Page 59

~ SAM ~

I wasn’t exactly worried about her as we left the prison. After all, I’d watched her get stronger as she stood there, not weaker. But with Bridget I never quite knew what the fallout would be. How her mind might twist stuff—or enjoy it.

So, when we’d finally been escorted back through the rabbit warren of the prison offices, signed out, and been ushered out the last locked door, I took her hand and pulled her down that last hallway to the public waiting room, then outside into the sun, and I took a deep breath.

Being in the prison would never stop bothering me.

I’d also never stop doing it.

I knew what bondage felt like. I also knew freedom. Thank God, I knew freedom.

The gravel of the parking lot crunched under our feet as I led her briskly back to the car. Gerald’s car was at the back, but I couldn’t see him from here. I pulled my phone out.

“You okay?” I asked her quietly as I opened her car door for her.

She shrugged. “I think so,” she said. And she sounded surprised.

“Do you want to talk to Gerald?”

“No. Tell him I’m good.”

I shut her door when she got inside and trotted around to mine, texting him quickly before getting in and turning the key in the ignition immediately .

Once we were back on the highway, I took her hand and held it. She laced her fingers through mine and squeezed, but kept her face turned to the sun pouring in the window on her side.

“You sure you’re okay?” I asked her a couple miles later. “If you want to talk—”

“I’m sure,” she said, nodding, still not looking at me. Then she turned and smiled. “I don’t need my father, Sam. I don’t need Jeremy. Or the FBI. I don’t need any of that shit. I need you.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” I huffed, turning back to the road. “If it was Jeremy, we might have had a few words.”

I still hated that guy. But I thought I understood him better now.

Jealousy would do crazy things to a man. Especially a man who was maybe a little unhinged himself.

And it was clear that Bridget attracted unhinged men.

I huffed again, grinning at myself.

“What are you so happy about?” Bridget asked suspiciously.

“I’m just glad I won.”

“Won what?”

“The crazy lottery,” I said with a shrug.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“It just occurred to me that you were raised by a man who had a screw loose. And you kind of attract other men with a few bolts that need tightening too.”

She frowned. I turned and grinned at her. “I won. I was the right kind of crazy.”

“Oh. I thought you were saying I was crazy.”

“I definitely was. That too,” I said, laughing when she slapped my arm.

I was relieved that she seemed pretty relaxed. A little thoughtful maybe. A little quiet. There’d probably be tears later when we got home and it hit her what she’d done today.

“I’m really proud of you, Bridget,” I said quietly, squeezing her hand.

“For being crazy?”

“No, for doing that today. You did it, and you did it honestly. That’s the hard part. Most people think being brave is showing up in the hard spot. It’s not. Being brave is being authentic in the hard spot. Being honest about how you feel, no matter what anyone else thinks about it. That takes real courage. And…” I turned to look at her. “It’s how we find freedom, too.”

“I hope so. I am ready to stop having to fight to breathe,” she muttered.

“If I can help, let me know.”

She turned to look at me with a thoughtful expression.

“What?” I asked.

“I think you can. Help me, I mean.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There’s a park at the next exit. Can I interest you in a little… jog?”

My heartrate bumped up immediately, but I put on my serious face. “I know this was big. But I don’t know, Bridge. Like, I feel like we should sort of sit with the feelings, you know?”

She rolled her eyes and looked back out the window. But she didn’t argue with me. After a minute I thought she’d just agreed with me and got lost in thought again.

But then I felt her fingers on my thigh. Just her warm palm resting there, something she did a lot when we were in the car, so I didn’t think about it much.

But then she started running fingertips up and down the seam inside my thigh.

Then down between my legs and back up, stroking me gently.

“Bridget,” I growled and reached for her hand, but somehow she’d turned and leaned over the console, and now I had two hands to contend with while I still needed to drive.

Then she’d gotten my jeans unbuttoned and unzipped, and a few struggles later, I was free of my jeans and she was stroking me, and I was pressed back in my seat.

“Reckless,” I growled, then blew out a shaky breath, because I loved it when she played her fingers up underneath me like that.

“You’re a bad influence,” I rasped, bracing one foot on the floor of the car and looking for the exit. My whole body trembling.

As I took the exit, she went down on me and I cursed .

“Stop. You have to stop!”

“No, I think you do,” she whispered over me, which only made it worse.

I don’t know how I kept my head long enough to get the car off the road and back into a thicket of trees where we couldn’t be seen from the highway, but the moment I did, before I even had the car out of gear, she was curled over me, sucking me.

“Bridget— stop. Let me do this—”

“Huh-mm,” she said around me, then looked up.

I gaped at her, mouth open, hands in her hair—I should have been pulling her off me, but she felt amazing.

And then the little she-devil winked at me and did something in the back of her throat with her tongue.

I tried to say her name. Tried to tell her to stop. Slapped one hand to the window and gripped her hair with the other, but it was just… too…

I came so hard I saw stars.

And Bridget was fucking smiling.

Moments later, slumped back in my seat, eyes closed and body quivering, still breathing hard, I pulled her up so she was forced to brace on my thigh so I could kiss her.

And when I tugged her hair, she pulled out of the kiss enough that I could talk.

“What shoes are you wearing?” I panted.

“My boots, why?”

“Because you have about two minutes. Tops.”

I cracked one eye to see her staring at me, smiling. “Two minutes to what?

“To find the right tree.”

Her brows drew down. “What tree?”

“The one I’m going to pin you against and fuck you silly. Go. Now.”

Bridget cackled, but after one, quick, smacking kiss, she dove out of the car and started running.

I sat there for a minute, letting my body relax. I wasn’t worried. I knew I’d find her.

She wanted me to find her. She always had.

Later on, when both of us were more relaxed and we were driving again, I pulled her hand up to my mouth and kissed her knuckles. Then I pulled her closer to me and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, nudging her head down towards my thigh.

“Pastor Priestley! Are you asking me to blow you again?”

I chuckled. “No. At least, not now.”

“Then, what?” she asked quietly.

“Rest on me. I want to touch you.”

She gave me a strange look, but then laid down and rested her head on my thigh. I drove with one hand and stroked her hair with the other.

“Bridge, I don’t want your dad’s shadow to haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

She shrugged. “Neither do I. But I don’t know if I can ever get rid of it.”

“I do. Or at least, I know the God who can.”

She sighed again. “I don’t know, Sam.”

“Aren’t you listening? I said, I do. But don’t worry… we’ve got all the time in the world.”