Zelda
“Maybe park at—”
“I’ve got it.”
Sawyer reaches out and puts his hand over mine on the center console.
The air in his car is still scented with sex, and every breath I take makes me want more of it, more of him.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline that’s still pulsing through me from what happened in that neighborhood, but my vision is still crystal clear and my heart still pounds, and between my legs is a throbbing need that hasn’t been decreased at all by the fact that I straddled Sawyer in the front seat of his car and…
There’s no nice way to say it. There’s no way to put in polite terms. I straddled Sawyer in the front seat of his car and fucked him until we both came—hard—my cry muffled in the smooth curve where his neck meets his shoulder.
“Damn,” he whispered into my ear. It was several minutes before I could even move, but the flashing blue and red lights of a police car passing by on the highway had my heart in my throat as soon as I opened my eyes.
“Let’s get out of here.”
I’d climbed back into my seat and pulled on my belt, feeling Sawyer’s eyes on my every movement.
“Where to?”
“My place.”
His eyes lit up when I said it, and I knew he understood what I meant. Not to drop me off.
But I wanted to be sure. Five minutes into the heavy silence of the drive, I couldn’t hold in the confirmation any longer. “I’m not—I’m not done with you yet.” The words escaped me on a gasped breath filled with heat and need. “I want more of you.”
Sawyer reached across the console and took my hand, his blue eyes fiery in the light reflecting from the radio console.
“What makes you think I’m done with you?”
The slow grin spreading across my face matched a new flame radiating between my legs.
He didn’t let go of my hand the entire rest of the way back to my neighborhood, and I kept my mouth firmly closed when we turned onto my street.
He pulls neatly into the driveway of the house three doors down.
There’s a light on in the front living room, its warm glow casting onto the curtains that hang closed at night, but Sawyer doesn’t hesitate.
He climbs out of the car and is at my door in an instant, pulling it open, reaching down for my hand.
“Let’s go.”
He shuts the door gently behind me and puts his hand on the small of my back, and then we make the short walk up the street to my parents’ house. The paper bag from the restaurant hits my leg with every step, and the closer we get to my address, the more my heart is beating in my throat.
I try to force my pounding heart to slow down.
I’m not in high school anymore. My parents and I agreed that the apartment in their basement would be mine for a nominal rent payment each month, and that they wouldn’t interfere.
Still, as we turn into the driveway, I can see their shadows behind our own front curtains.
It’s past eleven and they’re still up. Most nights, my mom goes to bed between nine and ten.
They’re waiting up for me.
This is crazy. I press my lips into a determined line and lead Sawyer around to the back of the house and my own private entrance, then dig through my purse to find my keys. So what if they saw him? So what? I’m an adult. I can make these types of decisions on my own.
There’s only one prickling fear in the back of my mind, and it’s about what happened earlier. That’s the kind of life I could look forward to with Sawyer. A dangerous one. Far more dangerous than even what happened to me in high school.
You’ve got to get over that.
The train of thought doesn’t have time to reach its destination, because as soon as I shut the door behind us and flip the deadbolt, Sawyer’s hands are on me again, pressing my back up against the blank space of wall next to the door.
His movements are slow and deliberate, and absolutely, pleasurably torture.
His hands on the side of my face, his thumbs tracing a line following my jaw, down the expanse of my neck so that I tilt my head back, breathing hard, his eyes on mine.
When his hands slide down to my shoulders, I hold my breath for an instant, but when the pads of his thumbs make contact with my nipples through the thin fabric of my dress and my bra, I gasp.
“I think we should play a game,” he murmurs into my ear, and the rugged sound of his voice sends a thrill all the way down my spine directly to the space between my legs. I move my feet apart another couple of inches before I realize I’ve even done it.
“What game?” I curl my hands around his forearms, leaning into his fingertips, and he moves one hand back up, lifting my chin, making my eyes meet his again.
“I’m going to fuck you until you can’t come one more time.”
“That’s the game?”
There’s a glint in his eyes, and his smile is an inferno that I desperately want to consume me. “The game is that you can’t make a sound.”
I open my mouth and take in a raspy breath.
“Like that,” Sawyer says, and he leans down and kisses me, his lips hard against mine, and I melt against the wall. He pulls back. “No louder than that.”
“I don’t know if I can—”
“You can. You will.”
I’m not the type of woman who falls to pieces when a man tells me what to do, but with Sawyer issuing these commands in that voice, oh, my God, that voice, I can’t say no. I don’t want to say no. An electrical charge zings through my torso.
“I’ll play.”
He leans down one more time, his breath hot on my ear, and he kisses my earlobe while his other hand trails down the curve of my waist, making slow, slow progress around toward the front of my dress. “Let’s not waste any time.”
His fingers trail down to the hem, and he lifts it half an inch at a time, in slow motion, and if my head wasn’t already against the wall…
I arch my back as the dress slides up another inch. I’m already soaking wet, and soon he’s going to…soon he’s going to…
“No,” I gasp. “Let’s not. Let’s not.”
“Let’s start…” His hand is on the bared flesh of my hip. “Right…” His fingers are tugging at the waistband of my panties, moving them down enough to give him access. “…now.”
His fingers slide into my wetness, and my knees buckle.
But I don’t make a sound.