Chapter Six #2
My arms wind around his neck as I press against him. My back is against the cold steel of his truck, my legs parting so he can wedge his thigh between them.
His hands run all over me, setting little fires everywhere they touch. I can't get enough. I want his hands on me. I want him everywhere. Hell, I want to climb him like a tree.
Judging by the way he's grinding into me and groaning my name, he wouldn't tell me no. If anything, he'd probably boost me up and let me ride.
I don't even hear the photographer until the camera flashes, setting off a detonation of light behind my closed eyelids.
Austin jerks back. His eyes spring open, landing on the man standing on the opposite side of the parking lot, his camera aimed at us.
"Motherfucker," he mutters, his jaw tight. "Get in the truck, Serena."
I scramble into the cab, my heart pounding so hard I can barely breathe. Yet again, we've been busted. And this time, they aren't going to have to use angles and the power of suggestion to give the world a show.
Austin's hands were all over my ass. I was splayed across the side of his truck with his tongue painting me like a goddamn French girl.
I was supposed to be photographed on his arm, not dry-fucking him in a public park.
For a second, I think about calling it right here, ending this before it can spiral any further. Before the whole world thinks I'm nothing but another desperate fan willing to debase myself to land in his bed.
But my hands are shaking, my body is on fire, and I realize, to my absolute horror, that I don't care what the whole world thinks right now. I care about Austin. I care about how he makes me feel and the complicated, amazing person I'm realizing he is.
I don't want this to end.
I want more.
Christ Almighty. Maybe I am just another desperate fan willing to debase myself to land in his bed.
He climbs in, slamming the door. "I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen," he says, his voice ragged, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I'll make sure the pictures don't leak."
"It doesn't matter."
He glances over at me, one brow arched, his expression caught between hope and worry.
"I don't care about the photos."
"You don't care about the photos?"
"No." I shake my head, licking my lips. My heart feels like it's going to beat out of my chest. "Fuck the photos. Can we please just go to my place already?"
He looks at me, really looks at me. I'm not sure what he sees, but something in his eyes turns dark and wild. "Yeah, princess. We can do that."
We don't talk much on the drive. Every time I glance over at him, I want to crawl into his lap and make him lose control. I'm wet, aching, and maybe a little terrified of what's going to happen next, but I know I'm not stopping.
I think maybe he feels the same way, because he doesn't loosen his grip on the steering wheel a single time. And we damn near run three different lights.
Once at my apartment, he helps me out of the truck before following me inside, completely silent.
The second the door closes, I turn to find him watching me with a hunger that borders on feral.
"You sure about this?" he asks, already stripping off his jacket.
"Yes," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sure."
His shirt goes next, and I swear to God, I nearly faint at the sight. He's so fucking beautiful, every inch of him hewn from thick, corded muscle.
He stalks toward me, his eyes locked on my face. "You know what makes me so fucking hard about you, Serena? I mean, aside from everything about you?"
It's a trap, but maybe I want to be caught. Maybe, if he's the one doing the catching, I want to be tangled up and snared. "What?"
"The way you look at me like you want to eat me alive." He's close enough that I can't see anything but him. "Do you want to eat me alive, baby?"
My face burns, but I don't look away. "Maybe I do."
He grins, his hunger turning lethal. "Are you wet for me right now?"
If I had any dignity left, I'd probably lie. But there's no sense in pretending. Not when it's obvious. "Come find out for yourself," I whisper instead.
I barely register movement before my back is flat against the door, his thigh wedged firmly between my legs, his hand sliding up my bare thigh. His fingers are so big, so hot on my skin that I moan, electricity running all the way up my spine.
He cups me over my panties, and the moan that escapes my lips isn't subtle or dignified or anything remotely close. It's pure need.
His smile is pure sin. "Jesus, Serena. You're soaked," he murmurs, his tone reverent.
"Oh, I'm aware."
He doesn't ask for permission when he hooks his fingers into the sides of my dress and pulls it up and over my head, leaving me in my bra and a pair of black lace panties that suddenly feel laughable.
"Do you know what this does to me?" he asks, running both hands up my sides, dwarfing my waist. "Seeing you like this? Knowing I'm the one making you melt for me?"
"What?" I manage.
