Welcome to Sugartown

name and tilts her neck so my lips have easier access to her flesh. I know she must be uncomfortable in that position, thrust up against a brick wall with so much of her back exposed in that little sundress, my pelvis smashing into her so hard I can feel the folds of her pussy moulding to my cock, despite the fact that our clothes are in the way.

I know I must be hurting her with how hard I’m pushing, but I’m too selfish to stop. Instead, I run my hand along the back of her thigh and my fingers slip beneath her dress, beneath the barely there lace underwear and slide into her wet heat. She inhales sharply and exhales on a moan. Fuck. She’s so hot against me I feel like my skin might catch fire. I slide the pad of my thumb down into her wetness and circle it over her clit, smiling as I feel her body tremor. She’s so responsive to my touch. I flick my thumb back and forth, move my fingers faster once I hear her breath catch and her hips rock into the rhythm. She’s trembling and panting, so close to coming. The need to take her over the edge consumes me. I feel it like a kick to the gut, this desire to please her, own her, and be good enough for her.

It scares the shit outta me.

“Jesus, Ana, you’re so damn hot, I wanna bury myself inside you and live there,” I murmur against her ear and I feel her go instantly still. Seriously, she went from being seconds away from orgasm to being so still she’s not even breathing. My hand freezes. I look at her face. Her eyes are filled with panic. “What’s wrong? Where’d you go?”

“Uh … sorry, I think that beer kinda went to my head a bit.”

“So then, let it take you over the edge,” I say as I continue my assault with both my hands and mouth, but I know the second she puts her palms against my chest that the moment is gone.

“Just … give me a second? I haven’t …” she whispers, and I gently remove my hands from her body and take a step back. No fucking way. That’s not possible … Is it?

Is that why Holly warned me away? Because this walking wet dream of a woman is still a virgin? And here I am, dry humping her up against the side of her father’s house. Fuck! Ten minutes ago I was walking away from Ana Belle because I’m no good for her; now, that’s even truer than before, and yet I’d willingly give my left nut to be balls deep inside her.

“I gotta go.” I gotta get outta here before I fuck this up worse than I already have.

“Just like that?”

“Yeah, Ana, just like that.” I take off toward the alley again.

“Elijah.” I can hear the hurt in her voice but I block it out. She doesn’t follow me and I’m glad. I don’t know how many times I can stand to walk away from this girl before I crack.

Chapter Seven Ana

“To being single.” Holly taps her plastic cup off of mine in a toast and downs the rest of her peach-flavoured wine cooler. I sit my cup back on the table without tasting it and sigh. Her toast would have been much more effectual if she didn’t immediately turn around and suck face with Red Hot Rob.

I’m not even sure why we call him that. I mean, his body is kinda nice to look at, but he has this long greasy hair that falls below his shoulder blades and the colouring of a ginger on an emo kick. Now that I think about it, it’s like Alice Cooper and Bon Jovi had a love child. Either that or some terrible nineties rock clip threw up on him.

Wow, when did I turn into such a judgemental bitch?

The truth is, I know why I’m cataloguing all Red Hot Rob’s faults and staring daggers at my best friend, who is so drunk she’s having a hard time keeping Rob’s tongue in her mouth. The two are swapping spit outside their mouths and I think I may have just vomited a little bit in mine.

I mean, who does that?

And while I’m thinking of things that people don’t usually do—who the hell throws you up against a brick wall and kisses you senseless, not to mention the things he did with his hands, and then just walks away like it never happened? I should show up on his doorstep and demand he tell me what the hell he thought he was doing.

I’m so mad I don’t realise I’m even moving until I hear Holly shout, “Where are you going?”

I wave her off like it’s no big deal and stalk toward the garage. Two of Dad’s friends try to pull me aside, no doubt to lecture me on my sex life, but I shrug them off with a half-hearted line about needing to help the dragon with something inside. Once I clear the front of the house I dive into the garage, strap on my helmet and walk Bespa quietly out to the alley.

I don’t hop on and start the engine until I’m on Main Street. The truth is, I shouldn’t be driving. I’m pretty sure that first cup of wine cooler after Elijah left put me over the edge, but that was a good two hours ago and I haven’t touched a drop since.

I’m not drunk, I’m just angry, I tell myself, as I coast along Main Street toward the motel on the outskirts of town. I really didn’t think this thing through, I realise, as the wind batters my bare arms and legs and skates down my back. It’s late and oddly freezing for this time of year, but I chalk it up to the fact that I didn’t think to grab a jacket before I made my great escape, and wind-chill is a bitch. As if that’s not enough, I feel a fat drop of rain hit my back and I almost drive off the road.

I can see the motel looming up ahead, but it starts to pour down long before I pull Bespa into the gravel parking lot. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea which room Elijah is in. The Sugartown Motel has been here for years—almost as long as the Sugartown Mill. They built it for the single men who travelled to the mill for work but it mostly sits here with all the rooms unoccupied, unless the odd tourist spends the night instead of travelling through. Personally, I’d rather take my risks on the road, but that’s just me.

All of the rooms sit in darkness bar one, right at the end on the second floor. I duck beneath the awning and shake myself like a dog to rid my waterlogged dress from the rain, and then I take the steps two at a time until I’m standing before a green door with peeling paint and a number seven that’s been nailed on crooked.

Now that I’m staring at his door I think this probably wasn’t such a good idea. I’m freezing, my nipples are probably high-beaming through my dress and I more than likely have panda eyes. Okay, so no part of this plan was a good idea, but I raise my fist and pound on the door anyway. Several chips of paint flake off and fall onto the ragged looking welcome mat.

Elijah yanks back the door and takes me in with a bemused expression. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans. No shirt. No shoes. And, sweet baby Jesus, the tattoos are even more beautiful up close. God damn it! I’m supposed to be mad at him.

“Ana, what are you doing here?” He pokes his head through the door and checks the parking lot, probably worried I brought my dad and his biker friends along for an old-fashioned town pummelling. “Are you wet? Holy shit, did you ride here in the rain?”

“No. I freaking swam, Cade,” I hiss back. “Are you going to invite me in?”

He steps aside when he sees my angry, crazy panda eyes and I push past into the warmth of his motel room. The door slams behind me. “What are you doing here, Ana?”

“You left.” I accuse.

He squares his jaw and narrows those pretty chocolate eyes at me. “Yeah. I did.”

“You usually kiss girls and leave them without another word?”

“Sometimes.”

“So it’s not just me, then? Good to know.”

“What do you want, Ana?”

“A towel might be nice. And an explanation as to why you just left me there and ran.” Elijah clenches his jaw and saunters into the adjoining bathroom, then hands me a clean towel like he’s afraid he might catch something.

I begin patting myself down. When I finally reach my hair I glance in his direction, sort of like a prompt for him to answer my question. He scowls at me.

“Look, Ana, you’re a real sweet girl, but I’m working for your dad. I know he doesn’t like the thought of someone like me dating someone like you—”