Promise Me Forever Read online

  “Shut up, Cat,” he growled, reaching around me for the button of my jeans. “This asshole is going to show you why you should never have fallen in love with me.”

  He unbuttoned my jeans and shoved them down my legs. I didn’t fight him because…shit, I wanted him. I wanted to feel him stretch me and sink deep inside. I wanted him to use my body and fuck me like a man possessed.

  I wiggled my hips against him. He let out a soft hiss and tightened his hand on my neck, keeping me pressed to the table.

  “Stay still.”

  As soon as I did, his fingers turned gentle, almost a caress along my neck. His other hand slid along the cheek of my ass. My mouth went dry. My body trembled. I was so close to begging for him to touch me that a whimper escaped past my lips.

  “Are you in pain?” he asked in a harsh voice, cutting and cold.

  “No.” I shook my head.

  “Would you tell me if you were?”

  I bit my lip and nodded.

  “Good girl.”

  He dipped one hand between my legs. I let out a soft mewl.

  “Impatient?” he taunted, moving his hand lower.

  “No,” I answered hoarsely. Impatient wasn’t a strong enough word. Crazed seemed too mild. Desperate seemed too lame.

  Cash stilled, his hand so close to my core. “No?”

  I licked my dry lips. “I’m dying for you.”

  He let out a throaty groan and slid his finger over my clit. Jolts raced through me, electrifying my body.

  “Oh god. Oh god,” I breathed, my body pushing against his hand.

  He did it again and again, making slow circles with his finger until he was holding me down as I wiggled against the table.

  “Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Please.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  He slid his fingers past my slick folds then smeared the wetness over my clit. I gasped and shuddered. He held me down and made another pass over me with his thumb, going a little deeper. Pushing a little harder.

  I clamped down on my bottom lip, trying not to cry out. It was too much but he wasn’t done. He added two fingers. They slid into me effortlessly, stretching me. Preparing me for what was to come.

  “Do you still love me?” he asked, his fingers working in and out of me, his other hand still holding me down.

  “More than anything,” I groaned, trying to form a coherent thought. Lost in the feelings his fingers were causing.

  A deep sound of disapproval came from his chest. “Wrong answer,” he murmured.

  His fingers plunged into me hard. I cried out and tried to bolt upright, but his hand on my neck forced me back down.

  “This is about punishment and nothing else, Cat. Feel it,” he whispered, scissoring his fingers in me. “Take it.”

  I came hard. The orgasm shook my body in little quakes and made me stand up on my toes.

  “Fuck, I feel you coming,” Cash moaned, thrusting his fingers deep.

  As I continued to orgasm, he quickly withdrew. I heard his zipper lower then felt him position himself at my opening. With one push, he slid inside. A hoarse cry escaped me as he went in as deep as he could go, filling me completely. Stretching my quivering walls. Adding to my ecstasy.

  “Shit, shit,” he muttered as the ripples of my orgasm squeezed and clutched him, stroking his manhood in waves.

  “Please,” I whimpered, bucking against his hold. Oh god. I had never felt anything so wonderful. I was dying. Desperate. I needed him to move. I was crazy with need.

  He let go of my neck and grasped my hip, keeping his cock deeply imbedded in me.

  “What do you want?” he rumbled deep in his chest.

  Jesus, he was splitting me. Killing me.

  I took a shaky breath. “For you to love me.”

  A low, dangerous sound came from Cash’s throat. “Loving you almost got you killed. You get this instead.”

  He held my hips gently, making sure I didn’t get hurt, but withdrew and plunged back into me hard. Balls deep. Rough.

  I cried out, my body going stiff. My slick walls were sensitive, having just had an orgasm, and my clit was swollen from his thumb and fingers. It made my body grasp him tighter and my nerve endings scream. I could feel every inch of his hardness. He was so big and thick that every time we made love, he left me sore and tender. This time would be no different. I would ache tomorrow, not letting me forget where he had been.

  He plunged into me harder. He didn’t give any leeway and I took it greedily, biting down on my lip to keep from shouting.

