42. Bindi
FORTY-TWO
BINDI
We did it.
Holy fuck, we actually did it.
My heart’s jackhammering in my chest as Cassidy floors it, speeding away from the orchard where we ditched the cops. He was smart—stole a license plate off some car at a gas station this morning, and swapped it out before we got back on the road. Paranoid bastard. Good thing, though.
He whoops beside me, grinning like a lunatic with sweat-slick hair, flushed cheeks, eyes blazing. He looks high on it—on us.
My hands are still shaking. I flex my fingers and wince at the ache in my knuckles. I must’ve been clenched for miles. There’s a duffel bag stuffed with cash at my feet—more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. Bundles spilling out onto the floorboards, crumpled from the rush.
We just robbed a goddamn bank. Adrenaline ignites every nerve in my body and Cassidy feels like gasoline thrown on the flames .
There’s a hungry flicker in his eyes when they meet mine. “You with me, Firefly?”
“Jesus, Cass . . .” I run a trembling hand through my hair, which is damp with sweat too. “We—” I can’t even finish the sentence. I just shake my head and let out another disbelieving laugh. We actually did it.
He laughs with me, a raw, breathless sound. “Hell of a rush, isn’t it?” he says, drumming his palms on the steering wheel once. The car swerves from the one-handed stunt and I yelp, grabbing the dash. Cassidy just chuckles and corrects course with a jerk of his wrist.
My pulse hasn’t slowed one bit. If anything, it’s ramping up, pressure building under my skin with nowhere to go. Every inch of me feels electric, hypersensitive. Each breath comes in a shudder.
His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip, and his grip tightens on the wheel. We hit a straightaway, and he punches the gas; the engine growls as we rocket forward even faster.
Without warning, Cassidy’s hand leaves the wheel and clamps down on my knee. The touch is searing. I didn’t even see him reach over, but suddenly his palm is on my leg. It sends a jolt up my thigh and straight between my legs.
A wild smile is still tugging at the corner of his mouth. He looks like he’s somewhere else, replaying the heist in his head, riding the high for all it’s worth.
God, he’s so alive right now it’s blinding.
Dangerous and beautiful and utterly alive.
A bead of sweat trails down the side of his neck, vanishing under the collar of his shirt, and I have the sudden intense urge to lean over and run my tongue along its path.
To taste the salt and adrenaline on his skin. To bite him; to see if he’ll growl or if he’ll whimper.
There’s a heavy ache blooming low in my belly, spreading heat through my veins. I feel flushed, feverish.
Turned on .
Fucking hell . . . I’m actually turned on right now.
I squeeze my thighs together, trying to quell the throbbing. It only makes it worse; the friction sends a whisper of pleasure curling up my spine.
“Bindi.”
His eyes flick over to me, then down. I follow his gaze and realize what he sees: my legs pressed tightly together under his hand, my fingers digging into the seat cushion.
His jaw ticks, slowly, almost absently, his thumb strokes back and forth over a torn rip in the knee of my jeans, brushing the bare skin beneath.
For a moment, neither of us speaks, and I can hear my own pulse pounding in my ears. My skin prickles as if charged by the silence. In that silence, something is very clearly happening.
“How do you feel?” Cassidy asks, low and husky.
I draw in a breath that trembles on the way out. “Alive. I feel alive.”
I know he can see my nipples straining against my bra through my thin shirt, the flush burning high on my cheeks. I know he can hear the way my breath has gone shallow and irregular.
The wheel jerks under his other hand as the car drifts toward the other lane. A horn blares somewhere behind us and headlights sweep across the rearview. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Cassidy! Watch the road!” I shout, my hand flying out to grab his arm.
He straightens us out with a sharp tug of the wheel, and the car skids back into our lane.
“Fuck. Maybe I should pull over,” he mutters.
I look at him, chest heaving. He looks back at me.
I’ve never seen Cassidy this unraveled. His eyes are wild, flickering over me as if he can’t decide where to stare—my lips, my chest, the outline of my thighs.
He snatches my wrist and presses my hand against his chest, flattening my palm right over his pounding heart.
The cotton of his shirt is drenched with sweat.
Underneath, his chest is hot and rock-solid, muscles taut.
“You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”
His heart is slamming like a war drum.
I dig my nails into his shirt.
“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath. “Bindi, I?—”
He yanks my hand away from his chest and drags it straight into his lap, pressing my palm hard over the bulge in his jeans.
