Chapter Thirteen #2
“I think it’s just that I’m not used to all of these things,” she tried.
But of course that made no sense at all. They’d hardly done anything.
“Not used to all of what things? Making out with someone?”
“Making out like this, with someone like you.”
“You mean dirtily. With a scumbag.”
God, he said that with such surety. Almost like it was a given.
She couldn’t let it stand. Even though it made her vulnerable, she couldn’t.
“I mean passionately, with someone hot, someone who excites me,” she said.
But maybe she did it wrong, because he just looked even more baffled.
Baffled, and just a little amused. “Come on, kid, be honest. There’s no way you genuinely think that.
No way that I actually excite you that much.
Admit it—you’re trying to build me up, right?
” he asked. And then he chuckled. He actually chuckled.
He shook his head, like it was just that unbelievable.
So she put her hand over his, just as she had the other night. And she slid his hand down just as she had then, too. Only this time, it wasn’t over anything as chaste as a button on a blouse. No, no, no.
It was between her legs.
Right between her legs—just so he could see for himself exactly what he did to her, heart hammering as she did.
Every muscle in her suddenly felt like liquid, half from terror and half from the thrill of it.
Breath catching when she felt him freeze, and make a sound that could have been anything, really.
Disapproval, disgust—in that one moment she didn’t know for sure.
Then she saw it through the darkness.
Those eyes of his damn near rolling up in his head. And the words he mouthed—she knew what they were. She could tell, even though he tried to half hide them. Mother of fuck , he silently said, about a second before he pushed his face into the arm he still had propped between himself and the seat.
All of which was enough for her to know what he was feeling.
But even if it hadn’t been, that hand between her legs told her the rest.
Because he didn’t just keep it where she’d put it.
No, no—he stroked over everything he found there, all good and slow and deliberate.
Like he couldn’t do anything else, the very moment he felt her like this.
He had to get more of it, be sure of it, sink into it, until his mind confirmed what his body was telling him.
“Ohhhhh, you’re so wet. How are you so wet?
Oh man, your panties are soaked,” he moaned, and as he did he rubbed over that material.
Just in a curious way, just in a wondering sort of way, but oh god, even that was almost too much to stand.
It teased the sensitive seam beneath, and so sweetly she bucked to feel it.
She rutted back at that soft contact, a broken moan bursting out of her before she could stop it, face flushing bright pink when his head snapped up at the sound.
Sorry , she wanted to say. Sorry, sorry, sorry . But he got there before she could. “Oh, you like that, huh,” he said, so low and husky it caused a sensation all its own. It burned through her body, in a way that had her nodding without really meaning to.
Not that it made any difference to him.
The moment she did, he redoubled his efforts.
He worked those fingers tighter against that taut, soaked material, until it almost felt as if it was skin to skin.
Until he came close to stroking over her clit, and sinking into her cunt.
Only not quite, not quite, oh it wasn’t nearly enough.
Not with him, at least. Years of clumsy, groping hands from men she barely liked, always wanting to push them away.
But he made her so desperate she actually found herself rubbing into him.
And when he gasped out, “Yeah, show me what you want, show me how far you think I should go,” she couldn’t help herself.
She slid her fingers under the elastic of her panties herself, and frantically eased them aside.
Then urged him there, right there, where she most wanted him to be.
But god, he went still when she did.
He made a sound of shock, a guttural thing.
And for just a second he tried to pull back. “Not inside you,” he groaned. “You don’t want me inside you. Let me touch you somewhere else first. Let’s start over, let’s do the bases. What’s the second one? I don’t know, I don’t remember.”
But the thing was, she didn’t remember, either.
All she knew was how much she ached for those thick fingers sliding into her, filling her. Like he’d been working on her for hours, and she was past the point of waiting. Though she supposed, in one way, he had. He’d been doing it for days. Since the moment he walked into her store.
She just hadn’t fully let her body feel it, until right now.
She’d been scared to let her body feel it, until right now.
Always thinking of this as pretend, always imagining it was fleeting.
Sure he wanted someone else, so couldn’t possibly want her.
Until right now, right here, with him just teetering on the brink, making it better and sweeter and hotter because he could wait, he wanted to wait, he didn’t know if he should just go ahead.
So she showed him how much she wanted him to.
She simply urged herself against that teasing, stroking touch, until she felt herself open for him.
Like it had always been so simple, despite the fact that it never had been for her.
Hell, even he seemed stunned by it. “Oh, you take that so easy,” he moaned, as he worked her.
Like he’d imagined she wouldn’t. Like he’d thought she might be too small or too closed to him.
Instead of what actually happened: she took him right up to the knuckle.
She took him crooking it, and rubbing insistently.
And when he teased her with a second finger, she took that, too.
“Please, please, please,” she gasped, and there was no hesitation now.
He worked the second one alongside the first until she was filled.
She was almost being fucked by those thick fingers, over and over, almost relentlessly in a way that had her trembling and gasping.
Though of course she knew it wasn’t just the physical sensations that were making her lose it.
It was the way he behaved as he did it.
How he kept his eyes between her legs. Like all of this was so fascinating and incredible he couldn’t do anything else.
He needed to see her all slick around him, and getting slicker by the second.
He wanted to watch what made her tighten, what had her hips lifting, what made her thighs shake—in part, she thought, because the sight excited and stunned him.
But also so he could build on it.
She knew he was building on it.
Crooking his fingers when just a little of that made her squirm.
Rubbing harder and stroking deeper the second her hand went to his shoulder and clutched him there, and tried to haul him closer.