  “You feel that?” he rasped, slamming in and out of me with punishing thrusts, his hips pounding my ass. “I’m fucking you, Cat. I’m using you. I’m not loving you. Isn’t that what you wanted when we first met? Just a quick fuck with no emotion?”

  “No,” I breathed, shaking my head and fighting the orgasm I could feel building again. “I’ve always been in love with you. Always.”

  Cash swore softly as if my words hurt him. But a second later his voice was harsh. “Then I’ll make you wish you never were.”

  He drove into me deep. So deep that pain and pleasure rippled over me. It sent me over the edge. I burst into a million, colorful pieces. Spots appeared behind my eyelids. I threw my head back and let out a cry.

  He didn’t stop, driving into me faster and harder as my body jerked in climax. I managed to turn my head and look at him over my shoulder, small cries escaping me, my body moving against the table.

  He had never looked so sexy before. The muscles in his throat were tense, the veins sticking out. His eyes were shut and his lips were parted. Quick, shallow breaths escaped past them. His hair was a mess and his whiskered chin was dark.

  He was holding back. I could see it in the firm set of his mouth. But I wanted him to lose it. I wanted to see him break apart and shatter. For me. In me. So I whispered the first words that came to me.

  “I love you, Cash.”

  His eyes flew open. His gaze found mine. The icy gray staring back at me was full of possession. Full of savage need. A primitive grunt left him and his jaw clenched hard.

  “Fuck,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. “Fuck, Cat.”

  He let out a bestial growl and thrust into me, forcing himself as deep as he could go. Warmth spurted against my core. A thick stream of cum hit me once, twice, emptying hotly into me. My body spasmed around his, squeezing every single drop out of him. He moaned and plunged deeper, pulsating and forcing his semen to stay in me.

  We stayed that way for minutes. I could feel my heartbeat in my fingers and under my skin. My cheekbone felt battered against the table. My hips felt bruised from his fingers. The wound in my side ached.

  I throbbed around him, soaked from his release. His hands stayed clasped on my hips, keeping me immobile. Eventually, my body turned limp and my fingers uncurled. I became suddenly aware of a cold draft coming in from under the door and the sound of the wind rattling the windows. Too soon, Cash withdrew from me and tucked himself back into his jeans. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t help me up when I struggled to push myself to my feet.

  My body shook. My muscles felt sore. The area between my legs was bruised and tender, slick with his essence. I tried to bend over and grab my jeans from down around my ankles but the world spun crazily.

  Cash reached out and grabbed me before I could topple over. He frowned and pulled my jeans up far enough for me to reach them.

  “Get dressed,” he muttered, letting them go.

  I stood there dumbfounded, still exposed. He leaned past me and picked his gun up from the table. Without a single glance at me, he turned and headed toward the front door.

  So that was that, I guessed.

  Tears burned the back of my eyes.

  “Shit,” I whispered, wiping the moisture from my eyelashes and focusing on getting my jeans pulled up over my hips. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  I wasn’t crying over the coldness that Cash had fucked me with. I w
as crying over my own stupidity.

  I loved him. I had allowed myself to feel something for him. Hadn’t I learned my lesson? Love only leads to heartache and no one wanted to love a girl like me.

  I swore under my breath again as I struggled to get my jeans buttoned. Why won’t the buttons cooperate?

  My throat clogged up with unshed tears. The sound of heavy, booted footsteps treading back to me didn’t register. I didn’t hear the angry stride or pay attention to the way my body grew warmer. I was too lost in my own little pity party.

  Suddenly, Cash was back in front of me. Without a word, he set the gun on the table and brushed my hands out of the way. His face was set in firm concentration as he started buttoning my jeans.

  I could see every detail of his face. The individual hairs on his jaw. The way his brows drew together when he was frustrated. The little lines jutting out from the corners of his eyes from the long hours spent under the Texas sun. I drank in each feature, unable to get enough and hating myself for caring so much. He was the man who could heal me with just one touch or hurt me with one softly spoken word.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked in a voice as warm as a summer day, slipping the button through the hole on my jeans. As he did, his knuckles grazed my bandage-wrapped abdomen. His nostrils flared at the contact.

