Chapter Nineteen

Isabelle

I wanted to get as far away from Palm Springs as possible as quickly as I could. I threw some clothes in my Gucci backpack and slid it on my back. When I climbed on the back of Jameson's bike, I had more sensible shoes on. Black flats by Manolo Blahnik. I didn't even look back on my old home. It didn't feel right even calling it my home anymore. It hadn't for a long time. There was no way I'd ever step foot in that place again. No way, no how. The memories I was saddled with made damn sure I'd never miss that place. I refused to think about what had happened after I fled the basement. That was between Jameson and Scott. I just knew Jameson had saved my life and I’ll be grateful to this wonderful man for as long as I live.

“Where to?” Jameson asked me.

“Anywhere,” I said with a sigh. I leaned my head down and rested it on his back. I was tired. Oh, so tired. “I just wanna get out of here.”

He’d made a few phone calls and said everything was taken care of. We could go anywhere. Anywhere at all.

“Milling okay with you for now?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” I just honestly wanted to be with him, that was all that mattered to me now.

“At least until we get your car up and running,” he said, revving up the engine on the bike.

Then I could go anywhere. Anywhere I wanted.

The drive was long, hot, and my head was still spinning. I was still in shock over everything that had gone down. Everything that had happened after I was rescued was a blur in my mind, just like the desert landscape was a blur as we drove through it. If I never set foot in Palm Springs again, it would be too soon.

The town of Milling was actually a welcomed sight, I had to admit. As we drove down Main Street, places that had become familiar stood out to me. We drove past the motel without stopping—which I was thankful for. There was no way I wanted to go back there. I'd likely have dreams of Scott kidnapping me from that room for the rest of my life. It was yet another place I hoped to never see again.

That, of course, left only one place.

“I figured you wouldn't want to go back to the motel, but if you'd prefer—”

“No,” I stopped him, staring at Jameson's humble home, “this is perfect, actually. I just need a place to relax for a little while.”

“I figured,” he said.

He took my hand and walked me inside. The place was cozier than before, cleaner too, I noticed.

“No parties lately?” I said as I walked into the living room, noticing the lack of pizza boxes on the floor.

“Nah. Besides, I figured if you ever came over again, I should try to clean up a bit.”

I noticed that there were photos on the wall now, too. Photos of a woman who looked a lot like Jameson—the same woman who was in the photo in his locket. She smiled back from a picture hanging on the wall, holding a little boy in her arms. Her smile was comforting, sweet and full of love. It brought a warmth to the house that had been missing before.

Jameson came up behind me. “Figured it was about time I stop running from my past,” he said. “You made me realize all I was missing out on by denying my mom a place in my home.”

“I'm sorry, Jameson—” Tears welled up in my eyes, and I couldn't fight them so I let them fall.

He pulled me close to him and held me tight. “Nothing to be sorry about, Isabelle,” he whispered, “I'm just glad I got to you in time. I couldn't save her, but I could save you.”

“And you did,” I said, hugging him tightly. “You saved me. You came for me. Even after I was nothing but an evil bitch to you.”

I looked up and met his gaze, he was staring down at me, a gentle smile creasing his face.

“I wouldn't call you that, maybe more like a—” he said with a laugh.

But I stopped him from talking with a kiss. I pressed my lips to his—the same lips I'd been staring at since the day we'd met. From day one, I couldn't stop staring at him. I'd tried but had felt compelled regardless. I'd considered him off limits because was “bad” and all that jazz. But over the last few days with him, I'd come to see him for who he truly was. And if I thought he was sexy before all of that, well, call me shallow, but saving my life made him even hotter in my mind.

“Isabelle,” he muttered, tightening his fists in my hair. I nipped at his lips, silently pleading with him to give into me. He didn't resist my kiss, but he took it slow. His tongue only pushed past my lips once I made the first move, and from there, it was on. He kissed me hard with everything he had in him.

I pressed my body against him and could feel his cock growing in his tight jeans. I slid my hands down and started working at his belt buckle. I dropped his pants and took hold of his cock, a smile growing on my face as I watched him grow harder in my tiny little hands. He moaned softly as I started to stroke him—a look of pleasure crossed his face. He stared at me with need, a look so filled with unabashed desire, I wasn't sure I could handle it.

Jameson pushed me down onto the couch, his body landing gently on top of me. He shoved the ratty old skirt up to my hips and smirked wide when he took sight of my bare pussy. His cock pressed against my opening as he kissed me long and hard, the scruff on his face scratching at my skin, tickling me ever so gently.

“Please, please, please,” I muttered.

My body ached for him. All the adrenaline from today—the last few days actually—had built up inside of me and that anxiety had turned into fuel for an intense desire. This man saved my life, and there was no one in the world sexier than him in that moment. I didn't care that he smelled like cigarettes and leather, or that the couch we were on needed to be cleaned. Nothing else mattered but him and me—and the fact that I needed him inside of me more than I needed anything else in the world.

And he obliged.

With one long thrust, he pushed past my opening and plunged his beautiful thick cock deep inside of me. We locked eyes, mine wide with surprise as he filled me up, stretching my most intimate parts with his girth.

Together, our bodies found a rhythm that worked. He moved in and out of me with such care, taking his time to please me. To tease me. To kiss me all over. He was gentle, sweet, and considerate.

My legs wrapped around his body, holding him there inside of me as I bucked wildly underneath him. I was taken by the pleasure of it all, and I could feel my climax building ever so rapidly. From his breathing, I could tell he was close as well. So close.

“Yes, yes,” I cried out, digging my nails into his back and thrusting my hips upward to take him in deeper.

I clenched my pussy down tightly around his thick cock, spasming out of control as I came hard. And that was it. My walls squeezed and contracted, milking his dick, and the wanton groan escaping from my throat spurred him to thrust deeper, harder, quicker, until . . .

“Oh God . . . Isabelle . . .” he cried out, his eyes squeezed shut as he shuddered and came, kissing me hard—with purpose and passion.

We came together until he collapsed on top of me, sweat dripping from his face onto mine. He kissed me again, this time slower than the last. Then he smiled.

And that's when I knew. No matter where I went, I wouldn't be able to go far from this man. I needed him in my life, somehow, some way. As I stared up into his eyes, I was so thankful for him. Not only for saving my life, obviously, but for everything else he’d done.

He showed me that good men do exist. Even where you’d least expect them.

* * * *

~ T H E ~ E N D ~

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