Page 23 of Hate You More

Then the little devil on my shoulder whispers an idea. The look on Troy’s face as I clamber over the center console. I shock him, sure, but he’s not going to stop me. Not as I straddle his thighs.

“I want you too.” I bite back a tiny whimper a little as I settle myself over him. Over his cock. The aching bloom between my legs is immediate.

Knees on either side of his thighs, I grip the headrest behind him. The angle isn’t that great—the leather is taut against my knees, and the bucket seats are way awkward, but only an earthquake or the hand of God is moving me as I arch up, pressing my breasts to Troy’s chest. They feel heavy and tingly, and I’m trying my hardest to look sexy as my short summer dress rides up to bare my thighs. I guess it must be working, judging by the look on his face. It’s like he’s died and is on his way to heaven—like he’s about to ascend.

“Just look at you.” His big hands mold to my ribs, sliding higher, higher, framing the heavy weight of my breasts. I give in to a soft moan as his thumbs swipe over my nipples. “You like that.”

“If you have to ask—oh!” At his tugging pull, fireworks burst inside me. His gaze turns kind of knowing, and, oh, I want to know all that he’s learned.

I’m not a virgin. No one I know my age is. But Troy makes me feel like I know nothing. I want him to show me everything. We haven’t yet . . . though the time is coming.

“Please.” My whisper feels hot against my lips, my tongue darting out to cool them.

“Please what, Clara?” His thumbs glide back and forth over the sensitive peaks, testing my sanity. “Come on, darlin’. Use your words.”

“Please. Put your mouth on me.”

His fingers are quick on the buttons on my dress before his head dips and his mouth engulfs my nipple over my bra. I jolt at the sensation and make a tiny noise, but he’s already freeing my breast from the cup. Perched lewdly above the lace, he takes the hardened bud between his lips.

I grip the headrest, arching into him at the heavenly pull, my breathing turning ragged as he licks and sucks. I nearly jump from my skin as he grips my thigh, but not for long.

“Yes,” I whisper desperately. “Touch me.”

His gaze flicks up, his eyes so dark over my wet, glistening nipple. I find I need to close my eyes against the sight. “Look at me,” he demands. So I do. “Not here. When I get you under me, I’m gonna want to savor you.”

Heat blooms in my core. I drop my head back, my hair almost touching my waist as his mouth returns to its magic.

“I fuckin’ love your sounds.”

“I want you.” I’ve never been so bold as our mouths meet messily, the windows fogging with our hot breath and my fingers shaking as I try to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I want to see you.” Feel you. Slide my body over his until I smell like him.

He growls as I press my mouth to his collarbone. Curses as my teeth graze the muscles between his shoulder and neck. I skim my hands over his pectorals as I roll my hips over him, feeling the cool air where my panties grow wet.

“Fuck, Clara. You’re so beautiful.” His direction, his praise, sends sparks through my veins. “I can’t wait to be inside you, to feel you riding my cock.”

Troy takes my hips, molding my body to his. My soft to his hard, the ride long and luxurious in the tight confines of my car.

“Your sweet little moans drive me fuckin’ wild.”

Molten waves of pleasure build and build as I rock over him. As he watches. As he whispers such words of praise.

“That’s it, Clara. You come for me, then I’m gonna set you in the back seat and lick you clean.”

I curse and throw back my head, utterly delirious, when his hand closes around the column of my neck. Starlight bursts through my entire being as he begins to squeeze . . .

Chapter 7

Clara

Cool air swims around my feet as my legs dangle over the edge of the bed. Under my right hand, my heart hammers frantically, though I refuse to acknowledge the residual pulsing between my legs. Because I dreamed of the past. Of kissing Troy in the front seat of my car.

And the rest.

I don’t often allow myself to think back on those days, because it’s dangerous to dwell. There’s no joy in remembering when the memories all lead back to pain. But I’m not to blame in this instance, especially as the dream wasn’t the same as the reality.

I mean, I got to climax, sure. Back then in my car, and in my dream. Which I suppose means I climaxed for real. I hope I was quiet about it, because these walls are paper thin. But I doubt Troy of age twenty-two would’ve fantasized about wrapping his hands around my neck. Troy of thirty-one, though? Well, he’d probably be into that. Without the sexual aspect.

Memory lane must be where all the freaks hang out.