Pandora. “Mackenna, I’m not getting in that car.”

“Mackenna, I’m not getting in that car.”

“I see two choices for you, Pink, and two only. It’s either the jet or the Lamborghini. Your pick.”

“The door doesn’t even open right! What’s with that, Kenna? You have a big dick—you don’t need these gadgets to feel like a man.”

“Stone, seriously, get in the fucking car.”

“Jones, you want the entire highway to look in your direction as we go to the airport? Is your rockstar status not enough to make you feel good about yourself?”

He laughs. “Babe, we’ll be passing by so fast no one will get a glimpse of our faces. Come on.”

He slams my suitcase and a small duffel into the trunk, then comes around and yanks the door open. “What are you waiting for? Get in.”

I edge inside and when he leans over, my insides stir, as if my stomach is in a blender. “Why are you doing this?” His eyes hold mine as he reaches for the belt and slowly starts strapping me in.

“Easy. Because I want to. I want to be away from those bozos . . . and alone with you.”

His scent reaches me, and it annoys me that I sound breathless—even if I have been fucked ten ways to Sunday already. “You sure woke up chivalrous today. I never thought you’d grow up to be such a gentleman.”

“I can be gentle, just not with this car.” He settles down in his seat, then snaps the belt on with a cocky smile. He strokes the wheel almost with the same loving care he strokes me with, then sets the GPS, his arms bulging, the flex of his muscles causing an uncomfortable tickle between my legs. He starts the car with a big roar and presses the pedal, and the engine roars even more.

“So, is there an ulterior motive for us driving to the airport?” I ask.

“We’re not heading to the airport.”

He smirks and zooms us out of there with a screech of tires only fast, scary cars with expert drivers in movies make. Before I can demand specifics, he drops our windows and the sunroof, and the wind presses his shirt to his chest, every muscle grabbing my attention. I take in the buildings that we pass, then nothing. Every couple of minutes, my eyes drift to him. I can’t stop. The wind is the only actual sound, but in my head, there are a thousand.

Why did he leave? What does he want with me now? Does it matter? Do I want to take his love, just so I can fling it back in his face? Or am I trying to prove to myself that I’m loveable? Or am I doing this—this thing with him—simply because it’s the thing I’ve wanted most, my whole life?

“So what’s the plan?” I ask.

“We road trip to Dallas, spend a night at a hotel, then arrive for practice before the concert. We’ve got to beware of the fucking paps, but I’ve got my lucky cap for that.” He looks at me, raking his eyes up and down. “Want to stop for a couple of disguises?”

“I can always wear your mohawk.”

He smiles and reaches out to take my hand, bringing it over to his thigh, keeping his hand on mine as he hums a Mozart song. I swear it’s so fucking sexy when he hums that I almost wish he wouldn’t. It’s sexy because he likes real music and can play piano and guitar like a devil. All because of the way he listens to the melody, then repeats it, but with his own twist.

The wind doesn’t even touch his buzz cut, and it’s sexy. How it stays in place. He’s holding my hand, and that’s sexy too.

And dangerous.

Danger! I pull my hand away. “Let’s keep it real, okay? There’s no point in pretending shit if we’re just fuck buddies.”

“Really now?”

“Absolutely.”

“So, what am I supposed to do? What’s my role?”

He’s amusing himself; I scowl.

“Nothing. You be yourself—an asshole—and I’ll be me.”

“Charming as always?”

“Wow, seriously, what did you have for breakfast today?”

“You’ll be my woman.”

“The way you say it like I have almost no choice is irritating. But yes, fine. And we just . . . fuck. On occasion. And on that day when I have to kiss you, I’ll dance, making a complete idiot of myself. Then we finish with whatever terms, and I leave.” I stare out the window, but I hear him laugh, like I’m hilarious.

“I happen to hold my fuck buddies’ hands.” He grins and stubbornly takes my hand back. I groan, and he laughs.

