Chapter 22 #2
I yank open the passenger door and click my seatbelt. I should never have let him fuck me up against that damn tree.
Once we pull away from the clubhouse, Jada breaks the thick silence. “Garret said Hellraiser is finished?”
Hellraiser, Hella's bike. Though I couldn't imagine what work it needed. The sexiest machine I'd ever laid eyes on, painted in the same red as this car, the colour of hell itself.
I stifle a laugh at the connection.
Hella looks into the rearview mirror at Jada, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other on his knee, leaning to the side. “Yeah, it's finished.”
“You take it home or leave it there?”
“Home,” his answer clipped. I never thought of Hella having a home, since all he seems to do is be here.
Millie clears her throat from the back. “Isn't this the same car Chase had?” she asks innocently.
Bless her heart. She has no clue how badly I want to burst out laughing.
His grip tightens around the steering wheel, the deep rumble of the V8 engine vibrating beneath my ass.
He stretches his neck to the side, as if contemplating whether he wants to flip out or not.
A laugh escapes before I can catch it. “Nah, that was a Bumble Bee.”
“A Bumble Bee?” Hella's eyes flick to me, scanning my face before returning to the gravel road ahead.
“Yeah, you know, the Transformer.”
“Isn't your best friend the biggest car enthusiast in the southern, and most likely northern, hemisphere? You should know that Bumble Bee's a Chevy Camaro.” His jaw muscle jumps beneath his skin.
I flash my sweetest smile, tracing the demon emblem over his dash. “Sorry, couldn't tell what it was from the back seat.”
Tires skid against gravel as the car lurches to a sudden stop, throwing us all forward.
Jada's voice pierces through the cabin. “Hella! What the fuck!”
“Get out,” he growls, the idling engine rumbling beneath us like a caged beast.
Jada looks between us before grabbing Millie. “Fine! It'd be really great if you two could fuck each other out of each other's system, though!”
I glance at the house lights barely a minute's walk away as the car door slams behind Millie and Jada's hasty exit.
Hella turns, his gaze cutting through me. “You think this is a joke?”
I roll my eyes. “No, Hella, I don't, but I don't believe a fucking word that comes out of your mouth either.”
His hands work my belt buckle, then his own, before pushing his seat back. His fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging me forward, and I swing my leg over, settling across his lap as his palms trace down my spine.
He cups my ass, guiding my hips in slow circles against the rigid outline beneath his jeans. My teeth sink into my bottom lip, trapping the sound threatening to escape.
Weak. The word echoes in my head, but I can't bring myself to care.
His hand slips beneath my waistband, past the thin lace, fingers brushing over my clit with a rough edge before sliding deep inside.
My body turns traitor, hips rocking against him, chasing the pressure of those fingers as they push further into me.
The corner of his mouth lifts in that damn smirk, the one I've seen too many times, smug and knowing, like he's already won.
When he pulls his hand free, his fingers catch the faint glow of the streetlight, slick and shining. He drags the wet tips across my lips, a slow tease, before slipping them into my mouth. “Mine.”
I get what he's doing, but I wrap my tongue around his finger anyway, locking eyes with him as I suck the taste of us clean, deliberate and slow. Maybe. But I'm the one in control here.
Buckles jangle, sharp and metallic in the tight space of the car, as he yanks his belt open and shoves his jeans down.
I catch his bottom lip with mine, biting down as I sink onto him, his cock filling me in one brutal stretch.
Each slow roll of my hips tears at the control I see slipping in his face.
God, I love watching him come undone like this.
His deep thrusts grind against my G-spot with ruthless precision, tangling me in a haze of lust I don't bother fighting.
I ride him harder, desperate, aching. The car windows cloud over, our harsh breaths mixing with the creak of the seat beneath us.
“Fuck, Melissa,” he growls into my neck, teeth scraping over skin that's already too sensitive.
My head tips back as the pleasure coils tighter, threatening to swallow me whole. Each thrust spikes through me like lightning, my muscles clenching around him. I know this is what he's after — me giving in entirely — but I'm past caring.
“I hate you,” I gasp, even as my body screams the opposite.
He laughs, low and dark, his grip digging into my skin. “Keep telling yourself that, baby.”
I lift the heavy knife to his neck, the cold metal glinting faintly. His eyes crack open, a rumble of amusement vibrating through his chest.
“What's so funny?” The sharp edge skims over the ink on his skin, tracing up to the hard line of his jaw, etched with more tattoos.
“Cute that you thought I didn't notice you grabbing that.” His hands steer my hips, not a flicker of concern for the weapon hovering at his throat.
The steel leaves pink trails across his chest. I press harder with each pass, watching his eyes dilate, feeling his fingers dig into my hips. My sweat drips onto his cheek, mixing with the salt already there. When I bend down, our mouths collide. His breath catches. Mine stops completely.
My body moves without thought. Each time I sink down, he rises to meet me, the muscles in his stomach tightening, jaw clenched. His teeth graze my bottom lip, drawing blood I can taste.
We hang onto each other like we're drowning, the connection unbreaking until our climaxes hit together, my legs trembling, arms shaky, a sharp buzz ringing in my ears.
I slump against his chest, fighting for breath, the air heavy. When I've got enough in me to think about finding my pants, I push up and freeze, a gasp ripping out of me.
“Holy shit!” My hand flies to my mouth as horror punches through. “I cut you!” Blood seeps from the slice, fresh and real, proof of my mistake. Somewhere in that frenzy, my hold on the handle slipped.
His broad shoulders shake under me as he laughs. “No worries. Probably had it coming.”
Crimson beads along the thin cut, hellfire against his skin. “No, it's pretty bad.”
He twists the rearview mirror to check, rolling his eyes. “Not that bad. Gone by tomorrow.”
My gaze lingers on his face before dropping to the mark I've left across his collarbone. Without a thought, I lean in, pressing my lips to the wound, my tongue dragging along the bright, bitter line of blood. The metallic tang hits sharp, sparking a raw heat in my chest.
I pull back to meet his stare. His eyes churn like a winter storm, blue darkening with fresh hunger. When I try to shift off his lap, his cock nudges deep, and his hand snaps up to grip the back of my neck.
“Yeah, not gonna happen, babe.”
My hands loop around his neck again as a laugh spills out of me. Lips brushing his, I can't shake Jada's words. Maybe we do need to fuck each other out of our systems. Right now, with the taste of him still on my tongue and the heat of him still inside me, nothing else matters.
Not a single thing.