Page 103 of Fuckboy Psychos (Scarlett Force 1)
Anyway, I’m not ashamed.
I don’t want romance. I’ve explained that to him. And my rules, as unfair as they might seem, are ironclad.
Guess he didn’t think he needed to race Aspen to keep me away from him the way he did with Widow, now did he?
Aspen pushes my hands against the buttons, encouraging me to undo them one by one, my hands shaking from the cool rainwater. He keeps his hands on mine in the dark, feeling my wrists up, my knuckles, my fingers, waiting until the shirt is gaping open and my lacey bra is exposed. He helps me get my right heel off and free one leg from the confines of my pants.
He can’t see me well, I’m sure, but he can feel it when he runs his hands over it, yanking angrily on the cups so that my breasts spill into his hot palms. He plays with them for a minute before grabbing my hips and pulling me closer, so that my ass is half-hanging off the hood.
He drives into me again and I throw my head back, palms on the hood to brace myself as he thrusts fast and deep, finding the end of me, stretching me as I bite my lower lip so hard that it bleeds.
When he slides an arm around my waist and drags me against him, his mouth ends up pressed to my ear.
“I want to take this condom off and come inside of you so damn bad, I can taste it.” He licks the shell of my ear and then bites it, rocking his pelvis against mine, holding me against his body so that my bare tits are smashed against the soggy wet fabric of his sweater.
I’m barely touching the car at all anymore. More like, my legs are wrapped around him, and his arm is banded around my waist. I’m grinding my pussy against his cock, and then his mouth finds mine, tongue diving deep. He says he can taste it? Well, I can taste his want, his desperation, as he kisses me so hard that I’m sure my lips will be bruised after this.
We fight and writhe against one another, struggling for dominance, for control, for more, more, more. With the way he’s holding me, it’s easy to get my clit just the way I like it, hard, fast rubs against his body as I roll my hips over and over again.
Just when I’m certain that I’m about to come, Aspen essentially throws me onto the hood of his Mustang, climbing over me and pushing my thighs apart. He mounts me and drops his head to my nipple, sucking so hard that I drag his head against my chest, the pleasure spiking straight down to my core.
My body locks onto his as he growls and ruts into me, forcing himself past those pulsating contractions and pounding against my core. I choke on the pleasure, releasing any semblance of control over the situation, and then my body goes completely limp and he’s able to get even deeper than I thought possible.
I can feel him in the very heart of my body, this desperate, twisted thing that I want to make mine regardless of how strange he is, how fucked-up his family is, the way he waffles between being irresistible and … I can’t let myself think of him in that other mode of his. I can’t; I won’t.
Instead, I relax back, my face tilted to the sky, lips parted, rainwater sluicing between them, and I enjoy Aspen’s final, frantic thrusts, the way he sucks and nips at my tits before returning his attention to my mouth.
“Oh, Ash,” I breathe, just before he kisses me for a final time, and that seems to do it, he comes so hard that I can feel him stiffening and shuddering against me, the shocks of the car creaking as he pounds himself to completion and then collapses on top of me.
The mingled sounds of our rapid breaths taint the air, the spatter of rain on the roof of the Mustang a welcome accompaniment to a dark and sultry threnody that signals the end of our one and only copulation.
Supposedly.
Aspen sits up, slumping back on his ass on the hood and taking the condom off. He ties it off and slips it into the pocket of his jeans before pulling them up and buttoning them.
Me, I just lie there, closing my legs and rolling onto my side to see if I can’t make out his handsome features in the perfect dark.
“Say goodbye, Ash,” he continues, his voice a strange balance between wistful and commandeering.
“You won’t be able to stay away,” I breathe, releasing a confident laugh as I finally sit up and wrestle my cigarette pants back into place. They’re so fucking wet from the rain that it’s like sliding plastic wrap over my skin. My right shoe is tossed haphazardly on the roof, so I grab that, too.