“What have you got to lose? I know you haven’t been with a man since me. I know that guy at the hotel parking lot was a friend.”

“How do you know?”

“I just know,” he dismisses. “What do you have to lose, letting me hold your hand? I’ve held it tons of times before.”

I hesitate. I want to say something snarky, but the way he looks at me, his face uncharacteristically somber, calls for the truth. “Because you’ll hold my hand, and I’ll get used to the way it feels, and before I know it, you’ll let go of it . . . again,” I say, my heart hurting as I pull my hand free once more.

His hand comes to rest on the wheel, clenching it tight. I stare out the window, then burst out, “You’re . . . it’s not like you’re normal, or me . . . or this is normal. Dude, we’re in the middle of a fucking concert tour, with all your whore dancers licking you up. I’m just the one you’re banging.”

“You are the one I’m banging, and I like my hands on you. Deal with it.” He grabs my hand again, giving me a don’t-test-me squeeze. I hesitate. His hand is warm in mine, and the air swirls around us. He rubs his thumb into my palm. “I fucking like it, Pink,” he growls.

God, he exhausts me. Wears me out. I want to put up my walls, but instead I feel like crashing.

After driving for a while, we stop at a diner. “Everybody’s going to recognize you.”

Uncaring, he puts on his aviators, pulls out a navy blue cap, and pulls me inside, lacing our fingers together. He tugs me into a booth at the back, then sets his arm around my shoulder. “What do you want?”

I flip open the menu, acutely aware of his thumb absently rubbing my neck as he looks at his menu too.

The waitress takes our order, and when she leaves, Mackenna pulls off his glasses, turns my head around by the chin, and starts kissing and nibbling my neck in a way that makes my toes curl. I end up leaning into the nook of his arm and cuddling a little as we wait for our food. “I like driving you around in that Lambo,” he lazily admits, running a heavy hand down my hair. “Getting that pink strand of hair tangled up with your black.”

Delightful little tingles race through my bloodstream. This is how it could have been with us. This is how it could have been if I’d told my mother the truth. If he’d shown up one day. Or we simply hadn’t needed to run away.

“Admit it, you like the Lambo.” He rubs his silver ring over my bottom lip, the smirk on his face adorable.

“It’s so fucking uncomfortable,” I hedge.

“Huh. We really should find other uses for that mouth of yours.”

He shoves all five fingers of one hand into my tangled hair and I arch my body closer, pressing my breasts to his hard chest to let him know I want him to kiss me again. Reading me perfectly, he kisses my lips—softly, as if I’m fragile. As if he wants to memorize taste and texture and shape.

“Guys with bikes kiss their women harder,” he says. “Maybe we should trade the Lambo for a bike? Get something with power rumbling between your thighs?”

Already, there’s something rumbling between my thighs.

His voice.

The way it affects me when it gets all husky.

“There’s no way I’m riding a motorcycle on a highway.”

“No? No bikes?” He chuckles and spares a long, hungry look at me, his eyes laughing too. “I know what you’d enjoy doing. Other than me.” There’s that smirk again.

“You do, do you?” I think I’m smirking too as I raise an eyebrow in challenge. I’m such a good bluffer, I bet he has no idea I’m squeezing my thighs together under the table, fighting to quell the ripple of need running through me.

He prolongs the moment as though to heighten the suspense, his finger rubbing up and down the length of my neck now. “Well . . . do you want to know? Pink?”

God, I can’t stop grinning. I feel . . . young. Carefree. Alive. Sexy. Cherished. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway, Kenna.”

He slips his hand under the table and cups one of my thighs as he nods to my plate and whispers, “Finish your meal and I’ll show you instead.”

Shortly after, on our way to this mysterious place, we pull up in front of a gas station to feed the Lambo’s apparently voracious appetite for gasoline. While I get a bottle of water, Mackenna gets some gum, M&M’s, and corn nuts, and we head out again.

