Unforgiven by Elizabeth Finn

“Darren.” There was no real reason she said his name—only that she couldn’t keep her mouth shut or keep her voice stifled any longer. She started gasping as his strokes sped, and his fingers pushed and pulled harshly in and out of her body.
    “You feel so good. God, I want you so much.” His voice tormented her with his most erotic and confessing words.
    She cried out as her orgasm raced through her body.
    “Bailey.” He was still stroking, slowing the penetration of his fingers as she trembled around him. “I have to have you.” She nodded as her head sank to his chest. She’d give every ounce of herself to this man in a heartbeat.
    “Darren?” The unwelcome voice jolted both their bodies to attention as his name was hollered from a distance. “Darren?”
    “Fuck.” He muttered as he slipped his fingers from her and pulled away, stepping back. “I’m over here, Trinity.” He studied Bailey as she fought the hot, burning heat that was flushing her skin while they waited for Trinity. Trinity was still up on the patio of the bar, and she couldn’t see them. Darren shook his head in frustration while they listened to Trinity’s clicking heels near them.
    “Darren—”
    “Stop, Bailey. There’s nothing to say. I fucked up.” Then he shook his head again as he watched her. “Fuck.” He couldn’t seem to stop muttering, and when Trinity turned toward them as she stepped off the last step to the seawall sidewalk, Darren turned from Bailey and started walking toward Trinity, leaving Bailey staring like an ass after him and feeling like an ass too.
     

Chapter Seven
    Now
    “Why did you offer to give me a ride?” Her voice broke his concentration on the road. In truth, his concentration was nowhere near the road, and it was already entirely on her, but he’d been zoned out thinking about her, not at all expecting to hear her voice.
    “I thought I already told you. Your sutures need to be removed.”
    “Then why aren’t we headed toward the hospital?” Her voice was quiet, unsure, and her fingers trembled as much sitting beside him in his car as they did the first night in the hospital. Her discomfort left him feeling just as conflicted now as it did then.
    “I’m just going to stop by my home; it’s closer than the hospital, and I have what I need there.” And he wanted her there. He couldn’t—hell, wouldn’t—admit that to her, and regardless, he didn’t even understand why anyway, so there was nothing at all to explain. He just wanted her there, wanted her near. He would torment her when the compelling and angry need would surface, and she’d likely tolerate it. He’d hurt her with every cold remark he made, and then he’d go back to utter confusion at what was driving him. He’d only seen her a handful of times recently, but he knew very well how he would respond to her. It was as if his need to hurt her was an addiction he couldn’t deny. But his need to see her and be near her in some way was becoming just as compelling as his anger.
    She said nothing in response, and she stared straight out the front window. When he turned onto his long and winding lane that led back into the woods and past the Andersons’ house, she started looking around. It was really very beautiful, and it was why he’d chosen the spot. When he risked a glimpse at her, her lips were pulling up slightly. It’s not as if they hadn’t both grown up for the most part in the Ozarks, but his particular slice of heaven compared to no other. The narrow road was winding as it moved up into the hills. There was a stream that ran and followed the lane, crossing under a stone bridge in one place and crossing back over the roadway itself in a shallow, slow-moving sheet that literally covered the roadway in another. The green in the surrounding deep forest was lush, the trees were tall, and it was like being surrounded by a thick, green carpet with a green canopy overhead.
    When Bailey caught him looking at her,