C12 Dam lover

Lara

Stupid Paul Reed or whatever the fuck he is.

I threw the bag on the bed and started to toss and turn. But with my hands shaking and my legs like jelly, I finally gave in and collapsed on the bed too.

I knew what I was doing. The man was strumming the feminine with his masculinity all dominated and shit.

Damn it, why, why him? And it wasn't because he looked good. Manala looked good, but I didn't lose my head over him. I didn't want to eat him or jump his bones. It didn't hurt to look into his eyes, craving something deeper, something primal. It was the fucked up situation.

I was spiraling down. I could feel it. I'd been knocked off the ground so many times in the last few weeks I could barely stand. And now this?

Mary was lovely. The town was lovely. It was a beautiful haven that stood free from the world with a small community that remained united by its home. I sensed it from the moment I walked into the bar. The distrust was gone and I had been accepted. And here I was, about to screw things up for everyone, because of Spencer, because of Scott, because my brain was too stupid to find another way out?

The police were not an option because of who Scott had in his back pocket. And how twisted was that? Trouble had come to me and I had no escape. Death hung over Spencer's head and I was his savior. A savior who wanted to ride on the limb of a man he was supposed to hunt down; one who might be a potential killer - though I highly doubted it - and one adored by the townspeople because he was one of them. He was an alpha male. A protector. He kept the town hidden, didn't he? He focused on me because I was an outsider. He focused on me too much. But maybe that was his plan?

Had he killed Scott's daughter? Did Scott have a daughter? Had Paul murdered another human being like Scott claimed?

My instinct said no. My logic said no. My logic said no. I was not naïve about killers. I had come across a few in the past.

Most didn't "look" like killers. The ones who jumped bail weren't the ones who had accepted the inevitable because of the crowd they ran with or their gang tattoos. They preferred to go to jail with a big limb and accept it as their rite of passage. They didn't run.

They were the ones you never expected. The ones who blended into society thinking they could run away from trouble and pretend it never happened. But it was easy to see it in their eyes if you knew where to look. And while I wouldn't say Paul is incapable of ending another person's life, I didn't see that look in his eyes. The one that haunts. The one that scars the soul. It wasn't there. And why should I think he was innocent?

Growling out loud, I had inadvertently knocked down the barriers that kept Paul's kiss , and my reaction to him, at bay for a while....

I touched my lips, and memories of his kiss seared my brain, leaving a reminder tattoo there so deep it would fall in forever if I didn't turn it off. Turn it off now. I pulled my hand away from my mouth and punched the bed a few times.

That man was sin on a stick, and he was playing with me. I was sure of it. But even if he was a player, or suspicious of my coming, something drew us to each other. I couldn't deny it. It would be stupid to deny it. Unless I was such a fool desperate for some damn attention, or support, while knee-deep in this mess.

I kicked off my boots and fought the urge to contact Spencer and check in. Not that I could do it on my cell phone, since there's no service around here, and I didn't trust landlines, even if Rose had given me permission to use the phone. They were traceable. Either by Scott or by Paul , if he was protecting his town from the woman who had arrived claiming car trouble.

Run away. Scott would not shoot Spencer , even if he had a reputation for him and his men doing that to people who crossed his path. Even if there were any missing persons or people who had died under suspicious circumstances with no active leads linked to Scott .

I rubbed my head as it throbbed. You've come this far, Lara .

The terrified nights staying in different motels, wondering if Scott's men had caught me, worrying about Spencer , worrying if I'd failed and my uncle already had a bullet in his brain. I had not only gotten a lead, but a successful one. It was a positive move. A good result.

It was only as I took stock of the arrival at Woods Creek, the size and complexity of the hidden town, that I realized I had fallen out of the frying pan into the fire. I had no idea what I was doing, but I had to do it, regardless. And Paul Reed . Not do it with him, though I wanted to, but he was a problem in another way.

That firework looked like a breeze. Forget that. He was fire. He was the definition of heat. And when he pushed me onto his hard member because I had bent over him while we were playing pool, hard because of me, I melted.

My panties grew damp and my eyes lingered after him like a lost puppy all night. And he touched me, the bastard, every caress like lightning on my skin. But the good kind. The deep ones, the ones that seep inside you and make you melt like a bitch.

Then he went and kissed me. He kissed me and dragged me into the depths of the hell he promised, and the addiction I never knew I wanted.

Ugh, that mouth. And ugh, my brain.

He replayed the kiss over and over again. The feel of the bulge in his jeans. The thought of his raw masculinity, naked, hitting me over and over.

My nipples, taut and hard, puckered under my shirt and bra. I hurried to take them off, tossing them aside. But it was a mistake. The air hit them, and the thought of Paul's mouth enveloping each one, sucking, hard and soft as he looked at me promisingly, made me moan for more. With distaste, I pulled off my jeans and panties and touched myself, imagining Paul's fingers touching and groping, promising me his member if I was a good girl.

The way he hooked a finger under my chin. The way he'd kissed me, his tongue probing, relentless, vowing to get under my skin and stay there until I gave in. I imagined him pushing me against the wall, digging his fingers into my jeans and satisfying the cruel burning in my pussy as it cried out for him to touch it. I let my thoughts take me to the place where he would pull down my jeans, unzip and let me touch his big member - because it certainly wasn't small after what I felt against my ass - and then find my soaking wet entrance, look at me with those intriguing eyes and penetrate me, giving me everything I desired as he fucked me against the wall of the inn.

Back in my room, lying on the bed, I rubbed my clit fiercely and cum with thoughts of Paul on my mind, fingers soaking wet, ecstatic from the high. But then it came crashing down like a heavy slab, waking me to reality. I whispered his name, trying to find the place of rationality that told me more than my intuition, more than my body and more than my soul. But I couldn't find it.

A tear escaped me and I felt empty. I felt empty because Paul was here, within reach to soothe the pain, and when I found out who I really was, and my intentions, he would never be . And that hurt too much for a man I had just met.

Paul

"Touch me," Lara said , grabbing my hand and tucking it between her legs. "There, Paul , please. Touch me there."

We were out in public. Anyone could see us, but Lara didn't care, and I was delighted to please her.

Moaning with pleasure as I felt her pussy wet and ready, I fingered her. She pressed against me, eager for more, so I pulled down her jeans and turned her so she was leaning against the wall of the inn.

Penetrating her satiated something in me so deep I wanted to howl to heaven. She pleaded my name. I ran my hands up her belly, seeking her breasts, soothed by the softness of my hands. But though the pleasure was increasing, the wolf in me was happy with the journey, I wanted to see her face.