Chapter 13 #2
I’m too far gone to argue, just nodding, breathless, as he starts unbuckling his belt with slow, deliberate movements, making me watch every second of it. My body’s screaming for release, thighs trembling, and the anticipation of finally having him inside me is almost too much to bear.
My chest heaves as Ethan undoes his belt with agonizing slowness, the metal clinking in the stifling heat of the backseat.
He pops the button of his jeans, drags the zipper down, and shoves the denim and his boxers just low enough to free himself.
He’s thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.
The sight makes my mouth water even as my core clenches with raw want.
“Fuck, hurry up,” I rasp, hands reaching for him, but he grabs my wrists again, pinning them against the door behind me.
“You don’t call the shots right now,” he growls, voice rough as gravel. “I’m going to take my damn time with you.”
“Then take it,” I snap, arching my hips toward him, desperate for any contact. “Just fucking do it.”
He smirks and shifts closer, kneeling between my thighs in the cramped space.
The car seat creaks under his weight as he grabs my hips, yanking me down a bit more until I’m almost flat against the leather, propped just enough against the door to keep me from sliding off.
My knees bend higher, feet bracing against the seat edge for leverage, and he positions himself right at my entrance, not pushing in yet, just dragging the tip against me, slick and hot.
“Feel that?” he mutters, eyes locked on mine, watching every twitch of my face. “You’re dripping for this.”
“I’ve been dripping,” I hiss, trying to rock forward, but his grip on my hips is unyielding. “Stop teasing and fuck me already.”
He doesn’t answer, just leans over me, one hand bracing on the window above my head for balance in the tight space, the other guiding himself as he finally pushes in—slow at first, stretching me open with a burn that makes me gasp.
My nails dig into the leather beneath me, head tipping back against the door as he inches deeper, deliberate, letting me feel every damn bit of him.
“Fuck, Lila,” he groans, voice strained, pausing halfway to let me adjust. “You’re so goddamn tight.”
“Keep going,” I pant, legs trembling, wrapping around his waist as much as the cramped backseat allows. “I can take it. Give me all of it.”
He grunts, jaw tight, and thrusts the rest of the way in, hard and deep, bottoming out with a force that punches the air from my lungs.
I cry out, sharp and broken, my body arching under him as he fills me completely.
The angle, with me half-reclined against the door, makes every movement hit just right, and I’m already spiraling, the pressure building again so fast it’s dizzying.
“Like that?” he rasps, pulling out slow, then slamming back in, setting a brutal rhythm that has the car rocking slightly on its shocks. “Tell me how it feels.”
“Fucking perfect,” I moan, hands grabbing at his shoulders, clawing at his shirt as he drives into me again and again, each thrust harder, deeper, rattling the tight space around us.
The windows are completely fogged now, the air thick with the sounds of skin slapping, my gasps, his grunts.
“Don’t stop, Ethan—fuck, don’t ever stop. ”
“I’m not stopping ‘til you scream,” he growls, shifting slightly to hook one of my legs higher over his hip, opening me up more. The change in angle makes me see stars, his cock hitting that spot inside me with every punishing thrust, and I’m losing it, my whole body shaking under him.
“Harder,” I beg, voice cracking, head pressed back against the door, hands slipping to grip the seat edge for any kind of anchor. “Make it hurt, make me fucking feel it.”
He snarls, low and primal, and gives me exactly what I want, pounding into me with a ferocity that’s almost too much, the leather creaking under us, the car filled with the raw, filthy sound of it.
His hand slides between us, thumb finding my clit and pressing down hard, rubbing fast circles that match his brutal pace, and I’m done for.
“Ethan—fuck, I’m gonna—” I can’t finish, the words dissolving into a scream as the orgasm crashes through me, white-hot and relentless, my body locking tight around him.
My thighs clamp around his waist, hips jerking uncontrollably as wave after wave rips me apart, my cries bouncing off the fogged windows.
“Shit, Lila,” he groans, feeling me clench around him, his rhythm faltering for a split second as he fights to hold on. “You’re fucking killing me.”
I’m still trembling, aftershocks making me twitch under him, but he doesn’t slow much, thrusting through my oversensitive haze with gritted teeth, chasing his own edge.
His hand grips my hip hard enough to bruise, the other braced on the window, knuckles white, and I can tell he’s close, his breaths ragged, movements getting sloppy.
“Come for me,” I pant, voice wrecked, dragging my nails down his back through his shirt. “I want to feel it, Ethan. Fill me up.”
That breaks him. He lets out a guttural curse, head dropping to my shoulder as his hips snap forward one last time, burying himself deep.
I feel him pulse inside me, hot and messy, his groan muffled against my neck as he unloads, body shuddering with the force of it.
He keeps moving, slower now, dragging out every last bit, until he finally stills, both of us panting hard and slick with sweat in the stifling heat of the car.
For a moment, neither of us moves, just breathing, pressed together in the tight space.
My legs are still wrapped around him, trembling slightly, and his weight pins me to the seat, heavy but grounding.
The air smells like sex and desperation, the windows completely opaque with condensation, sealing us away from the world outside.
“Fuck,” he mutters finally, lifting his head just enough to look at me, eyes still dark but softer now, sated. “You good?”
“Better than good,” I rasp, a tired smirk tugging at my lips. “But we’re a damn mess.”
He laughs, short and rough, glancing down at where we’re still joined then at the state of the backseat. “Worth it.”
I can’t argue with that, even as I feel the ache settling into my muscles, the leather sticking to my skin.
My skirt’s a crumpled mess around my waist, underwear still dangling off one ankle, and I know I’ll feel this tomorrow.
But right now, with him still inside me and the afterglow buzzing through my veins, I don’t give a single fuck about anything else. And that’s the problem.
In my whole life, I haven’t wanted someone as much as I want Ethan. Given my history with trouble, I’m not going to get to keep him. I love him, but the only way to keep him safe will be to lose him. Even as I think this through, I have to dig my nails into my palms to stop myself from weeping.
I tilt my head back and look at him, really look, and the intensity is still there, softened now but not gone. It makes my stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with sex.
I don’t want this to be a one-off. I don’t want to be another late-night indulgence he forgets once the adrenaline fades. But I also don’t want my past to catch up with us and destroy him.
Going by the messages I just got, I’m afraid that’s already begun.