CHAPTER SEVEN
Lynn
“Don’t do that.” Brian clutches the steering wheel, his voice rising to fill the cab.
I’m done with him and his grumpy mood. I turn from the window. “Do what? Have I hurt your precious ego?”
“That. It’s like picking a scab for you, isn’t it?” He jerks his hand toward me. “You couldn’t accept a peace offering if your life depended on it. You don’t have to handle every damn thing by yourself, Lynn.”
“Because I can handle it myself.” I thought the fire in my blood had fizzled, but Brian always finds a way to bring it back to life. “I’m not a helpless idiot. You show up and just... just take over and start telling me what to do.”
“I don’t think you’re helpless.” He bangs his palm on the wheel.
“Then stop treating me like I am.” I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m not a little kid.”
“I noticed.” His jaw clenches.
“Then why can’t you just leave me alone?” My heart’s racing so fast, I hear the throbbing echo in my head.
The truck veers toward the shoulder again.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” I throw my hand up and grab the handle at the top of the door.
Gravel spits beneath the tires before we come to another abrupt stop. Brian throws the truck into park and twists toward me, every bit as fired up as he was five minutes ago.
“Damn it, Lynn. I can’t leave you alone.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. Because suddenly, he looks lost, like the wind has been sucked right out of him. His chest rises and falls on a controlled breath. His eyes lock onto mine, and all the anger bubbling beneath my skin shifts into something hotter.
My pulse kicks harder.
There’s a thin line between wanting to strangle him and wanting to grab him by that stupid T-shirt and drag his mouth to mine. Somehow, I’ve lost track of which side I’m on.
On instinct alone, I unbuckle my seat belt and scoot across the cab toward him. I stop inches away, the heat radiating from his body hitting me like a freight train. I unbuckle his belt and drag it across his chest.
“What are you doing?” The sharpness in his voice falters.
“I want to know if it was real when you kissed me before.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What the fuck?”
I grab the front of his T-shirt in both fists and pull his mouth to mine. For a heartbeat, he freezes. Then his hand catches the back of my neck, and he thrusts his tongue between my lips. Whatever line we’ve been dancing around disappears beneath a rush of heat.
His mouth moves over mine with the same intensity he brings to every argument, and I meet that intensity head on, kissing him harder, like everything between us is a competition.
His other hand closes around my waist and pulls me closer.
I shift across the seat until my knee presses against his thigh.
He reaches between his legs beneath the seat and pulls the lever.
The seat jerks backward, and he hauls me onto his lap until I’m straddling him, my knees at his hips and my center resting directly on the growing bulge in his jeans.
I grab the hem of his shirt and slide it up his chest. He grabs it from me and yanks it over his head, breaking our kiss for a split second.
Too long.
His hands and lips are back on me, this time everywhere—nibbling my ear, my collarbone, my jaw.
One hand fumbles with my shirt buttons. He pops them one by one, lips pressing against the hollow of my throat as the fabric falls away.
I’m exposed, the pale pink lace of my bra catching in the dashboard light.
He groans, and I realize he’s trying not to crush me, trying not to go too fast. There’s a thrill in that. Knowing how hard he’s holding himself back, how much he wants me. Wants this.
I arch my back, my breasts pressing against his chest. Goosebumps stipple my arms as his hands span my ribs, fingers splayed, thumbs brushing the swell of my breasts through the lace.
I slip my fingers under the hem of his jeans, feeling the rigid line of muscle and the heat coming off him in waves.
He slides his hand over my back and flicks open my bra clasp, then pushes the flimsy fabric over my breasts.
He leans in, tongue and teeth capturing my nipple.
The sensation sends a lightning bolt from my chest straight to my stomach.
I grind down involuntarily, my clit riding the seam of his jeans, the thick outline of him hard against me.
For a second, I’m mortified by how desperate I am, how slick and hot and obvious, but then he groans against my chest, and I realize it only makes him crazier.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
His hands cup both breasts, thumbs sweeping over my nipples in taunting circles.
His mouth leaves a wet trail across my chest, giving me a chill.
My fingers claw at his buckle, but he’s already a step ahead of me.
His hand between my legs, palming me through the denim, pressing exactly where I need him.
I make a squeak, helpless and high, shuddering as he presses his palm against my clit.
“You’re going to ruin me,” he growls, and I kiss him to shut him up.
He grabs my ass with his free hand and yanks me forward, hips slamming up to meet me. His cock is a steel rod, trapped in denim, and I can’t stop myself from rolling against it, faster, harder, chasing sweet oblivion.
His hand rakes up my spine, tangles in my hair, and pulls just enough to make me gasp.
My head falls backward, exposing my neck.
He nips and bites until I’m squealing, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
When he starts unbuttoning my jeans, I freeze for a heartbeat, nerves raging like fire ants under my skin.
“This okay?” he asks, his eyes dark.
I nod, because the words won’t come.
He pops the button, then slowly drags the zipper down tooth by tooth.
It’s pure, delicious torture. Air bites at my hips as he shoves the waistband down, exposing the soft skin just above my panties.
He hooks a finger underneath, and traces along the seam, teasing me until I’m coming undone from the anticipation alone.
He pushes his own jeans down, enough to free himself, and I see it—God, I feel it, hot and heavy and huge, bobbing between us.
My mouth goes dry. I want it. All of him.
My hand shakes as I wrap it around the base, thumb stroking the vein along the underside.
He hisses, hips jolting upward so hard that I nearly lose my balance.
“Fuck,” he swears, then pulls me forward, guiding me over him. But the denim is in the way.
He lifts me, strong hands under my thighs, and flops me onto my back across the bench seat.
I laugh as my head dings the passenger door, and then he’s tugging my jeans and panties down, dragging them over my knees, leaving me bare-assed and spread-eagled in the cab.
The cool seat is a shock, but his hand is hot as he runs it up the inside of my thigh, stopping just short of where I need him.
I pant, desperate. “Brian. Please.”
He kneels on the seat, between my legs, and lowers his head. I think he’s going to finger me, but instead he just breathes in, nose grazing my skin, his stubble rough against my thigh. His tongue licks a single stripe up the length of me, slow and deliberate, and my whole body arches off the vinyl.
“Holy—” I gasp.
He takes his time, torturing me, teasing me with gentle licks and then sudden, intense sucks, tongue curling perfectly around my clit.
I grab at his shoulders, nails leaving little crescents, the sensation building and building until I think I might break in half.
He slides two fingers inside me, curling just right, hitting the spot that makes me see stars.
The sounds coming from my throat are anything but sexy or lady like, and I don’t give a rat’s ass. Because this is what I want, what I need.
I twist my nipples, pinching them hard, the pain a perfect echo of the pleasure at my core. He keeps going, doesn’t stop, not even when my legs start to shake or when I try to push his head away. He wraps an arm around my thigh to hold me still, and his mouth, God, his mouth, I can’t even—
“I’m—” I gasp, but he already knows.
He hums against my clit, vibrations electric, and I come so hard, clamping down on his fingers, whole body spasming like I’ve been hit by lightning.
The windows fog over, the whole world narrowing to the tiny, perfect point where his mouth meets my body.
He keeps licking, gentler now, riding out every aftershock, until I’m spent and gasping and too raw to move.
When I finally open my eyes, he’s watching me, lips slick, eyes wild.
“Fuck,” he says, and I laugh, because there’s nothing else to do.
He crawls over the seat, careful not to crush me, and kisses me. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pull him close, and whisper in his ear:
“Your turn.”