Mackenna took my hand going in and out of the store, then he takes it in the car again too. I tell myself I’m too tired to fight him, but the truth is, I like it so much, it gives me flutters every time he reaches for me. As we head down the highway, I watch, hypnotized, as he drags his thumb over my knuckles while he drives. The glint of his silver ring in the sunshine is growing deliciously familiar.

“Where are we going?” I ask for about the third time.

His lips hitch up in one corner. “Paradise, Pink.”

“Mackenna, if this has anything to do with sex . . .”

“No, babe, but you could say it’s damn well close to the next best thing for you and me.” He winks. And not far behind the wink is that sexy smirk of his.

I’m so puzzled, I can’t think of anything close to sex but . . . sex. Kissing and necking. Making out. What’s the next best thing to sex??

It’s not yet dusk when we stop at a school parking lot. I’ve never been in this school, have no idea what he’s plotting, but I let him guide me by the hand to a side entry. Mackenna greets a man by the door, then he quietly leads me to an indoor ice rink.

I stare at the cool, smooth ice surface in the quiet school and I can’t believe my own eyes. Mackenna grins.

“College hockey team plays here. I pulled a couple of strings.”

The strings of my heart? He’s playing those so well too. My chest has never felt so full as I take the skates he extends by the laces, and I immediately kick off my shoes and slide them on.

Ohmigod, it’s been . . . forever.

And a day.

I line up my skates and slide onto the ice with a floating sensation in my legs. I find my balance within a minute, and I slowly raise my hands and spin, my face turned to the ceiling rafters. “Ohmigod, do you realize how long it’s been?”

He ties his own skates and catches up with me fast: as fast as a hockey player. “A thousand and five hundred days,” he tells me.

When he slides his arm around my waist and pulls my body to his, aligning us perfectly, my smile fades, but my happiness doesn’t. He takes my arm and spins me like a top, for the first time in a long time, and I laugh. I laugh and squeal, “Don’t let me fall!”

“Never.”

He catches me when I grow dizzy, and then we skate and spin, skate and play, skate and race each other, fool around until we fall. We get tangled in each other’s legs and laugh as we go down. He catches me every time, always ready to break my fall, and then we sit there, my body slightly on top of his, catching our breath. Just like old times.

But now, he doesn’t need to wear a cap on his head to hide his face, and I don’t need an oversized cap on mine to avoid being seen.

His face is right before me, every angle available for my attention.

I give it my all, while he does the same.

I close my eyes when he traces his silver ring along my jawline, up to my temple, around my ear. “I love your face.” His voice is thick, sexy. Unique.

I feel it in every cell of me.

My eyes open to find his, and his stare is intent. Unapologetic. Reverent and still very, very busy taking me in.

“And your lips,” he murmurs thickly, his ring now rubbing them too. “I love making these lips smile.” I find myself smiling and feeling an intense happiness when he smiles back at me.

No bullshit. This is real. And perfect.

“All right, lady, time to go,” he says, getting up on his feet.

“Good. My butt’s frozen,” I lie.

But I never want to leave this place. I never want to forget how I feel when I’m in his arms, spinning and spinning and spinning like a kid.

♥ ♥ ♥

WE STOP AT a motel, the first we find after sunset. We’re both tired. Mackenna pulls me inside, opens the shower, and murmurs, “Come shower with me.”

My first instinct is no.

Too intimate . . .

Too risky . . .

Danger.

“No funny business. Promise.” He lifts his hands innocently.

My heart seems to lead before my brain can settle on what to do, and before I know it, I’m already peeling off my clothes, aware of the liquid tenderness in his gaze as he watches me.

He keeps his word, but I can tell it’s a test of honor. He’s very hard. His erection almost gets in the way every time we shift around to help each other soap up. I try to soap up quickly so I can finish quickly and stop feeling jittery and hot, but when he soaps me up with his big hands, I just can’t rush the shower anymore. So a quick shower turns into a long shower. He soaps me, and I soap him. We close our eyes. Groan a little. Whisper, “You feel good.” That came from me, and he’s not far behind as he lathers my hair with shampoo, his wet lips brushing my earlobe. “You smell good. I want to taste you tonight.”

