Quickly she swallowed the last of her beer and set the bottle aside. The warm brew sloshed uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach.
“I’m going to go change,” she mumbled and shot to her feet. Grabbing her backpack, she whirled away and hurried off through the crowds of people.
Reaching the dirt path, feeling overwhelmed by stomach-turning images, awash in unwanted feelings, Debbie picked up her pace.
Why had she even brought up the beach in the first place? What had she thought was going to happen? Maybe some small part of her had begun to hate the constant lying. Maybe that same part of her had wanted to set free a sliver of her truth and unburden a bit of her soul in the process.
Her eyes burning, she released a bitter snort. Whatever the reason, she should have known better.
Debbie slowed her steps and dug her sunglasses out of her backpack. She didn’t think she was going to cry—she hadn’t cried in forever—but just in case she did, she didn’t want anyone to see.
God, she wouldn’t ever be normal, would she? How could she hope to let someone else in when she couldn’t even let herself in? The burning in her eyes intensified. Beneath the tinted lenses, she blinked furiously. Her chest tightened. She would not cry. She would absolutely not fucking cry.
Noticing a bathhouse just ahead, she felt a small sense of relief. She would lock herself in a toilet stall and fall apart in private.
“Wheels!”
Debbie jumped, nearly tripping over her own feet. Whirling around, she found Preacher striding up a small incline, concern darkening his features. Her stomach flip-flopped. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She didn’t want him to look at her like that—with concern or pity.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded.
Nothing is wrong, she wanted to scream. I’m normal! Please, just look at me like I’m a normal girl!
“I’m fine,” she managed to squeak out.
“Lie,” Preacher snapped and plucked her sunglasses from her face before she could stop him. She attempted snatching them back, but he held them just out of reach.
“You’re fine, huh? Like hell you’re fine. What the fuck happened back there?”
Standing in the center of the path, a large group was forced to part around them, and Debbie could feel their questioning, curious eyes on her as they passed by. Biting her bottom lip, she looked down at her bare feet.
“Wheels…” Preacher’s hand brushed her cheek, and then he was cupping her chin, forcing her head up, forcing her to look at him.
His hand was cool, much cooler than her overheated skin, and she felt herself leaning into his touch. Her chest loosened, breathing becoming easier. Her stomach unknotted. Everything softened and slowed.
Debbie stared into Preacher’s searching eyes. There were no shadows there, no storms brewing. Clear, dark-brown depths stared back at her without judgment, without pity, without… hunger.
Debbie, all of a sudden, desperately wanted the hunger.
She didn’t remember going up on her toes or wrapping her arm around Preacher’s neck. She hardly registered pressing her mouth to his. It all happened so quickly. One moment she was looking into his eyes and the next she was kissing him.
Harder and harder she kissed him, faster and faster. Their noses bumped, their teeth clacked, their breaths were infrequent, erratic bursts of air between the tangling of their tongues.
She hadn’t meant to kiss him like this—so viciously. One moment she’d been filled with ugly memories, haunted by the touch of a monster, and the next she’d been filled with wanting.
Want rolled through her body like molten lava, turning her insides into liquid fire.
She wanted to erase all the ugly. And replace it with this. With Preacher.
Preacher. Preacher. Preacher.
His name was her pulse. Was the thrust of her tongue. Was the throbbing ache building within her.
His hands were on her now, one on the small of her back pressing her closer, the other cupping her head, angling her face. Their kisses slowed as they adjusted to their new position and then sped up again, his beard grating across her cheeks and chin. Her hands were in his hair now, her body bowed to his, her breasts crushed against his lower chest.
And then, just as she’d gone from aflutter to flying, Preacher was gone. His kisses, his touches, just gone. Dazed and breathing hard, Debbie staggered back a step, much to the amusement of several giggling bystanders.
Then he was back, gripping her wrist and tugging her off the pathway. He led her around the corner of the bathhouse to an alcove partially hidden by several towering pine trees.
Standing there, half an arm’s length away from one another, they stared. Preacher’s eyes were wild, his breaths hard, his chest visibly expanding. His shoulders were squared, his legs spread apart, one hand gripping his belt buckle right above the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.
She wanted him back. Every bit of her he’d kissed and touched wanted more. And in that moment Debbie wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted anything so badly before in her life.
He stepped toward her and stopped. “Ah, fuck, Wheels,” he groaned, looking away. He scrubbed a hand down his face and across his beard. “We can’t do this.”
Still reeling, she pressed her lips together, forcing her heavy breaths through her nose. Adrenaline and lust were caught in her throat—a ball of hot and cold, making breathing difficult.
“Lie,” she said after a moment, and his eyes shot to hers. “We can do this—I want to do this.”
His lips twitched “You’re… sixteen. I’m twenty-four.”
“I’m almost seventeen.” The childish plea slipped free before she could catch it and lock it away.
When he still made no move toward her, she tried again, one last time. “Preacher… I’m not a virgin.”
His nostrils flared. His eyes were liquid fire. But still, he didn’t move. More seconds ticked by. Then, just as Debbie was feeling the faint stirrings of defeat infiltrate her haze of need, he was back.
An arm came down on either side of her, caging her in, and Debbie dragged herself up the wall onto her tiptoes, reaching.
His lips were on hers, her hands tangled in his shirt, and they kissed hard and fast until their breaths grew ragged and kissing was no longer enough.
Lifting Debbie off the ground, Preacher used his body to keep her flat against the wall. Legs around his waist, ankles locked at his back, she brought that desperate, aching place between her thighs flush with the bulge in Preacher’s jeans. He ground himself against her, half growling, half groaning into her mouth, and if Debbie’s eyes had been open, they would have rolled back.
She. Was. Melting.
Melting into nothing. Weightless. Writhing energy. A feather-light slave to the throbbing need between her legs.
Everything else… gone.
She’d finally found it—a place to exist without pain.
Chapter 21
Heat.
Debbie was feeling intense heat all over her body that had nothing at all to do with the warm, sticky night air, the blazing bonfire before her, or the whiskey she’d consumed.
The heat was from the lean body she was tucked against, the muscled arm wrapped around her, and the calloused fingertips tracing invisible lines over and under her collarbone. Back and forth, up and down, Preacher lulled her into a place she’d never been before.
If she let herself, it’d be easy to forget that they weren’t the only ones seated around the bonfire.
Everyone was here; even Preacher’s father had chosen to join them. Seated in one of the few lawn chairs, Gerald stared somberly into the fire, while most of the others engaged in quiet conversations amongst themselves. Janis Joplin’s Summertime was playing on the tape deck and Ginny and June were singing along. Across the way, Knuckles and Max were roasting marshmallows.
Preacher’s fingers stilled as he bent his head to hers. “Tell me somethin’ else about you, Wheels. Gimme more truth.”
She shook her head. There was no way she was going to ruin any more moments with more of her truths. “Nope,” she said, her tone intentionally light. “It’s your turn. Tell me something about you.”
“What else is there to know? You’ve already met my entire family.”