He’s . . . Jesus, he’s huge, and so rigid I can feel his pulse through the denim.
He traps my hand there with his own, his fingers lacing through mine, forcing me to squeeze him.
A low moan tumbles out of me before I can stop it.
I feel him twitch against my palm at the sound of my moan. Cassidy swears under his breath, eyes flicking back to the road.
“Eyes on the road,” I whisper, mock-sweet, curling my fingers around his cock through the fabric. “Unless you want to die with your dick in my hand.”
“Can’t think straight. Christ, Bindi . . .”
He presses my hand down harder and rocks his hips up into it, creating just a hint of friction. I can feel the outline of him straining, seeking relief. Even through layers of fabric, it’s obscene how good it feels to have him rub against my hand.
I keep stroking him through the denim causing him to pant and bite down on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep us on the road while I work him up like a fucking prayer.
I want to see him fall apart.
I want him to come undone with my name on his tongue and my mouth on his cock.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, and his head jerks slightly in my direction.
“Bindi . . . what are you?—”
“Drive,” I interrupt, eyes locked on his zipper. “And keep your fucking hands on the wheel.”
I slide down in the seat, palms smooth on his thighs.
I tug his jeans down just far enough to free him, and holy fuck—he’s hard and leaking and goddamn beautiful. Thick and twitching with every heartbeat, the head glistening with pre-cum.
I wrap one hand around the base, steadying him, and lean in.
The first lick is slow. I trail my tongue up the underside of his shaft, swirling around the head before wrapping my lips around him and sucking him in deep.
“Jesus, fuck, Bindi?—”
I hum around him, mouth full, and he bucks his hips involuntarily. I grab his thigh hard to pin him down and take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks. His hand slams against the roof of the car.
“God. You’re gonna make me— shit —I can’t fucking see straight.”
I pull off with a pop, spit slicking my lips, and grin up at him. “Better keep those eyes on the road, Cassidy.”
“Bindi, please?—”
“Oh, now you’re begging?” I laugh, then take him back into my mouth, deeper this time. I flatten my tongue and bob my head, stroking the base with one hand, letting my spit run down over him, hot and messy.
And while I’ve got him twitching in my throat, my fingers slip under the waistband of my jeans, past the heat-soaked fabric of my panties, and slide against the drenched seam of my cunt.
I whimper around his cock. Just the contact makes me shudder. I’m soaked. Dripping. The friction is barely anything, but it’s everything.
Cassidy sees. His gaze drops for half a second, catches the movement of my hand between my thighs and something snaps in him. His knuckles go white on the wheel.
“Show me. Fuck, Bindi—show me how wet you are while you suck my cock.”
I moan in response and let him slide deeper into my throat as I rub desperate circles over my clit. I don’t care if we crash. I don’t care if we die.
I moan around him, fingers moving faster between my legs, thighs trembling. Cassidy jerks under my touch, hips rocking helplessly toward my mouth like he’s chasing the edge. Every sound he makes goes straight to my core, feeding the fire I can’t put out.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he’s muttering like a chant, eyes flicking between the road and the mess I’m making of him. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”
I pull off with a gasp, spit-slick lips, and heavy breath. “Then pull over. Now. Or I’m gonna finish both of us right here.”
His foot slams on the brake so hard the tires scream. The car veers off onto the shoulder, gravel spitting in every direction. The second we lurch to a stop, Cassidy throws it into a park with a snarl.
He barely has time to kill the engine before his hands are on me. Fisting my hair, dragging me up, crashing our mouths together in a kiss so brutal and hungry it knocks the breath out of my lungs. His tongue tastes like desperation, like victory, like the end of the fucking world.
Because I already unbuckled, I slide freely across the console when he yanks me.
The hard plastic digs into my hip, but I barely feel it.
I half-climb, half-fall into his lap. One of my legs knocks the steering wheel, sending the car into a wobble.
Cassidy tears his mouth from mine just long enough to snarl, “Fuck?—”
His hand fists in my hair and drags my mouth back to his. We’re in a frenzy of lips and tongues, panting into each other. I break away from the kiss, gasping. “Seat . . . back,” I manage to pant.
He grunts in acknowledgment. Keeping one arm locked around my waist, he fumbles blindly under the seat with his other hand.
There’s a loud click and suddenly the seat slams backward on its track, reclining as far as it’ll go.
I lurch with it, gravity throwing me harder against Cassidy.
He uses the momentum to yank me properly into position astride him.