The panel steams up.

“I really need to work,” I say reluctantly.

“No one’s stopping you,” he says.

“Okay.”

I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, but Mackenna remains, rinsing the rest of the soap from himself. As I towel dry, I notice him in the stall, turning the knob for cold water. He closes his eyes as the water runs down his chest. He groans, and I hadn’t realized he was so aroused by our shower; his cock looks like a baseball bat aimed high for a home run swing.

Between my legs, I ache with the want to have that, him, in me. Way to go for saying you need to work, Pandora.

Idiot.

I turn away when he steps out of the shower, and it takes me a moment to have the courage to take a peek. He’s got a towel around his hips, a glorious, wet rock god, flashing me a smile. “You okay, babe? Hop on the Wi-Fi and do your thing while I dick about with my guitar.”

Did he say “dick”?

“O-okay,” I say, flushing like a moron as I pull out my laptop and sit on the bed with it.

Is he still hard?

Did it go soft?

Does he still want to do it?

Hell I want to do it.

We both work quietly, and I peer from my computer to where he sits on the sofa by the window. He looked so fucking hot taking a cold shower I’m still stewing inside. He looks hot stroking those fingers over his guitar. Even when he showers, he can never really get rid of the kohl under his eyes, and Lord, he looks hot with that too. I can’t believe how hard he’d been in that shower. Can that possibly be remedied by just cold water? He didn’t pressure me when he’d given me his word, and by god, that’s superhot too.

Listen to me. This, right here, is all the sex I didn’t have for six years demanding to be experienced. Fuck that. I have work to do.

Back to my computer: I have an e-mail from Melanie.

Why aren’t you answering your texts?

At least tell me you’re alive.

Brooke is worried too.

I’m good I shoot back. Then I peer up at him again, biting down on my smile. Really, really good.

I smile. Yes, it’s good. But do I really think things will be any different from last time? That he’ll stop doing whatever he wants for me? Or I could ever leave Magnolia alone with my mom for him?

I can’t. We’ve hurt each other too much. Our past runs too deep. We can’t suddenly just be . . . happy.

Yes, but you can have sex, you silly nymphomaniac.

I set my computer on the bed. I can work when I get back home, to my life, but he won’t be here forever.

Quietly, I walk up to him. “What are you writing? Do you need more inspiration? I seem to be good at that.”

He smiles and jots down a couple of more things on his iPhone, then sets it aside.

I point at his lap, covered still in a white towel. “I’m going to sit here. You look like an amazing, sexy chair.”

“And I’m all yours,” he says with a curious glint in his eyes. He sets his guitar aside.

Once I’m settled, I slide my arms around his neck. “So, any crimes planned for the night?” I taunt.

“Aside from ravaging you, flogging you, and making you wake the motel with your yells of pleasure? No, none at all.”

I don’t understand why he whisked me away, but he saved me an airplane flight. He makes me have fun. Now I want to seduce the sexy fuck, but I’m unsure how to start. I can almost hear Melanie groaning as she’d say something like, “He’s a guy. How complicated can it be? Just stroke him and watch him turn to putty . . .”

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” I whisper, leaning over and licking his earlobe.

“Shit. Fuck. Really?” He grabs me and pulls me back to look at me, searching my face.

“Love taking a shower with you,” I whisper, feeling vulnerable to admit it.

He surveys me and his voice thickens. “You’re serious, babe?”

I’m so aroused just smelling the soap on his skin, I groan and lean over, licking his ear again. “I didn’t realize a man could get so hard just by taking a shower with a girl. Did you like soaping me? Was it on purpose, inviting me to the shower? To make me hot?”

His eyes are starting to smolder.

