He drives into me without warning, making pleasure and pain thunder to every corner of my body. The cotton sheets muffle my moans and cries, and the pressure building in my core is unstoppable. This time, I’m confident I won’t survive. When my climax rips through me, everything goes black, and all I can hear is the sound of Mickey snarling his release, spilling his seed into me.

The hard muscles of his body crush me against the bed as he topples over, rasping his tired breath against my sweat-stained skin.

My heart swells as Mickey rolls us over, positioning me on top of him so there isn’t an inch of space between us. Then he kisses me like there is nothing else in this world or the next that he’d rather be doing.

We hold each other, letting the moment stretch on. I realize another truth: we bring out the best and the worst in each other, but the only time we can breathe is when we’re together. With all the darkness in our past, our love story is as cheesy as it is cliché, because nothing else matters as long as we’re with each other.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter 33

ISABELLA

“I want to show you something.”

I blink up at Mickey, wanting to stay like this for an eternity. “What is it?”

A lopsided grin splits across his face. “It's a surprise.”

I groan.

“Hey,” he argues. “When have I ever done a shitty surprise?”

He has a point; I’ll give him that. “Remember when I was eight, you caught a mouse for me, and I needed a tetanus shot because it bit me.”

“I was ten years old,” he protests, then says under his breath, “I can’t believe you still remember that.”

I bite the inside of my lip and plant a kiss on his chest. “You should have been more specific in your question then.”

“Here we go.”

Hitting his chest playfully, I let him slip out of the sheets and into his pants. I follow suit, running across the room to fight the chill and jump into some warmer clothes. “No blindfolds this time,” I say.

He curses. I snap my head around to him, and he winks at me with a smirk drawn across his face. “I’m willing to negotiate.”

Taking Mickey’s outstretched hand, he leads me into the motel’s corridor with peeling wallpaper and spiderwebs decorating the edging.

“Should I be scared?” I ask, hugging his arm.

My body flushes with warmth when he kisses my forehead. “Never.”

“Not even a little?”

“Shut up, Bella.”

I giggle as I squeeze his arm tighter, refusing to let go when we reach the stairs.

Mickey smirks. “About the blindfold… how off the table is it?”

My skin blazes when someone walks past, and I hiss, “We’re in public.”

“Are you trying to change my mind? Baby girl, the thought of fucking you raw in front of other people makes me crazy.”

“What?” I squeak, hiding behind my unmade hair.

“Then there’s no doubt about who you belong to.” He winks and says under his breath, “And who’s going to be the death of me.”

I give him a nerve-racking chuckle that grates against my bones. Dear Lord, what does this man have planned?

I mean, what’s the worst it could be? My immediate thought is a dead body, but I really don’t know how much that fazes me anymore, despite how much I hate the thought. And there’s no way Mickey would show me a dead animal.

Christ, what if he made a super impulsive purchase and bought a cramped little sports car? Or like that time he bought three bikes because he couldn’t decide on one.

“Please, no blindfold,” I whisper.

Looking up at the ceiling, he groans. “I really can’t say no to you, can I?”

“I think you can.”

He squints, then bobs his head from side to side. “You’re right, I can.” As soon as we make it through the front door, he slides in from behind me, covering my eyes with his warm hands. “You said no blindfolds. Nothing about hands,” he says pointedly.

I make a noise of frustration, but my nerves are buzzing beneath my skin, so I can’t find the words to say as Mickey guides me forward. Pavement changes to gravel beneath my feet, crunching with each step we take until we come to an abrupt stop.

“You ready, Princess?”

No.

“Yes.”

I hold my breath as he removes his hands. My lips part on a gasp before I can hold it back.

A quaint sage caravan hooks onto the back of the pickup truck. Buttery cream and lace curtains peek out from behind the silver-trimmed windows. It’s the type of caravan you’d see on retro magazines and vintage-inspired mood boards.

I can already picture it nestled next to a tree by the beach while we both lounge on fold-out chairs. Or hidden away in the forest with fairy lights draped from the trimming as we picnic on the damp earth.

“Surprise,” Mickey whispers in my ear.

“Mickey,” is all I manage to say.

This is what I always wanted without truly realizing it: to be able to travel around the country, feeling sand between my toes, tasting freedom on my tongue. There would be nothing holding us back.

“I know,” he says smugly. “You don’t need to hold the applause.”

Turning in his arms, I face his stunning gray eyes that always seem to find me, even when I don’t want them to.

“It’s ten in the morning. How did you find a caravan?”

His eyes narrow into stilts before his lips spread into a smile. “Is that really the first thing that popped into your head?” He chuckles to himself. “You have such a beautiful mind, baby.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

He silences me with a kiss that makes me forget whatever useless question I asked. “It’s called the internet.” Strong fingers intertwine with mine, and he tugs me along. “Let me show you our new home.” Unlocking the door, he pulls it open to let me step inside.

He wears the same look he did when we rode to the horror house all those years ago. A smile stretched from ear to ear and the attitude of a kid who knows he did well and is waiting to drown in the ensuing compliments.

Quaint is the perfect word to describe the caravan’s exterior and the most inaccurate word to describe the inside.

The silver taps and handles reflect the morning light as if it hasn’t been touched since it was installed. A bed with a mountain of pillows sits at the back, beneath a window with deep green curtains. Perfectly white cabinets, smooth wooden walls, pristine marble countertops, and even the bathroom looks like it has never been used before.

“Did you fix it?” I ask Mickey, slowly exploring the refurbished interior. Someone must have gutted this thing and slapped a new set of everything. I can’t imagine when he would have had the time to do it on top of fixing up the horror house.

He shakes his head, slapping my butt as he walks past me to fall onto the bed. “Come here,” he calls, holding his hand out for me.

Slipping my fingers into his, I let him pull me to his chest, acting as a barrier between me and the bare mattress. We lie there in silence as he draws patterns onto my back, swirls and love notes. The heat of his intense stare scorches the side of my face.

I was wrong. This whole time I was misguided in my views of Mickey. Roman Riviera isn’t a liar who abandoned me. I wasn’t nothing to him or a girl he would eventually leave.

I shift to look up at him. “Thank you,” I say without really thinking it through.

“For what?” He grins, ready to be showered in praise.

“For the caravan.” But that’s not what I’m really thankful for.

“Go on,” he fishes.

“You gave me everything else I needed when I was too focused on becoming someone else. And then for leaving,” I say. Mickey tilts his head to the side questioningly. “You gave me the chance to grieve the child I never was and become the adult I want to be.”