Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SADIE
The door clicks shut beside me, sealing us in. Lane slides behind the wheel while I fumble with my seatbelt, trying my best to ignore the way my hands itch to reach for him, how I’m just one breath away from giving in.
He starts the engine but doesn’t move, his hands rubbing up and down his thighs.
Then he looks at me and all the air in my lungs disappears.
Only the dash light glows between us, a dim wash of blue that sharpens the line of his jaw and the quiet storm in his eyes.
Something has changed—something darker, rawer. As if he’s done pretending too, his final thread of control fraying.
My breath catches. My heart drums hard enough that I swear he can hear it.
I should say something. Fill the silence. Make a joke.
But I can’t.
Because I know that expression. I’ve worn it for weeks—quiet and desperate and barely restrained.
And now he’s staring at me like he feels it, too.
I can’t wait another second. Not with the way he’s watching me. The way my body remembers every place he’s touched me. I need him.
The seat belt slips loose beneath my hand. I climb across the console, knees brushing his leg as I crawl into his lap, the heat of him dizzying.
His hands find me instantly—one sliding into my hair, the other anchoring my waist—and then he’s kissing me. Like he’s been starving for it.
It starts soft—curious, a question more than an answer.
But it deepens quickly, a slow-building storm that makes thought impossible. The taste of him, the sound of our breath, the hard thud of my heartbeat—it’s all a blur. My fingers clutch at his shirt, needing more, needing to be closer.
Desire thrums low in my belly, pulsing through every nerve as I shift in his lap, rolling my hips against the hard line beneath his jeans. He groans, head falling back against the headrest before crashing his mouth into mine again.
“I need to touch you,” he murmurs against my lips, voice wrecked and reverent. His hands slide from my hair to the base of my spine, steady and sure.
I kiss him harder, tasting the breath he exhales, and guide his hand between my legs—a silent yes.
He hesitates. Just for a second. Then his hand slips under my dress, rough fingertips trailing a slow fire up the inside of my thigh.
When he reaches the waistband of my tights, he curses under his breath, low and frustrated, and he fists them tightly.
The final barrier between us.
And then—he tears.
The rip of fabric splits through the silence, sharp and final as it gives way beneath his hands. I gasp, but his mouth finds mine before the breath escapes.
He doesn’t just kiss me. He consumes me.
His teeth catch my bottom lip, his hand at the back of my neck, pulling me closer until there’s nothing left between us but heat.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur, rough and low, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I shake my head before I can speak. “Please don’t stop.”
That unspools whatever restraint he had left, and his fingers slip beneath the ruined fabric. Slow, deliberate, and devastating. The first touch makes my whole body tremble.
I moan, the sound caught somewhere between surprise and surrender.
I’ve never known hunger like this. A need that swallows everything else.
He shifts in his seat, angling me closer, keeping his mouth on mine. His other hand slides up my back, anchoring me against his chest as his fingers move in slow, teasing circles.
I’m gasping now, moving without thinking, chasing the rhythm like it’s oxygen.
“Lane,” I breathe. “Please.”
A low groan vibrates in his chest, his forehead falling to my shoulder as his teeth graze my skin. The sting pulls a sound from me I didn’t know I could make.
My fingers fumble for his belt, clumsy and shaking, undoing the button and tugging at the zipper. His breath catches the second I wrap my hand around him.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re going to ruin me.”
My lips trace a path along the column of his throat and his thumb presses harder, circling, until I can’t think anymore. My world narrows to that fragile point of contact—his breath, his voice, the way he moves against me.
His finger slips just inside me, barely there, and the world tilts. It’s too much and not enough all at once, my body instinctively tensing around him.
He stills. “Is this okay?” he whispers, lips brushing my collarbone.
I nod, then find my voice. “Yes.”
He moves again—slow, steady, coaxing the ache into something blinding, and it ignites something deep inside me. My hips lift to meet him. The pleasure builds and builds until I can’t hold it back anymore.
I gasp, my voice breaking as pressure coils tighter and tighter until the tension snaps, shattering through me. My body bows, every nerve alive and trembling.
All I can think about is him. His hands. His mouth. And how good it feels to finally be wanted like this.
“I know, love. I know.” His voice is a whisper against my throat—rough, reverent—right before his teeth graze my skin, gentle and claiming.
My hand moves on instinct, wrapping around him, and he groans—low and guttural—as his fingers tighten at my waist like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
“Sadie—fuck—”
I keep moving, chasing his breath, watching the way his jaw locks and his throat works when he swallows. The sound he makes isn’t just pleasure—it’s surrender.
He tenses, a shudder running through him, head falling back, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut like he’s trying to memorize the feeling.
And then—
Everything inside me splinters open, sharp and bright and endless. Like light flooding through cracks I didn’t know were there.
My eyes squeeze shut as the world blurs. The pressure snaps all at once, and I fall apart against him—every muscle pulled taut, every breath unraveling in his name. It’s too much. Too sharp. Too deep. Too good.
I tremble through it, helpless and breathless, my body melting into his.
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, both hands steady at my hips—grounding me, holding me together.
A full minute passes before I can breathe again. His fingers slowly trace up and down my spine in a soft, soothing rhythm.
When I finally find words, my voice comes out a whisper. “Wow,” I breathe, leaning up to find his lips.
“Was that…too much?” he asks quietly, voice rough around the edges.
He reaches for a napkin from the console, cleaning up the mess he made—the mess we made together.
I shake my head, biting my lip. “No. No, I just never expected it to feel so…consuming.”
His expression shifts. His brow furrows, and his eyes drop to me, to the wreckage of us. My dress bunched at my hips. My torn tights. His jeans open and undone.
My own gaze follows, and suddenly I’m painfully aware of where I am. Of what I just did. Of how far this went, how fast.
A flicker of panic tightens my chest—not regret, exactly, just the sharp, disorienting thought that this is real. Of me straddling a guy in his truck in a parking lot, our heavy breaths fogging up the glass.
Lane’s hands still at my waist. Not pulling me closer. Not pushing me away. Just there—waiting.
I swallow, my pulse skittering, and force myself to breathe through it.
He kisses along my jaw, then lower before he pulls me into him, wrapping his arms around me until I can feel his heartbeat against mine. The quiet hum of music fills the space. The song is softer now, slower.
I don’t notice I’m drifting until he traces slow circles on my back.
“We should probably head back,” he murmurs near my ear. “Lydia ordered me to return you in one piece, and on time to go to Lucky’s.”
I smile against his skin, kissing him once more because I can’t help it.
That familiar ache flares low in my belly as his hands find me again, as if neither of us is ready to let go.
For a second, I wonder if it would really be so wrong to just stay. To give in completely, right here, right now.
But deep down, I know I’m not ready for more—not like this.
Still, I don’t regret it.
Lane is sweet and steady. Thoughtful. Kind in all the ways that count, and I know he’d be gentle with me. I want that. Eventually.
Even though my whole body protests, I slide off his lap and back into my seat. I tug off what’s left of my ruined tights, roll them up, and shove them into the glove box.
He reaches over, takes my hand, and presses a kiss to my palm before threading our fingers together. His thumb rubs against my skin as he shifts gears and starts down the long, quiet road.