Free The McCullagh Inn in Maine by Jen McLaughlin Page A

hair and my shirt, nodding, not letting go. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m not losing you again, Chels. Yes, I’m sure.”
    My heart twisted, and I opened my mouth to tell him he had to lose me again. I did trust him, but I’d already put plans in motion. The other night, after mourning the loss of the life I wouldn’t get, I’d contacted the feds. I hated them even more than the cops—being an O’Kane and all, I couldn’t help it. But in a few days, I’d disappear again with my brother at my side, and there would be no finding me this time.
    It would be over between Jeremy and me, and he’d be better off because of it.
    But the second his lips touched mine, I swallowed the words. He backed us out of the living room, his lips never leaving mine as we stumbled toward the stairs. By the time we made it to my bedroom, I was a mess of trembling need and untapped emotion—a dangerous combination. We fell back on the bed and it felt so right that it stole my breath. All the more painful that soon, I’d be losing him all over again.
    Over the past few days, I’d pictured an actual life with Jeremy by my side as my accountant and jack-of-all-trades. And damn it, that life we could have shared had sounded good. Him. Me. Falling in love all over again. Turning this inn into a home for us and a sanctuary for others. It had been everything I ever wanted.
    His hands roamed over my body. Down my hip, around the swells of my breasts, across my ribs. When he closed a hand over my breast, dragging the side of his thumb across my hard nipple, I gasped. Desire pooled in my belly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. He took advantage of my open mouth, his tongue slipping inside to claim mine as he squeezed my nipple between his fingers.
    We undressed each other with unsteady hands, clothes flying everywhere. By the time I was down to a thong, its matching red bra tossed on the floor, all rational thought fled my brain. I lay on the bed, breathing heavily, as he tugged his boxers down. When he stood there, naked, staring down at me as if I meant the whole world to him, I sucked in a breath.
    And I didn’t exhale. If I did, I’d say something stupid like how I loved him, too. I’d say he was the only man who had never lied to me.
    He rolled a condom on and crawled up my body, leaving kisses in his wake. My calf. My knee. He placed a love bite on my inner thigh, then rolled my thong down my legs, his fingers burning on my skin as he went. A fire was hot within me, and there was only one way to put it out.
    I spread my legs, letting my knees fall to the side. He slipped his hands under my ass, lifting me up to his mouth, and finally gave me what I wanted—his mouth on me. It was magical, and crazy, and so powerful that for a second I thought I might be dreaming this whole thing. But then his fingers dug into my skin, his teeth scraped me, and I was breathing heavily, panting, and writhing against his mouth as the pleasure rose higher and higher. I couldn’t breathe .
    After a few minutes of this perfect torture, he rolled his tongue over me, once, twice, and with mind-clearing clarity, I came hard, my whole body hardening impossibly before I collapsed, breathing heavily. He didn’t stop there, like any other man would have.
    Instead, he tapped my sensitive flesh, sending me soaring over the edge again, tears running down my face because it was so intense. Every nerve, every sensation, was heightened because this was Jeremy. He was the one. He’d always been the one. The only reason I’d been with Richard was because I didn’t think I deserved this—I didn’t deserve a guy like Jeremy. Especially after what we’d done the night before his wedding. In a way, I was punishing myself by ruining the only good thing I’d ever had in life.
    I’d stayed with an abusive asshole because I let myself believe it was what I deserved. Once this was all over and I turned into state’s evidence, they