  It was such an intimate touch – so possessive and careful – that I forgot to answer until he glanced up at me with a cold stare.

  “Did I hurt you, Cat? Answer the question.”

  With a flushed face, I shook my head. “No.”

  His gaze darted down my body. “Then why are you crying?”

  I chewed on my bottom lip, afraid to answer him. I had always bottled up my feelings. It was one of my defense mechanisms along with alcohol and men. But Cash had his way of getting me to talk.

  He slid his hand from the front of my jeans to the curve of my hip, pressing the bone lightly with his fingers.

  “Why are you crying?” he asked again.

  With my heart tearing apart, I stuck my chin up with defiance. “Because I allowed myself to love you.”

  Cash let go of me and took a step back. Coldness was in his eyes.

  “We all make mistakes, Cat. I’m yours and you’re mine.”

  “You sonofabitch,” I whispered, my heart squeezing painfully.

  A dangerous glint appeared in his eyes. He grabbed the back of my neck and dragged me toward him, careful not to hurt me. Leaning over, he put his mouth near my ear.

  “Yeah, I am a sonofabitch. I made you come on my fingers and then on my cock. I held you down and fucked you how I wanted, at the pace I wanted, then I emptied myself deep inside you like I wanted. It was all about me, sweetheart. Your needs had nothing to do with it. So yeah, I’m a sonofabitch. This goddamn war turned me into one. And you know what? I don’t give a shit. So hate me because I deserve it.”

  His words slammed into me. If he had hit me, it would have hurt less. But I jerked away from him and showed my teeth.

  “You fucking liar. You care.”

  He smirked. “Do I?”

  I saw red. Not an oh-he-hurt-my-feelings kind of red. A red-hot, fiery depths of hell kind of red. I slapped my palm on his chest, pushing him back a step.

  “Fuck you.”

  He smiled. The corner of his mouth curved up in what could only be described as sexual temptation on overdrive.

  “You just did, sweetheart,” he said in a smooth, let-me-lick-you voice. “Well, I fucked you to be precise.”

  My pulse skipped a beat. The part of me he had just left, clenched. I was ultra aware of the wetness between my legs and had a sudden vision of him between my legs, his cum making it easy for him to slide back into me again.

  He must have read my mind because his gaze burned. The air shifted. He glanced down at me then turned and walked away.

  Rage burst in me. I flew toward him. When I got close enough, I hit him on the back with my fist. He turned, glaring down at me.

  “Ugh!” I hit him again, this time on his chest, knocking him back a step. Tired of his coldness and distant attitude.

  “Screw you, Cash Marshall! You sat beside me day in and day out when I was unconscious and burning up with fever. You hovered over me like a freaking bodyguard so stop acting like an ass and telling me you don’t care!”

  He stood his ground, taking my abuse as I hit his hard abdomen. His body was like a piece of granite under my hand. I let out a frustrated sound, wanting him to show some emotion.

  He leaned forward, his nose going close to mine. “But I don’t,” he said in a dangerous-as-hell, I-dare-you-to-do-that-again whisper. “And if I did at one time, maybe I shouldn’t have. Maybe you wouldn’t have jumped in front of that bullet and gotten a hole in your side.”

  I felt my stomach bottom out. My hands started shaking. I stuck up my chin, not caring if he could see that my eyes were teary.

  I became aware of how close we were. How the hardness under his jeans strained against the zipper. How strands of my hair caught on his whiskers when he leaned closer like little strands of rope tying us together.

  He must have felt it too. He took a safe step back but I wasn’t going to let him go that easily.

  “You can deny it all you want, cowboy. You care,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, everything suddenly crystal clear. “That’s why you’re acting like such a jerk. You’re scared that if you love me, I’ll get shot or hurt again, maybe even killed. That freaks you out. So you’re going to push me away and make me hate you. Right?”

