, and then lifts me with his fingers in my pussy to move me back onto his lap. He tightens his grip in my hair, bending me back over the steering wheel so he can drag his mouth over my breasts. “Your Daddy knows what you need, baby girl. Now get back on this cock.”

I slam onto him, but it’s not enough. I don’t know if anything will be enough. “It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“I know.” Shane doesn’t need me to clarify that I’m not talking about physical pain. He kisses me as I ride him, as I chase the temporary oblivion an orgasm offers. A little death, a small escape, one I need more than I need my next breath.

It hits me hard enough to make me cry out against his mouth. I’m vaguely aware of tears wetting my cheeks, but it doesn’t matter because nothing matters right now. Nothing but the pleasure coursing through my body in waves, sending me to new heights even as the last bit of my heart remaining shatters into a million pieces.

And then I start sobbing.

Shane manages to get me off his cock and get our clothing righted even though I’m no help at all. I can’t stop crying. I don’t even know what I’m crying for. As Shane gathers me back into his lap and holds me tightly, words bubble up. “I feel relief that it’s over. At some point, I’ll be glad we didn’t get married. Why does it hurt so much?”

“Endings always hurt, baby girl. Even when they’re necessary.” He keeps holding me, comforting me with his strength without demanding anything in return. He’s content to simply sit there and let me cry. I wish I could say I stop immediately, but even after four days of crying I have enough tears to drown the ocean.

By the time I cry myself out, his shirt is soaked and I don’t have to look in a mirror to know that I’m a blotchy mess and all my makeup is gone or smeared beyond repair. It takes longer than it should to realize we’re back in the garage, though he hasn’t shut it since the truck is still running. I give a hiccupping little sigh. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He tilts my face up, his grip tightening when I try to turn away. “Don’t ever apologize to me for what you’re feeling.” He wipes away my tears, his touch achingly tender. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”

I feel a little ridiculous pulling on my panties again, but one look at Shane’s face ensures I’m not arguing about it. The second I take my first step out of the truck, I freeze, all thoughts of Max disappearing like a mirage in the desert. Shane opens the door into the house and looks at me, one of his eyebrows arching. “Problem?”

My face is flaming and I can’t tell if it’s a blush or the aftermath of my sobbing session. “The plug feels funny.”

“Mmm.” He crooks a finger at me, his amusement deepening as I wiggle a little with each step. “Looks like it’s a good kind of funny.”

“I think so?”

“Keep it in.” He takes the coat off me in the mud room and hangs it back in its place. Then Shane surveys me. “If you need time—”

I’m already shaking my head. “I don’t want to think. Please.” When he still hesitates, I move closer. “This started as revenge, but it’s—When I’m with you, I’m not thinking about him.”

He studies me. “Eventually you have to deal with what you’re feeling.”

I know that. I desperately wish I didn’t know that. I look up at him. “I will. I promise I will. Just…not this weekend.”

For a second, I think he’s going to keep arguing. He knows this time with him is just a bandage on a bullet wound, but Shane finally catches my hips and pulls me against him. “I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“Thank you.” I’m not even sure what I’m thanking him for. Space. Orgasms. Being here for me to crash myself upon with the minimum damage. No matter how destructive my original impulse to seduce Shane, I can’t deny he’s caught me in the middle of a freefall. It’s still a freefall, but it feels more guided now. I try for a wobbling smile. “I’m going to wash my face.”

“Meet me in the kitchen when you’re done.” He tugs on the loose fabric of the crop top. “Keep this on.”

I don’t have the energy to push him. Maybe I will in a little bit, but I’m still reeling from the last hour. Good to bad to ugly, a whirlwind of emotions that have left me spinning with no idea which way is up and which is down.

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