Page 41 of The Comedown

“Why?”

“Because it’s not a good place for you.”

“But it’s a good place for you?”

Julian doesn’t answer, only continues gazing down at me, and if Victor didn’t know who I was before, there’s a good chance he’s figured it out now.

“What is this even about? What do you want?” Surely he can find something more interesting to do with his time than prevent me from getting laid.

“I wanna take you somewhere.”

I sigh. “Can you wait twenty minutes?”

“Twenty minutes? Fuck, Collette, you’ll be lucky if that guy lasts longer than twenty seconds. I almost blew my load just watching you handle the Spider yesterday.”

“Then you might want to look away for this next part,” I say on my way past, but with a few of his long-legged strides, Julian overtakes me, reaching Victor’s Porsche first. He opens the driver’s door, speaking in low tones to Victor, and when I try to open the passenger door, the locks click into place, keeping me out.

Julian shoots me a glare over the top of the car that I let myself envision slapping right off, until the Porsche speeds away, abruptly ending the fantasy.

Julian just smirks at me, jiggling the McLaren’s key.

“I hate you,” I breathe, making his lips sink into a frown.

“Words hurt, Poohbear.”

I ignore his disapproving headshake, stretching a hand out for the key. Keeping it out of reach as he walks backward to the car, he mansplains that because he knows where we’re going, he should be the one to drive. The image of him crawling up my bus steps this morning only to promptly pass out runs through my head, so as soon as we’re inside the rented supercar, I ask if his seat goes back any further.

Julian finds the button, demonstrating that it does, and I climb over the center console, sitting on his lap and pushing the same button until the seat’s as far back as it’ll go.

“The fuck are you doing?” Julian asks as I push his legs out to the side to give mine more room under the steering wheel. It helps that the bottom of it isn’t a complete circle.

“Driving. There’s no way you’re sober.”

“I’m sober.”

His strong thighs flex beneath me when I give him a look through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, right.”

Starting the engine, I close my eyes to appreciate the vibration.

“I’m…” He swallows hard, the sound louder than the car’s purr. “Fucked.”

Of course he is.

I open my eyes, finding his studying mine.

“You’re allowed to touch me whenever you want, but I still can’t touch you. How do you even know I want you on my cock?”

That’s fair.

“Sorry,” I mutter, starting to lift myself. “But you still can’t drive.” He can get out and go around.

His forearm locks over my lap, keeping me in place.

“Don’t fucking move.”

“I don’t take—”