  His eyes went dark and pain flashed across his face but a second later it was gone. His lips curved up in a deadly grin that made my knees weak and wobbly.

  “That’s right, sweetheart,” he said, taking a slow step toward me. Invading what little personal space I had left. “I want you to hate me. Despise me. Loathe the ground I walk on. I sat beside that bed and watched you struggle to live. I watched you bleed and scream with pain.”

  I moved back, desperate to get away from the predatory look in his eyes. But he tracked me like a panther, moving with careful, precise steps. When my back hit the wall beside the bedroom, I was trapped. Cornered. His for the taking.

  He stopped right in front of me. I didn’t fight when he planted a foot on either side of me, capturing me against the rough-hewn wall. I didn’t flinch when he put his hands behind me. But I did jump when he leaned over and put his mouth near my ear.

  “It tore me up, Cat, seeing you lying there bleeding. It destroyed me. I have no love left. Only a need to fuck you into next week.”

  Oh, god.

  My lips parted. My knees trembled. I was acutely aware of the nearness of his mouth. The position of his hands, flat against the wall behind me.

  I reached out, needing to touch him. Needing him to know that I was okay. That I wasn’t going to die.

  His eyes burned and the muscles tensed in his arms when I put my fingertips against his abdomen, right above his low-slung jeans.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Cash.”

  “Yes it was, sweetheart,” he rasped, his gaze dropping to my lips. He ran his hand under my shirt, grazing the bandage over my left side. “This is because of me. Don’t try to deny it.”

  I shook my head, tears in my eyes.

  Emotions play out on his face. Frustration. Need. Desperation. Anger. But then coldness took over again. A mask of indifference came down over his face.

  He pushed away from the wall and backed away, putting a safe distance between us.

  “It’s over, Cat,” he said with cool detachment. “We’re done. Stop loving me and start hating me.”

  With a quick glance down at my lips, he turned and walked away. I watched as he grabbed the shotgun from the table and headed for the door.

  I wanted to follow but I stayed against the wall, hurt coursing through me. I never wanted to love him. I was too afraid. So I tried running from him and making out with someone else. I tried to drink his memory away. I tried it
all but none of it worked. He was in my blood and a bullet wasn’t going to end that.

  Sticking my chin up, I took a quick step forward.

  “If you want to push me away because you think you’re saving me or you’ve got some kind of guilt, then fine,” I blurted out as he paused to grab his cowboy hat from the sofa. “But just know that I can’t stop loving you and I’m not going to try.”

  Cash froze, his hat in his hand. Slowly, he set it on his head and pulled the brim down low. I held my breath as he glanced back at me from under the shadows of the hat, his eyes pinpoints of cold steel.

  “Then I’ll make you,” he said with quiet certainty. “And I’ll try my damnedest to resist you every time I turn around.”

  Without another word, he turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cat

  For days, I cried when no one was looking and stomped around the cabin with anger when they were. One minute, I was furious and the next, tears were in my eyes. But one thing was for certain. My heart was breaking, one second at a time.

  I eased down to the edge of the bed, holding my side. The wound was healing but it was ugly and red. Streaks ran from the edges and the stitches David had carefully pulled through my skin itched. It still throbbed with pain, sometimes bad enough it made me catch my breath. When that happened, Cash would grind his teeth and storm from the cabin. I think that hurt more than the wound.

  Sighing, I stared across the empty bedroom. He stayed away most of the time, always telling Tate or David to keep an eye on me and make me stay inside.

  I was going stir-crazy, I was sure. I was sick of half-ass bathing, using only a threadbare washcloth and a chunk of weird smelling soap. I wanted a real bath, not something from a bucket of freezing cold creek water that Tate hauled up to the cabin for me.

  I was tired of questionable-looking soup and the occasional rabbit someone shot. I wanted a steak from the best restaurant in town, a glass of my dad’s best liquor, and the chocolate from Paris he sent me when he traveled there on business. I wanted my clothes, my room, my life back. The one where I didn’t scrounge for every little bit of food or supplies. The one where I didn’t have to worry about surviving in a world gone mad.