Chapter Nineteen. Ingrid
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INGRID
I’m pressed against the back door of Travis’s pickup, the door handle digging into the small of my back.
I’ve learned that much about the handsome young man from the bar—his first name—and that he has a firm grip.
His palm cups the back of my head, fingers intertwined in my hair so he can yank it back, tip my face. So he can take my mouth with his.
His other hand is on my skirt, fingertips digging to the bone of my hip.
It’s not aggression. It’s restraint. Like he’s afraid of what will happen if our bodies touch.
The fact that he wants me this badly drives me wild.
I haven’t been with anyone since Joel, and it’s been a long, long time since Joel wanted me like this.
If he ever wanted me like this. I tilt my hips, close the distance between us.
He groans against my lips. I get the sudden urge to bite him.
Instead, I reach behind me for the handle, pull open the door.
We tumble inside, a confusion of limbs, of teeth bumping against lips.
I tug my panties off, kick them onto the floor of his truck, and then I’m on top of him, straddling his lap.
I am reaching down for the button of his jeans.
He breaks the kiss, asks, between panting breaths, “You sure you want this?”
“I want this,” I tell Travis, lifting my hips, sliding my hand between us to guide him.
I move my hand and ease myself down slowly until he’s deep inside me.
Until my thighs shake. And it feels good.
Every nerve exploding with satisfaction.
It feels so incredibly good to do something I want. To get what I want.
Once, Izzy and I dared Ben to guess who was who.
Kiss the real Isabelle, she said, standing shoulder to shoulder with me.
I bit the inside corners of my mouth, trying not to smile when he came up close to inspect my face, squinting at my ear, at the hair tucked behind it.
He always smelled like the same cologne Izzy bought him every year on his birthday.
He searched my eyes then, and suddenly my body was betraying me, abdomen fluttering, breath hitching, heart tripping over its own rhythm.
When he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to mine, my lips parted slowly, like a bruise blooming.
I was fifteen, and it was my first kiss.
Izzy howled with laughter, shoving him in the shoulder, and we all pretended it was fine, that it was nothing but a joke, but my lips burned hot all day like I’d been stung.