“It turned me on, Kenna,” I moan, rubbing my chest against him. I’ve never felt so needy, so desperate.

His cock is quickly getting into the game, pulsing thick under my bottom. “Do you want to bring one of those tits over to my mouth so I can give it a good long suck?” His eyes are dirty silver and his words are just as dirty. Just as hot.

“Yes, please,” I whisper, pulling off my sleep shirt and lifting one of my breasts to his mouth.

“How about a bite?” He nips my nipple before I can say anything, his teeth sinking lightly around my areola. I arch and rock against his cock.

“Oh, god,” I breathe when his cock makes delicious friction between my legs.

My pulse skitters deliciously fast and I bite his earlobe, whimpering, “Yes.”

“Hmm. You’re so fucking hot for it. How about we do start thinking of whips and floggers for you, hmm?”

“You’re into that?”

“Right now, I’m into how fucking hot you are.”

Mindlessly, I run my lips over his throat as I moan out, “And I’m into you. And this. And how hard you are under my bum.”

His erection is thick and long against my pussy and buttocks. I take my breast and feed it into his mouth again. Dizzy with pleasure, I watch his tongue lave the tip of my nipple. I watch him nibble, then suck me. Watching him do the same to both my breasts arouses me to the point where I’m drenched.

“Put a rubber on my dick and put it in you.” When I pull out a condom from the back pocket of his discarded jeans, he catches my face with one hand, holding me in place so I never once stop looking at him as I unravel his towel, slide the condom over his beautiful, straining erection, and then hold his dick up high as I lower myself on him.

“Oh, god,” I moan, letting go of the base of his cock so my pussy can slowly slide all the way down.

He groans, “Pandora. Gorgeous. Pink . . . open your legs wider so you can take more of me.”

I do.

Another groan, this one from both of us.

“Ahh, Jesus, rock me slowly. Rock my fucking world, Pink.”

He sounds so lost in me I end up kissing him, slow and deep as I slowly, deliberately slowly, drag out our pleasures as I ride him on the sofa. He drags his mouth down my neck, nips at my breasts, my chin, rubbing his hands just as slow over my curves.

He grabs my ass and slides one finger down my buttocks, caressing between my ass cheeks. When he uses his middle finger to tease the rosette of my ass, a yelp of pure pleasure leaves me.

“Kenna!” The pleasure as he penetrates my ass twists and pulls my body.

“That’s right. I’m gonna rock your world too.” He twirls his tongue over my nipples and fingers me deeply to prove it. I’m nearly in torment. My every orifice being fucked by him. I’m being cock fucked, finger fucked, tongue fucked at the same time by the sexiest man I know.

My orgasm hits me, fast and hard, and then for a while, he keeps prolonging his own pleasure by seizing me by the hips and lifting and lowering my body on his.

With my body relaxed and still rocking with the occasional residual shudder, I become his own living fuck doll, aware of his breath, the jerks of his chest, the pulsations in his cock every time he holds me by the hips to lift me and drop me down on him. I enjoy every inch of his ecstasy as he uses me for it . . . my eyes fixed on his face and the way his jaw tightens, his neck arches, and he comes inside me with a growl so sexy, my cunt reflexively clenches around his thickness.

“God, you feel phenomenal,” he sighs at last.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me down on him, catching his breath with deep, jagged pulls of air. He tips my head back for a moment. “How do you feel?”

“Delicious.”

“Hmm. Because you are. Delicious. Tasty as fuck.”

He drops a kiss on me and then leans his head back. His eyes drift shut and I notice, when I peer up at him, there’s this smile of satisfaction on his face. God, he’s so beautiful. His body relaxed, his hair so short it’s dry, almost instantly. All his muscles are surrounding me, and I’m being held like I haven’t been held for years.

I drift off to sleep on his lap with a strange fullness in my chest, my face tucked into the crook of his neck, and I think of how much I wish we could’ve been if we’d been able to stay together.