Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
John
“Ass on the car. Now.”
I can’t believe this is happening.
I’m on the hood of his car. Legs spread. Body aching.
He traces his thumb along my jaw, slow and possessive, like he’s memorizing the shape of me.
“We do this,” he says, voice rough, eyes locked on mine, “and you don’t go back to being just Mark’s daughter. You don’t go back to pretending I don’t see you every time I close my eyes.”
My breath catches. I want to say something—anything—but all that escapes is a soft, aching sound as he leans in and presses his mouth to my cheek. Not my lips. Not yet. Just beneath my eye… then down to my jaw. Every nerve in my body sparks, waiting.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin, warm and unrelenting. “Not for tonight. Not for a week. You’re mine, Sarah. Do you understand?”
My knees wobble, and I melt into him. My hands grip the back of his neck, desperate for something to hold onto. My mouth brushes his.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I want to be yours.”
He pulls back just enough to rasp, “What do you want?”
I don't hesitate. “I want you to fuck me.”
A growl rumbles out of him, raw and deep.
“Is that why you didn’t want to wash anyone else’s car?”
I suck in a breath. “How’d you know that?”
“I was watching you,” he says. “And I saw the way you kept looking over at me. Weren’t you?”
I nod. No point hiding it now.
His voice drops. “And this is a new side of you, isn’t it?”
“Completely new,” I whisper. “You have no idea.”
A growl rolls through him. It rumbles.
“And you didn’t want anyone else to see you like this, did you?”
“No,” I breathe. “Only you.”
I look down to see the outline of his huge cock pressing against his pants. Jesus. He’s fucking huge. Something shifts in the air between us. He’s looking at me like he sees straight through the wet shirt, the damp cotton, the innocent front I barely remember putting on.
“And these little shorts,” he murmurs, sliding a hand under my ass, gripping it hard enough to make me gasp, “did you wear them to impress some guy?”
“No,” I rasp, my voice pinched. “I’ve never tried to impress any guy before. Except you, maybe.”
“So you aren’t the good girl you pretend to be.”
“I guess not.”
He grins.
“Goddamn right.”
His mouth is on mine, hungry and hot, tasting like vanilla and sugar.
He kisses me like he’s starving. His growl vibrates against my lips, low and rough and completely feral.
It might be coming from him. It might be coming from me.
I don’t know. All I know is the world’s gone quiet, narrowed down to his mouth and his hands and the hard press of his cock between my legs.
He breaks the kiss with a breathless curse and grips my tank top, yanking it down until both of my tits bounce free.
My bra’s no match for him—he shoves it down to my ribs, then palms my breasts like they’re his to own.
His tongue circles one nipple, then the other, warm and wet, teeth grazing as he groans like he’s lost his goddamn mind.
And then—
He grabs the milkshake and tips it just enough to let a thick pink drip fall directly onto one of my nipples.
I gasp. The sugar. The cold. The shock.
He locks eyes with me, his gaze dark and hungry, then bends his head and licks the drop off—slow, filthy, possessive.
The cold hit of sugar against my nipple is nothing compared to the molten heat of his tongue.
He drags it in a spiral over the tight, aching bud, his breath hot against my skin.
My back arches instinctively, every nerve ending firing all at once.
My thighs press together, desperate and slick.
A groan rumbles from his chest, low and guttural, like he’s tasting something decadent.
“You taste better than the fucking milkshake,” he mutters, voice thick with need. He tips the cup again, letting another cold, sticky ribbon fall onto my other breast. It hits with a soft splatter, shocking and sweet, and I gasp as goosebumps race down my arms.
His mouth follows the trail without hesitation, tongue warm and greedy as he laps it up, smearing it across both breasts with wide, wet strokes. He groans again, louder this time, and takes one nipple deep into his mouth, sucking hard.
I cry out, the sound ripped from my throat as heat coils low in my belly. My toes curl against the hood of the car. My heart pounds. My pussy clenches, aching, already wet and wanting. Every suck, every flick of his tongue sends a bolt of pleasure straight through me, white-hot and unstoppable.
I can feel myself melting. Sticky with sugar, trembling with need.
And he hasn’t even really started yet. He yanks my zipper down in one hard pull and strips my shorts off like they offended him, tossing them aside like they don’t matter.
The last thing separating him from my pussy is the thin lace thong that’s now so wet and sticky I don’t know what he’s going to think when he takes it off.
My heart is pounding hard as he looks down at me. He puts one hand on the car, his thick fingers pressing against the sleek red metal.
His lips are close to mine as he crowds me against the hood. He swipes his thumb across my covered clit. I can feel it everywhere. Thick heat shoots through me until I feel completely filled with need.
“This is mine.” He pulls the material aside and brushes his thumb lightly against my clit. He wiggles it up and down, so slowly, teasing me.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. It’s yours.”
He takes his hand away and kisses my lips, then moves down my body, making me tense up with every inch he goes lower.
His tongue slides against my nipples, still sticky and wet from the strawberry shake.
He runs a hand down the sensitive underside of my breast, teasing the other one with his tongue.
My breathing is shallow as he goes lower, kissing the swell of my stomach like I’m shaped perfectly for him.
His tongue finds my clit and I nearly black out. It’s not slow. It’s not sweet. It’s raw and messy and so fucking good. He drags it over my slick folds until I’m shaking. He sucks my clit hard, then teases it with soft flicks that make me lose my mind.
“Oh my god,” I moan. “Don’t stop.”
He doesn’t. Not even close. He groans into me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that can fix it.
The pressure inside me is about to boil over.
He spreads my lips apart and sucks on my clit until I’m seeing stars.
He pushes me up and slides a finger down below my dripping pussy, nestling it there.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop! Oh fuck, what are you doing to me!”
When his fingers slide inside me—one, then two—I break.
I have my hands on the back of his head, fingers threaded through his hair, gliding, smooth but giddy, as my back gives one final arch into him, his fingers curling, curling, curling in a come-hither motion, hitting something mythical.
My thighs shake as I ride his mouth, the cool metal under me and his beard scraping my inner thighs just enough to tip me over.
I’m gone. Moaning his name. Grinding into his face as he fucks me with his fingers and licks up every drop I give him.
When I finally come down—heart pounding, breath ragged, body wrecked—he’s still between my thighs, mouth slick, eyes dark with something that looks a hell of a lot like possession.
He moves his mouth up my body, licking and nipping at my skin before he finally reaches my lips. His tongue plunges into my mouth, tasting me like I am the sweetest thing he’s ever had.
“Inside,” he says roughly, reaching for my hand. “Now.”
His voice is wrecked. His hands are shaking. My knees are trembling. It’s unreal. I feel like a new person. Like my whole world has tipped on its ear.
“I think I still have some whipped cream on me,” I say, breathless but teasing.
He grins—slow and filthy.
“I’ll help you find it.”