“You were g-going away,” she stuttered, gasping at the feel of his hand. “I wanted to give you a reason to come back.”
“You shouldn’t have. You were too goddamn young and my best friend’s little sister. I knew Jack would kill me if he learned that we were fooling around.”
“I was fifteen,” she reminded him. “Old enough to know what I wanted.”
What she’d wanted was Patrick McLanahan, the boy she’d loved since she was twelve. Let skeptics laugh, but it was God’s truth.
“You were a goddamn tease,” he rumbled. “You’d worn your swimsuit under your clothes. You peeled them off right in front of me. Fuck if every guy there didn’t want you.”
“Except you,” she said, remembering his resistance.
“Oh, I wanted you, too, babygirl, but I had enough sense to wait until you were older. You didn’t let me, though, did you?”
“No, Sir.” She supposed that she should be sorry, but she wasn’t the least bit contrite. She had wanted Patrick to be her first. If she’d waited—
He added a third finger, stretching her out, preparing her for his possession. “I remember you standing by yourself chest-deep in the water. The sky was clear enough, you could see the Milky Way stretched out like a stairway to heaven. There was only half a moon but it was enough to see your breasts when I came over and you took off your top for me.”
Despite her blatant invitation, he hadn’t reached for her. Her whole body had ached for his touch. Desperate, she had taken matters into her own hands.
“You came over to me,” Papa Bear rumbled, pumping his arm and hitting her hot spot. “You wrapped your fingers around my cock and jacked me until I came in my briefs.”
She hadn’t known what else to do. She’d been trying to get him to notice her, but he was so goddamn stubborn. He’d kept his distance all night, talking to her brother and their friends and drinking beer that they’d snuck in. When the first of them followed the girls into the water, Patrick had kicked off his shoes, peeled off his clothes, and waded out to her, wearing nothing but his white cotton underwear.
She had tried to get him out of his drawers, too.
“I wanted you to screw me. You told me you wouldn’t.”
He had tried to shut her down with a tersely murmured string of swear words and a list of mumbled reasons why they couldn’t sleep together. She’d given him a handjob, hoping that he’d change his mind and take what she was offering.
“And how long did that last?” he asked wryly. “A month?”
“A month and three days.” An eternity for a teenager teetering on the edge of spontaneous combustion. “You were headed for boot camp in the morning.”
He was leaving, and she was desperate. Dub Rhodes had been watching her… stalking her ever since his release. She feared what would happen if he managed to catch her alone. He was dangerous. She knew that. For whatever reason, he’d become fixated on her. She had no doubt that he was capable of rape. Given the chance, he’d steal her innocence and rob her of choice.
He would take what she had been saving for Patrick.
Patrick Seamus McLanahan was the boy of her dreams. In her naughtiest fantasies, she had imagined him seducing her, deflowering her. Despite her youth, despite her brother, despite his plans for a career in the military, she’d wanted Patrick to be her first. On his last night home, she managed to make that happen. There were things in the past that she wished she could change, but giving herself to Patrick wasn’t one of them.
“You were tight. So fucking tight,” he rumbled, thrusting his hand and biting her neck in a claiming that betrayed his own tumult of emotions. Outwardly today, he had stayed strong for her, for their family, for the club. He needed to release his stress, to decompress, to reaffirm life and hope with sex, most basic of human needs. “I thought I’d never work my way inside, even when I finally made it past your hymen. Five kids and twenty-eight years later, and you still fit me like a glove.”
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