And when she started to shudder, and her breath caught in her throat, and oh god, something was happening, it was, it was—
“It’s almost like you’re gonna come,” he said, half laughing at himself for saying it. Hell, she wanted to laugh with him. She’d had men work on her for twenty minutes and not gotten close. Been by herself for even longer, and still not gone over the edge. She wasn’t even sure she ever had, really.
Because it hadn’t felt like this.
And this was definitely an orgasm.
Oh god, it was. It was so much of one that she almost wanted to fight it. It felt too intense, too big—she had to grit her teeth against it. Push him away and pull him closer, all at the same time, as every muscle in her body seemed to tense. And when it did, he felt it. He understood it.
He looked up, startled. Stunned, even.
Just as she lost herself to the incredible sensations pouring through her.
“Oh Jack,” she moaned. “Oh Jack, you make me feel so good.” And then it was happening, it was really happening.
She was really coming. Jack Jackson had made her come in the front seat of his truck, at the drive-in, just by touching her between her legs.
And so thoroughly she couldn’t be ashamed.
He didn’t seem to want her to be. He moaned when she did, kissed back as heatedly as she did when she searched for his mouth and claimed it.
And when she made a thick, hot sound of pleasure right into him, she felt how much it affected him.
His whole body seemed to stiffen; that heat in him intensified.
Just like the night before, on his couch.
Only this time, he didn’t wrench away from her.
She wasn’t sure he could, truth be told.
He seemed just as helpless as her. Just as greedy for it, just as eager for more.
He even took her hand, after a moment of her coming hard against him and kissing him hotly, and urged it down.
Like he wanted her to touch him, too. “Ohhhh, please, baby,” she thought she heard him say, and honestly nothing had ever sounded so hot to her in her whole life.
There was no way she wasn’t going to oblige.
In fact, for a second, all she could think about was doing it. Touching him, stroking him, maybe even taking him in her mouth. Right here, in the drive-in, still surrounded by people. Though by that point she knew she’d do it anywhere for him. He could have her on her knees on Main Street.
She even went to say it to him.
You want my mouth , she imagined herself suggesting.
But just as she did, he pulled away.
In fact, he pulled away so abruptly she actually heard metal shriek.
As if he’d gone for the door, but done it so violently that he’d yanked it off its hinges.
Or worse—god, it sounded worse. Another noise followed it, almost like a tearing or a crumpling.
She didn’t know. All she knew was that it hit so hard she clapped her hands over her ears. She scrunched her eyes tight shut.
Then the whole car seemed to lurch, and she couldn’t help it.
She screamed. Jack, I’m sorry , she tried to gasp.
Though she wasn’t quite sure why. This couldn’t possibly be the result of him storming off again.
It was like briefly being in the middle of a hurricane.
By the time it died down, she felt genuinely afraid to open her eyes, in case opening her eyes revealed the car was now jammed into the nearest tree.
She had to look through her fingers first.
But she didn’t see anything that made any sense.
All she got was what looked like a ton of red.
Red everywhere. A huge wall of it, as if Jack had somehow been crushed to death by an enormous truck, and she was now staring at his pulped remains.
All of which was absolutely terrifying for a good long moment.
Before she registered all the ways this didn’t fit.
The red was all wrong, for starters.
It wasn’t dark in the low light. It was bright, almost vermilion, the kind of color you’d see on a newly minted stop sign.
Only that description didn’t really do it justice, either.
Somehow it had a glow about it—like something lit with an odd inner light.
And it looked so smooth and plump it could have passed for ripe fruit.
She could almost imagine sinking her teeth in, it was that juicy looking.
None of which made sense.
But it made a little more when she let one hand slip from her face.
Because she was in fact looking at something eminently bitable.
The kind of thing you’d chomp on in the middle of sex.
A bicep, it seemed like. An enormous, bare bicep—incredibly human looking, except for the color and the size.
In fact it was so big it barely fit in the space between them.
It didn’t fit, she realized, after a moment of letting her dazed eyes wander.
The seat beside her had given way to make room for it.
It had given way to make room for a lot of things, truth be told.
Now she could see a shoulder, so boulder-like in appearance it had somehow dented the ceiling of the car.
And the dashboard appeared to have crumpled, to accommodate a huge knee and thigh and lower leg.
Whatever foot this thing had, it was most likely punching through the bumper.
She pictured it emerging between the headlights, as big as a hubcap.
Bare, obviously, because most of the rest of this body was.
The only clothes she glimpsed were almost rags.
A slip of material over one thigh, half a belt, a strip of plaid hanging down over one gargantuan pectoral muscle.
At which point, of course, it hit her. She knew before she whipped a look at the place where a face had to be, and the face was wild and terrifying and impossible, but at the same time oh so familiar.
She would know it anywhere now.
Even with the extra squareness to the jaw, and the heaviness to the brow, even with the size difference, the dark hair, the fricking horns , she would have always known. Both because it was Jack, clearly her Jack.
And because of one other simple thing.
The thing that came to her just as he clearly went to calm her down.
Or try to explain. Because, really, he didn’t need to.
“Oh my god ,” she gasped the moment it sank in what he was.
Not a man, not anything ordinary, but an honest-to-god demon .
Her Jack was a demon. Even though demons shouldn’t exist, even though she had always thought she had hallucinated things like that, even though she’d pushed it down alongside all those witchy feelings and memories, he was.
And now it all clicked into place. “I cannot believe how much sense this somehow makes.”