"It makes me fucking desperate." He drags his mouth across the curve of my shoulder, nipping at my skin. "Christ, I want to fuck you until you're nothing but screams and come."
My knees threaten to buckle.
He drops to the floor in front of me, his hands on my hips. I open my mouth to tease him, but he cuts me off, nuzzling his nose into the seam of my panties, inhaling like I'm the last breath he'll get. He's never looked so wild, so unguarded.
I can't breathe. My hands curl in his hair as he meets my gaze, using his teeth to slide the lace away from my body. His tongue follows the fabric as it slips down, so hot and deliberate I nearly scream.
"Austin," I gasp. It's supposed to be a warning because my legs aren't going to hold me up, but it comes out like a prayer…or a plea.
"Shh, princess," he murmurs. "I need this. Need you." He lifts my thigh over his shoulder, anchoring me against the door, and then presses his mouth to my pussy like he's starved for it.
There's a moment—maybe half a second—where I wonder if he'll lose interest once he's tasted all of me. But as soon as he growls, his hands tightening on my body, that split-second of worry dies a painless death.
His tongue brushes my slit, slow and devastating, and I groan his name, pleasure ripping through me in an intense wave.
"Goddamn, baby." He kneads my ass and the backs of my thighs, holding me open, completely at his mercy. His hands are so fucking big, so perfect. "I might keep you here like this all night."
He presses his mouth to my pussy again, lapping at me with long, greedy strokes that make my heart stutter. The rough drag of his stubble against my inner thighs ignites every nerve in my body, sending me catapulting to the edge.
When he sucks my clit into his mouth, the sound utter filth, I know I'm going to come embarrassingly fast.
He pushes two fingers inside me, curling them until I see stars. The pressure is relentless, measured, and so fucking perfect. Until it gets better. Just when I think I might die if he doesn't stop, he sucks harder, his tongue flicking in time with his fingers.
My heel scrapes up the door, seeking purchase, but there's nothing to hold onto except for him. My hands fist in his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt, but he loves it.
"That's it," he growls into me like a starving animal. "Go wild for me, baby."
"Don't stop," I gasp, my hips jerking.
He doesn't stop. His fingers plunge deeper, his mouth never letting go of my clit, like he's desperate to watch me lose control for him.
The orgasm hits me like a blackout. I can't even moan. All the air is driven out of my lungs. I collapse forward, my body convulsing around his hand, his name a silent scream on my lips.
My head lolls back, and I see him—his face flushed, his lips soaked, his eyes wild—as he stands. He licks me from his chin, savoring my taste, before his mouth crashes down on mine so I can taste myself smeared across his lips.
He fumbles his pants open with unsteady hands, then lifts me, pinning my back to the door again as he lines his cock up at my entrance. The head is blunt and obscenely hot, the look on his face all hunger and madness.
"Condom," I manage to choke out. "We need—"
"Fuck that," he growls, his jaw flexing as he shoves inside me in a single, brutal stroke. "You're mine. I want to feel you."
The stretch is insane. He's too thick for me, too damn perfect. It burns for a second, but the stretch is a sweet counterpoint to the pleasure still coursing through my veins.
He bites my shoulder, growling my name, and then he's fucking me hard, his cock pounding my G-spot. The friction is profane, the slap of our bodies echoing in the entryway.
I come again, clenching around him so tight I feel his cock twitch.
He curses, losing rhythm, and then slams me down on him, his whole body shaking as he comes so deep it's almost a religious experience.
I feel him everywhere, making a mess of me. It's so fucking perfect.
He spins us, sliding down the door until he's seated, my ass in his hands. "Ride me, princess."
I gape at him, my eyes wild. "You just…"
"I'm aware. Now fucking ride me until I do it again," he says, slapping my ass just hard enough to sting.
He holds me by the hips and bucks into me once, so hard that it drags a sound out of me—half gasp, half laugh. My thighs are shaking, but I want more. I want every filthy thing he can give me.
He must see it, because he smiles, biting the shell of my ear. "Show me how you like it," he says, his voice wrecked, "and I'll show you how I want to ruin you."
I bring my hand to his jaw, scraping my nails down his neck to his broad, perfect shoulders. "You're going to need to do better than that if you want to ruin me, quarterback."
"Yeah?" His grip tightens, bruising in the best way. "You want it harder?"